Circles of Fate (16 page)

“You think that's what made her nervy and frightened?”

“Honey,” said Cathy, aghast, “what are you thinking?”

“I think Monica gave her the jewellery to keep for her. I think that when she received news of her sister's death she probably got a garbled account, so that she thought Monica's body was on the plane when it blew up. When planes blow up, usually there isn't much left to tell the tale. Sometimes things can't ever be found. Bearing that in mind, she kept quiet about the jewellery, thinking that later she might be able to sell pieces, at discreet intervals, and provide some of the home comforts she has never had. Perhaps that's what Monica had in mind. She could have been planning to live with them and she'd want better than Freda Thompson's got. In a way Freda might think she's carrying out her dead sister's wishes. When the insurance man came nosing around, I don't doubt that she regretted her decision, but so much time had elapsed that she couldn't, in honesty, produce the stuff at that late date.” She paused to see how Cathy was reacting. Cathy wasn't completely won over, but she was yielding.

“Stop making things fit. She was distraught and uncommunicative, but there is an explanation. Her husband is sick in bed.”

“So sick,” countered Anita, “that he'd just come in from fishing. His gear was propped outside and his waders were by the door where he'd kicked them off, with a ring of damp mud round the toes.”

“Perhaps Mrs Thompson likes to fish.”

“Those waders were size enormous.”

“She is a heavy-boned woman.”

“With disproportionately small feet. I made a special point of looking.”

“You think her husband had nipped upstairs to hide? But why?”

“Because he's even more frightened than his wife. I bet, at this moment, he's tipping the stuff in the river, if he didn't do so after the insurance man's visit.”

“So I was right in the first place. You've drawn a blank.”

“Yes,” admitted Anita, “I've drawn a blank. Even if I'd proof, I couldn't tell anyone. I'm glad of one thing though.”

“What's that?”

“Claude's housekeeper is bound to have told the insurance people how happily married they were and, with a bit of luck, she might have repeated what I said about Monica being as excited as a child at the prospect of being reunited with Claude. There won't have been a whiff of anything to make anyone suspect that Monica was leaving him. So no one will have an inkling that the Thompsons have had possession of the missing property. If they can keep their mouths shut, they're safe.”

“I don't even begin to understand you,” gaped Cathy.

“I liked Monica Perryman. I feel sorry for her sister and husband. I couldn't hurt them.”

“But what about Felipe? If they're guilty, then he's innocent. You can't keep quiet and let him take the blame.”

Anita blew on her fingers as if it was just too hot to handle, and smiled grimly at Cathy's complete reversal. “It's a difficult situation,” she admitted.

She was no nearer to a solution by the time they returned the car to Edward. They'd had to confide in him, of course.

Cathy's thumbs hooked down, indicating mission unsuccessful.

“Hungry?” he enquired.

“Not very. We stopped for a meal on the way back,” said Anita.

Cathy, whose understanding antenna was fully extended where Edward was concerned, said quickly: “But that was
hours
ago. I'm famished.”

“I bought some plaice, especially,” said Edward, looking gratified.

It was pleasant to watch the sensitive reactions of two people in love, thought Anita. For Edward, Cathy's sharp wit was allied to tenderness. Edward was strong and protective. At the heart of her thoughts was her own ache and loneliness. It was impossible to see their happiness and not think about Felipe. All the thoughts she had hoped were forgotten came bubbling to the surface, her love, the longing that was an exquisite pain of remembered intimacies; and up came a new thought, a tender, unexplored idea that was still in chrysalis form.

Edward was frying the fish. Cathy was laying the table. A few crumbs of bread had spilt on the floor. She stared at them, as though they would feed and facilitate her idea. She prepared answers for the questions Edward would put. When they were neat and ready in her mind she announced her decision.

“I'm packing in my job. I'm giving up the flat. I'm going back.”

“Back?”

“To Leyenda.”

“To that Spaniard fellow?” – that was Edward.

“If he'll have me. He might think I've done him enough harm already.”

“You?” said Cathy.

“I'm at the root of all his troubles. He waited with me when I hurt my ankle instead of going with Rock Bennett. Pilar didn't think of buying the house until she saw me, so I'm responsible for the large sum of money coming to light which he can't, or won't, explain. It won't occur to anyone that Monica might have left her jewellery behind in someone's safe-keeping, because I shouted my mouth off about how pleased she was to be coming back. And if that isn't enough, I didn't even have the foresight to alibi Felipe at the time of the crash. I handed him to the insurance man on a plate.”

“I think you're being a bit rough on yourself,” said Cathy.

“You must be out of your mind,” said Edward. “He's not like you at all, Anita. He's uncouth, he must be. He's a bullfighter. With dicey morals, I shouldn't wonder.”

Even as she marshalled her reply, it was Cathy who sprang to his defence. A Cathy who was stricken, white and exasperated, stirred to uncontrollable depths of fury.

“Shut up,” she said. “I can't stand that overbearing attitude. Can you love a person less because they haven't always been virtuous?”

“Steady,” cautioned Anita, touching Cathy's arm.

“It's too late,” said Cathy. “It's out now. I might as well tell Edward. If I don't he'll always wonder what I meant.”

“You don't have to tell me anything,” said Edward. “You know?”

“I know we are neither of us children. I'm not asking to share your past, only your future.”

Cathy's eyes were a bright burn of tears. She didn't say anything.

Anita said, to remind them that she was still there as much as anything: “That was a nice thing to say, Edward. Forgive me for thinking you were old and stuffy in your ideas.”

“I still think you are out of your mind,” he said. “But good luck all the same. Are you all right for money?”

“I've got the house-purchase money, remember? I can dip into that.”

“Of course. Considering, that was a stupid thing to forget. Do one thing for me. Don't burn all your boats. I suppose you will have to quit your job. No question of Miss Standish keeping it open for you?”

“Miss Standish will be furious with me for leaving her in the lurch. She certainly won't go out of her way to do me any such favour.”

“No, I suppose not. But don't dispose of your flat and furniture, not just yet. If things work out for you, drop me a line and I'll sell your things for you.” Something suspiciously like a twinkle came to his eye. “I think you can trust me to hold out for a good price.”

“Talking of burning boats,” said Cathy, pushing an impudent face between them.

An unmistakable odour was issuing from the cooker, together with a blue smoke haze.

“My fish!” shouted an aggrieved Edward.

Three weeks passed before Anita could get away. Three weeks of darkening skies, sporadic rain and even briefer intervals of pale winter sunshine. Cathy lamented that she would not be here for Christmas and for her wedding which was scheduled to take place in the New Year.

Anita tried to look suitably downcast, but it was difficult when her thoughts were riding a high plane of ecstasy. She really had tried to relegate Felipe to her past, but it had proved as impossible as making smoke curl down a chimney. Completely disregarding Edward's cautious advice to write first, she was going to arrive unheralded so that she could see the delight curl up his mouth, the left side first, to obliterate his surprise.

It was strange to be going back. Already the first journey had faded from the sharp forefront of memory and it was like retracing the steps of a dream.

Yet different, a different air hostess greeted her with friendly indifference and not cut-glass suspicion. These girls were really trained to detect every thought and nuance of character. As she had generated fear then, was she now radiating happiness? Did the girl in the uniform know that this was a first flight of a very different nature. A flight from childhood to maturity, from loneliness to companionship, from heartbreak to heart's ease.

“Would you like tea or coffee with your lunch?”

“Coffee,” Anita replied, not breaking the pattern. Last time she had had coffee. She occupied the window seat. Last time she had occupied the window seat. Her travelling companion was a woman, also as last time.

She turned her head at the same moment as the occupant of the next seat turned hers. Their eyes locked; the stranger's brown eyes grew warm and narrow in a smile, a tentative bid to break down the barrier of silence.

Automatically Anita began to respond to this friendly overture, until she remembered. Oh no! Not this time. Last time she had crossed lines with a stranger. And look where that got her! The far-reaching effects of that conversation made her shudder. Better remain aloof, and safe!

She spent most of the journey with her forehead wedged against the window. A crackling in her ears and a rising sensation in her stomach told her the plane was losing height.

The captain had delivered his customary speech. The hostesses had put on their caps and gloves and were strapping themselves in for the final stages of landing. She was swallowing hard now to combat more than the noise in her ears as the pressure dropped, but a feeling of panic. In the hectic moment of organizing herself here, there hadn't been time to be afraid. Suddenly she was wallowing in fear. She stepped out into bright sunshine thinking how stupid it was to let something nameless, because she didn't know the reason for this new fright, cloud this lovely day.

She waltzed into Customs, found her case and answered the routine questions, and came out again. A tall familiar figure came striding towards her, and gladness dodged round the lump in her throat without actually dissolving it.

“Rock! Good to see you.”

“Good to see you, Anita.”

One moment she had been secretly dreading was here and gone, a fleeting fear, so mightn't the other be just as groundless? Rock had ferried her back last time, but then she'd been cushioned in numbness and she didn't think they'd exchanged more than a couple of words because it was too soon after the crash and he was also entrenched in misery, not knowing whether he had the nerve or the incentive to continue after what had happened.

Not until the wheels of the plane had screeched to a stop on Leyenda ground, did she pluck up courage to ask about Felipe.

“He's well,” Rock told her. “I suppose you've had wind of that unsavoury incident concerning Monica Perryman's valuables?”

“I heard. Is it all cleared up now?”

“I wouldn't say that.”

“What would you say?”

“Felipe's still enjoying his freedom, so I suppose that's a good sign.”

“He's not a thief,” said Anita, reacting strongly.

“I know it without you half swallowing me,” said Rock on a wry grin.

“We're home, baby.” He meant simply, back on Mother Earth, but she looked at it another way. She breathed in and rounded her mouth and let the word
home
expel on her breath, testing it. The minutes since the engine had ceased to throb, lengthened.

“I don't want to fuss you,” he said. “But if things don't look the same this time round, and if you do need an intelligent, handsome, witty escort, forget it and call me instead.”

“I will, Rock.” Impulsively she leaned forward to brush her lips against his cheek. “ 'Bye for now.”

If things don't look the same this time round, he'd said. In a rather subtle way things did look different. They hadn't changed, but she had. She was a little older, a whole lot wiser. This time she wasn't looking at the island as a holiday retreat, but as a place to put down roots and complete her growing up.

She was touched to be remembered and fussed over by the proprietor of the hotel, and given her old room. Coming home. Yes, the feeling was wrapping round her like a warm, cosy blanket. If only she could get rid of the fright-lump in her throat. But only Felipe could make that go away.

After lunch she caught the bus that dropped her off about one kilometre from Casa Esmeralda. Oddly, this time the garden didn't seem as big. The path that had twisted endlessly was covered far too quickly. Perhaps it hadn't been such a good idea to turn up unannounced and surprise everybody. Adult apprehension strangled childish anticipation, closing her throat.

She rang the bell, adjusting to this new emotion. Six months was a long time. Things happen in six months. Summer fuses into autumn and autumn fuses into winter. The minutes go and because time is easing you along with it, you don't notice that the present is now the past, but never the tomorrow. Tomorrow is something elusive which everyone is chasing. It refuses to be hurried and no matter how gently you approach it, somehow it slips through your fingers and you are left gripping today.

The door opened. Anita's smile broke into being, but not for Pilar. A young girl, probably engaged to help with the housework, stood where Pilar should have stood.

“Señora Sanchez?” enquired Anita politely.

The young girl grinned cheerfully. “The señora is not at home. The señora has gone to visit with her sister.”

“Señor Sanchez then?”