Stormy Encounter Page 2

  The coach was quite full. She took her seat amongst obviously wealthy sunseekers, with a certain flutter of excitement. It would have been nice if she had been going out to her mother under rather less grim circumstances.

  Reminding herself that she wasn't, she spent the whole journey to the airport fuming over the cheek of some people. Imagine—trying to browbeat her mother like that!

  When they arrived where the thunder of plane engines rent the air and the cold wind swept across the runways she struggled with her two suitcases to the weighin, in reception, completely immersed in her stormy reverie of the island's social set.

  Oh, she knew the type all right! Just because they were wealthy they thought it gave them the right to throw their weight about. Well, they would soon learn different when she arrived. She didn't intend to be overawed by any one of them.

  While she waited in the queue at the weighin, her gaze came to rest with animosity on an expensive set of luggage belonging to a man who was standing off to one side. Putting her thoughts into practice, she fixed him with a haughty look, making no attempt to move her gaze until she was ready. He gave her a wintry blue stare, turning as an airport official came hurrying up, accompanied by two porters. She watched cynically as the porters took care of his expensive bags, and he was led smilingly away.

  Her turn came to hump up her suitcases on to the scales. She saw with relief that what she had packed came within the weight allowed. She left the attendant thumping on sticky labels and went off to the lounge to await the time of her flight.

  Quite a few people rushed for the appropriate door when the announcement finally came over the loudspeakers. Unprepared, her bead in a magazine, Janet found herself almost at the end of the queue out to the bus that would take them to the plane. She was jammed in as one of the last and felt the sliding doors swish to only inches from her nose.

  This uncomfortable state of affairs turned out to be quite an advantage, however, when they arrived where the screaming engines of the jet mingled with the wind gusting over the tarmac. Being one of the last on, she was one of the first off. She wasted no time in answering the welcoming smile of the stewardess who was beckoning her towards the boarding steps at the rear of the jet.

  She hurried up out of the wind and met more of the Broiling plane staff' as she moved, a little excitedly, down the aisle between the seats. She had only flown once before, and as she had the whole plane to herself to start with, it seemed to her that it would be rather fun to sit right up at the front, or did they call it near the nose?

  She noticed that there was a cream curtain drawn across this forward section, and the half dozen seats on the other side seemed more luxurious, rather like spaciously designed armchairs. All the better! She plumped down in one, passing judgement on the upholstery with a pleased sigh.

  The stewardess at this end was out at the open door beside the flight deck. She was engrossed in watching a woman in a wheelchair being guided across the tarmac from a black car towards the boarding steps. From her seat beside the window Janet had a good view of the discussion that was taking place as the Stewardess went down to give some assistance.

  She saw another sleek black car glide up. Who should step out from the door that was speedily opened for him but the man with the pigskin luggage whom she had seen earlier near the weighin section. She cast a disinterested glance over his immaculately tailored suit, then returned wideeyed to the intriguing article she had been reading in her magazine. It was all about a woman who had gone out to study the habits of the deadly piranha fish in the rivers of the Brazilian jungle. The adventuress was explaining what happened after the boat she was paddling hit a rock, when Janet heard a deep crisp voice slicing metallically through her suspense with, 'I believe you're sitting in my seat.'

  She looked up to find the man who had just stepped out of the car hovering beside her.

  His seat! She glared at him. As far as she knew, all the other passengers who had come on to the plane behind her had been content to take what they could. 'There are plenty more around,' she flashed at him coldly. 'I don't see why I should move when I was here first.'

  The man's blue eyes had the gleam of chipped ice. He straightened his lean frame and turning sat down in a chair across the aisle. Without another glance in her direction he crossed one immaculately trousered leg over the other and opening the slim briefcase he had with him, he began to flick through a sheaf of papers.

  Janet returned haughtily to her magazine. Well, that had put him in his place! She would have liked to lose herself again in the world of the Brazilian jungle, but her emotions at the slight brush were flying up in her chest like caged butterflies. She found herself staring at the words without taking in their meaning.

  Her attention wandered to the open doorway where the woman in the wheelchair was now being transported inside. There was an elderly man with her with beautiful white hair and a clipped moustache. An expensively groomed couple came in after them. The stewardess, whose main concern was the woman in the wheelchair, hurried inside amongst the group.

  Her gaze flew instantly to Janet. Under a tiny frown it swung with some dismay on to the man who was engrossed in his briefcase papers. She stepped briskly forward and with a perfect smile she bent and asked Janet in the lightest of whispered tones if she could see her air ticket.

  Janet obliged, and charmingly the stewardess smiled, 'Ah yes, Miss Kendall. We have a seat for you back here.' She parted the cream curtains beckoningly, and realising now that they were there for a reason, Janet fumbled for her things, colouring furiously.

  Discreetly looking past her embarrassment, the stewardess moved in to seek the attention of the man with the briefcase. Gesturing him forward, she murmured, profoundly apologetic, 'I'm terribly sorry, sir. I really don't know how that happened. I've been rather occupied seeing to these other first class passengers...'

  'That's all right. Don't worry about it.' The man relaxed his rather wellshaped mouth and rose. He moved across the aisle and sat down in the seat that Janet had just vacated, not letting his icy blue gaze stray from his papers. Janet dived through the curtain feeling small enough to have crawled through under the carpet.

  The main section of the plane was quite full, but there were one or two vacant places near at hand. 'Here you are. You can still have a seat near the window.' The stewardess came smilingly up behind her. She helped her to settle in and fastening her seat belt told her pleasantly, 'We'll be coming round with drinks just after takeoff, if you'd like one?'

  Thanks to her expertise Janet was put quickly at her case. But long after the plane had left the ground, and the clouds were rushing past the window like smoke, she felt the superior presence of the flintyeyed man on the other side of the curtain so forcefully there might have been no division between them.

  Two pink spots in her checks, she turned her attention resolutely to the wonders of flying. Well, he needn't think she cared one way or the other about his stuffy old chair!

  CHAPTER TWO

  The clouds dispersed and Janet got a glimpse of a grey ocean way, way down below. She way brave enough to pick out the tiny whitecapped waves for a while, but when the sun projected the plane's shadow on the sea, her heart gavea tiny lurch and she had to bring her glance inside again.

  A light tea was served half way through the journey. When she looked out again, they were flying over the Pyrenees. She stared down fascinated on mile upon mile of snowcapped mountains. From up here they looked like jagged whiskedup peak'' of icing on a huge cake.

  Later she was able to pick out the speckle of hamlets set in a green countryside until they were shut out by a solid bank of cloud that lay under the plane, thick and cumulus a; id grey, and shot with the pink light of late afternoon.

  Just after five o'clock, the pilot announced over the speakers that they were approaching Ibiza and would be landing in ten minutes. Janet fastened her seat belt and felt another lurch of her heart as the engines changed rhythm
and the plane nosed down through the clouds.

  Presently through the mist she saw the island just as she remembered it from last time, its Craggy mountains and whitewaved inlets growing ever clearer as the jet lost height.

  They thundered in towards the airport and hopefully she tried to pick out her mother's tiny house, hut everything was a whirl of green fields, white villages, and winding roads. Beforeshe knew it squat windmills were spinning away past the windows and the wheels were touching down on the runway.

  For a while there was nothing to be heard but the scream of the engines and the roar of the tyres over the ground as they streaked along like the wind. Then gradually their speed slackened and the airport buildings came into view.

  The moment the wheels stopped and the engines were shut off the inside of the plane became alive. People chattered and reached for hand luggage and searched for outer garments. The stewardesses moved up and down the aisle giving assistance where they could.

  Janet filed out amidst the crush, turning her back on the cream curtain and not giving it another thought. Outside the buses were waiting to take them across the short space of tarmac. Struck by the balmy warmth in the air and the mingled scents of the countryside which were so different from England, she found a place and a few minutes later stepped down at the passenger terminal. Inside the pillared area there was that clamorous, slightly melancholic atmosphere that always pervades a spot where people are constantly coming and going. Passengers were weaving at all angles across the open space, and uniformed porters, Ibicencos with dark eyes and swarthy smiling faces, trundled their trolleys around shouting. 'Alio! Alio!' not as a form of greeting as Janet had at first thought, but to point out that they were at liberty to transport your luggage.

  When at last her own cases turned up on the conveyor belt, she preferred to save the pesetas it would have cost her and rugged outside with them herself. The taxis were not very abundant. And what there were, their drivers were in no hurry to secure themselves a fare.

  As Janet expected, when she gained the attention of one of them, his face dropped when she told him the distance she wanted to go. None of them were eager to accept country journeys. They liked to drop their fares quickly at some nearby hotel or villa and return to the animated chat that went on amidst their groups outside the airport lounges. Money didn't come into it. They were indolent, and they preferred their indolence to getting rich.

  Janet stood firm and willed her driver to swing her cases into his car. Once they were out on to the Ihizan highway he accepted his late with the happy resignation of his race and began to sing flamenco at the top of his voice.

  Thus serenaded, Janet got her first view on this trip of theisland. It was something to take the breath away even at this twilight hour. Though dusk was well on its way the sky was still a deep clear blue, and from it a full round moon shone with incredible brilliance. Tins unusual light gave the fields and trees a vivid emerald green look and the white cubelike houses dotted around gleamed like torches.

  The road took them through the Town of Ibiza with its narrow streets and sandstone cathedral which she remembered from her last visit. From here they followed the main highway through the country for a while, later coming out on to the coast route that ran past the beaches of Santa Eulalia and various other little coves. The view now, caught in glimpses every once in a while, was of a moonlit sea stretching silently away from the land in a ripple of silver. When the taxi turned off into the countryside again Janet armed herself with her directions. Though San Gabrielle, the name of the village they were making for, was familiar to most of the islanders, when it came to the tuckedaway situation of her mother's house she knew more than they did.

  The village turned up in due course and pointing ahead she urged the driver all the way through it and out on to the road again at the other side. As he cruised along uncertainly she kept her eyes peeled for the huge spreading carob tree dm marked the entrance to a lesser known track. As she remembered it, it was about a ten minute walk out of the village. And sure enough there it was coming up ahead.

  The goodnatured Ihizan's face dropped again when he saw the pitted road down which he was expected to take his beautiful taxi. He turned in gallantly, however, and felt his way as though he was driving on eggs.

  Janet gazed out at the familiar sights of almond groves and farm fields spread out in ghostly stillness under the full moon. She could see the whitewashed walls of the farm on a slightly raised hill ahead in the distance, and the village they had just passed through on another hill to her right.

  As the car crunched steadily along she kept a careful watch. Eventually the imposing pink bulk of the villa showed up. Throughout her fortnight's holiday here two years ago the place had been shuttered and unoccupied and she bad never given it a thought. Now she rode past it with a certain rebellious apprehension. lights blazed and people were living there. People who were trying to cheat her mother out of what rightfully belonged to her.

  To give a boost to her flagging morale she wasted no time when the disused railway track showed itself in a dim grey line cutting across the road in front of them to continue on past the side of the villa. With a proprietorial air she directed the taxi man to turn in on what, as far as she was concerned, was her mother's drive. He winced at the temporary surface of small rocks, but swung in obligingly and drove up grandly alongside the small white Ibizan house to where the light was streaming from the front door.

  Even before they were half way along the drive Janet heard the excited barking of Dale, her mother's little dog. Arriving and opening the car door, she was overwhelmed by canine affection. Then her mother was hurrying out to hug her amidst a stream of highpitched chatter. Janet had to let much of this go by the board while she paid the taxi man, who being of the Spanish race, and family lovers all, was eyeing the scene with a sly gleam of indulgence.

  She gave him the required amount and handed him a good tip for his help. He accepted smilingly but without being ingratiating, and with a polite, 'Adios, sehorita,' andto her mother, 'Adios, senora,' he stepped into his car and turning flamboyantly on the small area of terrace beside the house, he crunched away down the track.

  Janet picked up her cases and followed her mother inside. She stepped straight into a pleasantly lit room, and continued through with Dale fussing at her heels, to the spare bedroom across a small hallway. Pushing the door open foe her, her mother, beaming on her affectionately, turned away and said fussily, I'll go and see about your supper. You must be famished.'

  Janet caught her before she went and gave her a mischievous hug. She felt the face against hers, soft and papery smooth, and smelt the lingering air of violets, just as she always remembered her. With a rush of love she planted a kiss on her cheek, then turned inside to unpack.

  It was a pretty bedroom, uncluttered and designed for coolness. The floor was chequered in big black and white tiles, and the twin bed coverlets with gathered frills around the sides were in the palest green. The drapes which hung from ceiling to floor across the one wall of windows were patterned with huge white camellias on a slightly deeper green background. The walls were in eggshell blue,

  She remembered the room from sharing it with Nona on their holiday visit. Now that she had it to herself, she made full use of the wardrobe and drawers which were in neutral wood. She had no idea how long she would have to stay, but in any case her clothes might as well have a good home while she was here.

  Since she had only brought light summer wear the job of unpacking was soon completed. After going along to the bathroom to freshen up with a quick wash she made her way back to the living room.

  Though designed on Spanish lines with its wide fire place, the tiled chimneypiece tapering up to the ceiling, and its small windows, the Kendall stamp on the room was unmistakable in the framed family photographs, the big chintzy cushions, Dale's crochetcushioned dogbasket and the well worn English rugs.

  Wandering roundin the glowof redshaded
table lamps, fingering ornaments and trinkets and oddments in furniture that she associated with her childhood, Janet felt a warm glow. This was home. Truly home.

  Her mother called her from the kitchen which was through a door at the far side of the room. Where formica table and chairs formed a compact eating space in the small area Janet wasted no time in alleviating her hunger. Though the Spanish food her mother had prepared for her tasted strange after the English diet she was used to, she enjoyed it tremendously.

  Saving her chatter and the questions she was bursting to ask about the rest of her family, Mrs Kendall plied her daughter with everything she could lay her hands on to cat, as mothers will.

  'Have some more pimientos, dear. You might as well finish them off.' And, 'I can cut you some more sobrada if you like.'