Page 13 of Under a Spanish Sky

‘I’m not sure that’s the right way of describing it.

’ She paused, searching for the right words, knowing that she was talking about things she had never revealed to anybody else, not even their mutual friend Father Tim.

Somehow, here with Luke, it felt right to air these things.

‘We all have a mechanism inside our bodies that fights off attack from outside. Something that protects us from harm; and I’m talking about mental as well as physical.

I used to think that I had that side of things sewn up.

I was pretty confident that I was totally in control of my life.

And the same went for people. Especially men.

’ There was a moment’s hesitation before she continued. ‘Then there was the accident.’

Luke wondered if he should intervene, say something, but she hadn’t finished.

‘I used to be quite good-looking.’ Her voice was tense, but in control, so he made no comment.

‘There were always men around my sister and me. Whether for Daddy’s money or for us was difficult to tell, but when you’re young, it’s easy to convince yourself that it is you they’re after. ’

He stared compassionately at the pale face with the disconcerting light blue eyes and wondered whether to speak. But she hadn’t finished.

‘After the accident, various friends tried to comfort me.’ He heard the note of bitterness in her voice.

‘With some of the men, one in particular, I thought I’d found what I’d lost, but I soon discovered I was mistaken.

It’s a bit like being in a pit and somebody throws you a rope.

You start to climb up the rope, but then, before you reach the top, they let go.

You end up still in the hole and, what’s more, you’re bruised.

So that’s what I am, I’m bruised and that’s why I wasn’t as hospitable as I could have been.

And with each passing year my metaphorical immune system, that’s my internal self-defence system, struggles desperately to repair the damage and, in the meantime, I keep on getting grumpier.

I’m afraid it’s been a losing battle up to now. ’ She lapsed into silence.

‘Apart from that first day, I haven’t seen you grumpy at all.

’ He tried to lighten the tone. ‘Not even when you dropped your earring in the toilet. Anyway, you said it yourself, when you used the words, “up to now”. So surely that’s got to mean things are improving?

’ Politically correct or not, he reached across the table and took hold of her hand in his.

She raised her face towards him and managed a nod of the head and a little smile.

‘Definitely. After all, I’ve got my very own Sir Galahad to carry me away from danger. I bet you’d fight for my honour if you had to.’

‘I promise that if anybody challenges me, I’ll slap him with my glove and set about the knave.’ He saw a smile appear on her face. ‘See, not grumpy at all.’

‘Well, if I’m not, it’s down to you. Thank you once more.’

They sat in silence for a few more minutes, each immersed in their own thoughts.

Finally he glanced out of the window again.

‘The sun’s disappeared behind the mountains.

’ He drained the remains of the beer. ‘We’d better get moving, otherwise we won’t stand a chance of seeing the ruins of Santa Cristina, assuming, of course, that there’s anything left to see.

’ Obediently Amy finished her coffee and stood up.

He paid the landlord and they returned to the car.

The road was a fine modern highway. Unsurprisingly, a sign announced that it had been built with money from the European Union.

He slowed right down, searching desperately for any trace of Santa Cristina.

They stopped in a couple of places and ventured out into the ever colder air in search of any clues, but without success.

He saw nothing. The snow was too deep. At last, the light fading fast, he had to admit defeat.

It was sad to think that such a significant construction should have just disappeared off the face of the earth.

He led Amy back to the car just as the first big powdery snowflakes started to fall.

By the time they had climbed back into the car and removed their jackets, the snow had already obscured the windscreen.

Luke set off down the hill with his windscreen wipers struggling to clear the weight of snow, and within ten minutes the road was white, the visibility deteriorating by the minute.

To make matters worse, his screen washers froze up.

On their departure from Britain in fine spring weather it had not occurred to him to put anti-freeze in the screen wash.

In consequence, even with the air conditioning blowing hard against the glass, he was now restricted to an area the size of a dinner plate in the middle of the screen in front of him through which to find his way down the hill.

They travelled down the slope, albeit at little more than a crawl, for almost half an hour before they met another vehicle.

The snowstorm was obviously excessively heavy even by Pyrenean standards and people had wisely opted to stay at home.

However, in spite of the conditions, they were gradually dropping down from the heights of the Somport towards the flatter lands of Spain.

A sign loomed out of the gloom, showing Jaca as being twenty-nine kilometres ahead.

It wouldn’t be too long now, he thought grimly, his eyes already tired with the effort of concentration.

‘Are you tired?’ She could sense it. She was tired as well, and she hadn’t had to drive through the snow.

She had always hated doing that. Snow on the ski slopes was one thing, snow on the roads was another.

Her mind flicked back, as it so often did, to the years before the accident.

Looking back on them now, they seemed idyllic, although she could remember times when she had been miserable or in despair, mostly as a result of problems with boys.

Looking back on those episodes now, she wished she could go back to her younger self and tell her to love and enjoy every minute of what had been a wonderful life.

Carpe diem was something you so often only appreciated when it was too late.

She gave a little internal sigh. ‘Luke, you should take a break if you’re feeling tired. ’

‘I’m beginning to feel a bit weary, but I’m okay for the moment. There was a sign back there which said it’s only twenty-odd kilometres to Jaca so it shouldn’t be much longer. What about you? Ready for a Spanish meal?’

‘Mmmh. Any kind of meal.’

He cast a glance across at her and the childlike vulnerability of her pose, curled up with her knees under her chin and her arms wrapped around her ankles. He guided the big vehicle round a corner, the tyres crunching through the foot or so of fresh snow. She turned her face towards him.

‘We’re lucky to be in a nice warm car. It must be absolutely horrific outside. My thanks to the driver.’ A more tender note entered her voice. ‘It’s nice being with you.’

She sounded warm and happy. He wondered if this was the time to open up about his own problems. Maybe some of her happiness might rub off on him.

For a moment he was on the point of embarking upon the whole story, but the enormity of the task defeated him.

Maybe if they had been sitting together in a café or over the dinner table.

But here, while he was having to concentrate hard on staying on the twisty mountain road, he didn’t know how to begin.

He was still trying to find the right words to explain some of what had happened to him and what was going through his head, when he saw a flashing yellow light coming towards him in the middle of the road.

He flicked the gear lever into manual and dropped into first gear, the chunky tyres gripping reassuringly and slowing them to a walking pace.

He pulled over to the right-hand side, bumping off the road onto the verge, and watched as the snowplough came majestically by, a bow wave of snow shooting out from the blade on the front.

He received a lazy wave from the driver, which he acknowledged cheerfully.

‘Snowplough?’ She wasn’t really asking the question.

The clanking of the chains and the scrape of the plough were unmistakable.

Not surprisingly it was followed by a procession of cars, all with headlights blazing.

Luke pushed the gear lever into park, stretched his legs and switched on the radio.

Jacques Brel’s ‘Le Plat Pays’ filled the car.

As it finished and a French disc jockey cut in, Luke lowered the volume a bit and turned towards her.

‘Yes, it’s a snowplough. Followed by half of Spain by the look of it and, yes, I think it’s really nice being with you, too.

’ He hesitated. ‘More than nice. I really can’t think of anybody I would rather be with here, now.

Honestly, I can’t…’ He would have said more, but he still didn’t have the confidence.

She sensed that he was finding it difficult to talk so she made no comment and they sat in silence, listening to the music.

At last, the stream of lights coming up the hill ended. Luke nosed the car back out onto the road and into the clear swathe cut by the plough. He accelerated up to a decent speed and delicately tried the brakes. The car slowed obediently, and he gave a sigh of relief.

‘So what about our story, then?’ Amy turned towards him, determined to cheer him up.

In fact, Luke was feeling more relaxed now, pleased that the snow was on the decrease.

Their invented story was a welcome break from the seriousness of his own personal past and his spirits rose.

‘The authorities are on their heels and they’ve come perilously close.

They have to get out of Santa Cristina before daybreak, or they’ll be captured.

But, hang on a minute, why am I talking in the plural?

Why them and not just him ? Surely he’s on his own…

isn’t he?’ He hesitated and she leapt in.

‘He met somebody at Santa Cristina. Somebody he was expecting to meet. But who? Was it something to do with his mission, whatever it was that he had to do?’ Her voice was insistent.

‘His mission…’ He thought hard. ‘We’re talking about the months immediately following the final suppression of the Templars in France.

The other countries took their time about imposing any sanctions upon the Templars.

Maybe he had no special mission other than that of getting out of the clutches of the king’s men.

Maybe he was just trying to escape with his life. ’

‘Not him.’ Her voice was scornful. ‘This is a man who fought his way through the Holy Land and saw hundreds of his companions die around him. He’s after more than just a way of escape.

He had to go to Santa Cristina to get something and he ends up with a travelling companion. But who?’ She was thinking hard.

His reply came automatically, without his having to think about it.

‘His travelling companion is without doubt an intelligent, beautiful, self-opinionated girl who also happens to be blind. Of that I have no doubt.’ He edged the car back across into the deep snow as the lights of another vehicle came slowly uphill towards them and then past.

‘Did you say beautiful?’ Her tone was light, but she didn’t fool him.

‘Definitely beautiful.’ He answered mischievously, feeling more relaxed in her presence now.

‘In fact she had long golden hair and the lightest blue eyes. But remember that I did say she was self-opinionated. That’s a polite way of saying that she could be a bit difficult when she wanted.

’ A car came up the road towards them and he concentrated on cutting gently back through the thick snow to let it pass before returning to the cleared track on the other side of the road.

‘And what’s his relationship with her?’ She beat time to the music with her fingers, while he tried to find a way out of the hole he had just dug for himself. It came to him in a flash, just as a sign appeared announcing that Jaca was now only twenty kilometres ahead.

‘Who knows? Maybe she’s the wife of a friend of his who’s been marooned at the abbey since before the winter, and he’s helping her get away.’

It sounded a diplomatic way out. She was silent for a while before asking: ‘What happened to the friend, then? Where is he? In Spain or what?’

‘Goodness knows. Maybe he was killed, or captured, or maybe he’s waiting for her somewhere else in Spain.

Maybe our man’s taking her to him.’ He noted with pleasure that both sides of the road were clear down here and the thick white wall of falling snow in front was finally waning.

For the first time that evening he was able to flick the headlights onto full beam without dazzling himself. ‘Not long to go now.’

‘I’ve got an idea.’ Amy was concentrating on the story more than he was. ‘Maybe she’ll lead him to someone who has secret information for him. But isn’t it going to be tricky for one man to lead a blind woman all the way to Compostela?’

‘You’re telling me!’

He managed to avoid the first punch, but the second caught him on the shoulder.