Page 10 of Under a Spanish Sky

The combination of his voice and the smell of the spirit had the desired effect.

She reached out absently and took a mouthful.

By the time she had finished coughing, she was back in the land of the living.

He retrieved the bottle and breathed in the heady aroma before deciding he could risk a sip, even though he was driving.

The taste was every bit as good as he had hoped and he felt the warmth spreading pleasantly around his body.

After a brief hesitation he regretfully replaced the cork and returned the bottle to its place on the back seat.

He looked across at her. ‘Want to talk about it?’ He was relieved to see her half turn towards him, no longer with the agonised expression on her face. She pulled out a tissue and blew her nose while searching for the right words.

‘I had an overwhelming feeling of evil. A sensation, no, more than a sensation. I just suddenly felt the absolute conviction that something really bad happened in that spot. I don’t know how to describe the feeling.

Totally overpowering. One moment I was as happy as I have been for months…

years, and then smack, this awful feeling of dread.

It was as if somebody just walked over my grave.

You don’t think I could be turning into a witch, do you?

’ She paused for a few seconds while she collected herself. ‘I very nearly fainted.’

‘You certainly did.’ He said it with feeling. ‘In fact, I would say that having to be physically carried qualifies as the next best thing to a dead faint.’ He flexed the muscles of his shoulders and groaned theatrically. ‘You weigh a ton in all that thick winter clothing.’

She turned towards him with a smile and reached up to his face with her hands.

Before he could stop her, she pulled herself upwards and planted a soft kiss on his cheek.

This was the first time ever her lips had touched him and the effect upon him was stunning.

Suddenly all his fears and uncertainties returned with a rush.

Memories came rushing, unwanted, into his head and he had to struggle hard to maintain his equilibrium.

Meanwhile, apparently unaware of his discomfort, she settled back in her seat and switched to a pretty convincing Zsa Zsa Gabor voice.

‘But, darlink, maybe I did it just so that I could fall into your so schtrong arms!’ She smiled to herself while he did his unsuccessful best to banish the mass of memories pulsing through him and reply in a normal tone.

‘Have a heart. I’m not used to all this excitement.’ He thought for a moment about another nip from the cognac bottle, but prudence prevailed. ‘If you’re going to insist upon being carried around much more often, I’d better go into training again.’

‘Which reminds me.’ She was getting back to normal. ‘What’s all this about you not being used to excitement? Why’s that? When do I get to hear your story? About you, that is.’

She heard him clear his throat. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘Oh… just everything.’

‘Surely Father Tim told you all about me.’

‘Father Tim told me next to nothing about you. You’ve got a PhD. You’re a jolly good chap and you’re a close friend of his. I don’t even know what you did before going back to university. For all I know, you might have been in jail.’ She was smiling now. ‘Is that it? Did you murder somebody?’

Luke found himself smiling back at her. ‘So, if you think I might be a murderer, why on earth did you agree to come away with me like this?’ He allowed his voice to deepen with menace. ‘Why, I might be about to tear your head off at this very moment.’

‘I notice you didn’t answer the question. That’s pretty damn incriminating, I’d say.’

‘Well, let me set your mind at rest on that score. I’m not a jailbird or a murderer.

’ His voice became more serious. ‘But I’ve been going through some pretty difficult stuff and I’m still trying to sort my head out.

’ He paused, doing his best to drum up the courage to try to talk about everything that had happened to him, but knowing in his bones that he still wasn’t ready.

‘I’ll tell you that much, and I promise I’ll tell you more very soon.

Just be patient and bear with me. Please. ’

She reached over, located his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. ‘Take your time. It’s all right. Tell me more when you feel ready. In the meantime, I’m very happy to take you as you are.’

For a few seconds, a wave of emotion swept over him and he came very, very close to kissing her, before deciding to return to safer ground.

‘Thanks, Amy.’ He found he had to clear his throat before continuing.

‘It’s a promise. Now, tell me something, my witch friend, do you think the opposite could also apply?

’ In response to the puzzled look on her face, he explained.

‘If you can have such a strong reaction when you sense that something evil has taken place, do you think you could have a reaction of equal intensity if you found yourself in a place where something good has happened?’

‘You don’t find so many of them, I’m afraid.

’ Her light tone belied the sad truth behind her words.

‘At least, not so strong. Boy meets girl, girl marries boy, boy and girl live happily ever after doesn’t hit the headlines of history.

The place where hundreds of thousands of people were murdered for no good reason, now that sticks in the historian’s mind, whether we’re talking about Auschwitz or the Somme.

Maybe I picked up a force that intense suffering can leave in a place.

One warm happy moment, however intense, doesn’t seem to have the power to linger on and influence me. ’

He thought for a moment before asking his next question.

‘So have you any idea when and how thousands of people may have been made to suffer up here? None of the history books mentions a battle of any kind in this part of the High Pyrenees. Indeed, the terrain’s so inhospitable and the access so difficult that I just can’t imagine two armies making it up here in a fit state to start a monumental battle.

’ Receiving no reply from her, he started again.

‘Or do you think this could be the site of some deeply painful and bitter experience for a smaller group? After all, it was only at that precise spot on the red rock that you felt it. Could the intensity of the feeling of a few be comparable with the lesser suffering of the many? Could there have been a particularly painful cry that still echoes down to this day?’ He looked hard at her face and saw the concentration. It was a while before she replied.

‘Yes, I suppose it’s possible. I know what you mean about the armies or any other mass confrontation here. I just can’t imagine it either. Unless, of course…’

He was with her. ‘Unless of course the memory was of an event of special poignancy and significance to you personally. Maybe it was not so much somebody walking over your grave, but rather that you just walked over somebody’s grave.’

‘I just walked over somebody’s grave…’ She explored the concept.

Her sightless eyes were trained on some distant object and didn’t waver.

He didn’t ask any more for fear that the snow and the mountains had revived the deep trauma of her parents’ accident in her.

Her first return to the mountains would mean that her subconscious must still be full of it.

He decided to introduce a more positive note into the conversation.

‘Anyway, think about this for a moment, Amy. I can give you one place where the opposite has happened, time and again through history. You haven’t visited Santiago de Compostela yet.

’ She shook her head. ‘When we do, we’ll walk into the cathedral together.

Then you can tell me whether your sixth or seventh sense works only in places of evil.

The accumulated joy of millions of people, I’m sure you’ll feel it.

You don’t need to be religious to feel it.

So many people, who’ve walked for hundreds and hundreds of miles to get there, they must have left a mark.

I’ve been there twice in my life and, although I wouldn’t describe myself as a religious man, I felt it both times.

’ He glanced at her. ‘And I’m certainly not a witch. ’

‘Can you get male witches?’

‘I’m not even sure you can get female ones, present company excepted.’ He decided it was time to move on, both as far as the conversation was concerned and in practical terms. ‘Anyway, it’s getting late. We’d better start thinking about finding a hotel for the night.’

She ran her hands through her hair and sat up, looking more relaxed. ‘Sounds like a good idea.’

‘Dig in the door pocket. There should be a booklet about this part of northern Spain. It’s not very thick.’ Obligingly she reached down and retrieved a handful of Spanish Tourist Board brochures. He took them from her and selected the one dealing with Jaca and its immediate area.

‘Looks like there is no shortage of accommodation in Jaca. Shall we head for there?’

She nodded in agreement, so he started the engine.

His head was still spinning from the after-effects of that simple little kiss.

He knew he would have to find the strength to start speaking to her about his past. She needed to know and maybe, just maybe, it might help him to start talking about it in all its horror.