Page 2 of Under a Spanish Sky

‘It’s sort of nineteenth-century mock-chateau style, with mansard windows peeping out of the steeply sloping slate roof.

The deep green shutters at each window give a geometric precision.

It could almost be Tyrolean, but still definitely French though, if you can imagine what I mean.

It’s the shutters in particular that give it away.

But it’s unusually tidy and clean-looking.

’ As he was all too aware, his verbal description of her surroundings had to be as accurate and evocative as he could manage.

They went into the small hall and were greeted with a courteous, ‘Bonsoir monsieur dame,’ by the lady behind the counter. They returned the greeting and walked on down the corridor towards the door marked ‘Restaurant’. As they walked, she guessed.

‘Late fifties, maybe early sixties, twin set, pearls, gold-rimmed glasses on a string and a Pekinese at her side?’ She enjoyed this game and they had played it quite a bit on the way down through France. She gave his arm a squeeze. ‘Well, was I right? Tell me what she’s really like.’

‘You got the age right and, miraculously, the glasses on a chain, but she’s wearing jeans like yours and if there’s a Pekinese, he’s inside the Pyrenean mountain dog.’ His hand was already on the restaurant door, but she stopped dead.

‘Did you say a Pyrenean mountain dog? Where? I love those big fluffy giants.’

‘See if you can find him.’ The dog was stretched out on his side at the far end of the hall, just behind the door, and he enjoyed teasing her.

Amy turned back in that direction, pricked up her ears and set off confidently, straight down towards the sleeping dog.

As she approached, the heavy white tail began to whack lazily on the ground.

She followed the sound and then bent down to make a fuss of the big animal.

The rhythm of the wagging increased and she was rewarded with a very slobbery lick.

As Luke slowly walked back down the hall towards her, he watched her stroke the thick, curly coat.

At the same time he saw her feeling the length of the dog’s back, ears, tail and legs, as well as gently running her hand over the outline of the head and face.

This was her way of seeing things. He never ceased to be amazed at how accurately she could formulate a clear idea of an object just by touch.

The effort of wagging its tail clearly tired the dog to the extent that it let its head fall back onto the floor with a thud and a deep sigh.

Mission accomplished, Amy stood up and turned to take Luke’s arm again.

The lady behind the desk smiled as they went back down the corridor and Luke hesitated as they reached the restaurant door.

‘There’s a door here with Dames on it, if you want to wash the dog off your hands.’

‘Probably a very good idea.’ Leaving him in the corridor, she slipped through the door. While he waited, he peered into the restaurant.

The room boasted no more than about ten tables and only three of these were occupied.

The wooden floor was spotlessly clean, the walls and ceiling freshly painted.

A bunch of wild flowers in a little pot stood on every table and the scent of violets was in the air.

Along with this were good kitchen smells that reminded him just how hungry he was.

When Amy reappeared, they were guided to a table by a girl who looked fourteen, and surely wasn’t a day over sixteen.

They chatted for a few minutes until the waitress arrived to take their order.

The menu was verbal and they both listened carefully to get the various choices.

Although his French was more fluent than hers, she did quite well and had a pretty broad vocabulary.

They both chose salad with goat’s cheese as a starter and confit de canard for the main course.

When the girl returned with the bread and a carafe of water, he started to give a thumbnail sketch of the occupants of the other tables, just as he had been doing every night since starting from Dover over two weeks ago.

‘On the far side there’s an old couple. They look as if they’re in their eighties, if not more.

Her face is so gaunt you can see the outline of every bone.

He’s drinking water and she’s drinking red wine.

Next to them there are two ladies. One about ninety; red-faced and stout.

She doesn’t seem to be touching the food on her plate.

Her companion’s probably about twenty years younger.

Could even be her daughter. Unnatural-looking red hair and she’s eating everything in sight. ’

‘So that makes us relative youngsters.’ Amy was just thirty and he had told her he was thirty-six.

‘That’s right, but don’t get too complacent. Our waitress is about half my age, maybe even half yours.’

The salad and the paté arrived, along with a bottle of dark red wine.

Luke filled their glasses and they both tried it, pronouncing it good.

Then she set the glass down and he noticed yet again how organised she was.

Whenever they ate, she always kept a space clear just to the right of her plate for her glass.

If she had more than one glass in use, the larger one would always be on the outside so she knew automatically which was where.

She was the same with everything. Blind people can’t allow themselves the luxury of disorder.

Being with her had even made him a bit tidier.

He gave her a brief tour of her plate of salad. ‘Looks lovely. Four slices of toasted cheese on bits of bread. About three or four different types of lettuce as far as I can see; some sort of dandelion leaf shaped, some red and some frizzy green stuff.’

Amy raised her head towards him. ‘A voyage of discovery.’ She smiled to herself and remembered what she had told Judie.

Describing food really wasn’t his strong suit.

Sensing his incomprehension, she elaborated.

‘A simple plate of salad turns into a plunge into the unknown with you as my guide. “Frizzy green stuff” doesn’t often appear on menus. ’

He adopted what he thought was an apologetic tone, but she sensed that he was smiling and she smiled back as she listened to what he had to say.

‘Yes, I’m afraid you could have chosen a better guide, at least as far as descriptions of food are concerned.

And it’s not just salads, is it? I’m not that great at names of cheeses either.

You just can’t find the staff these days, can you? ’

‘Still, you do have redeeming features. Considering I’ve got my very own medieval specialist driving me around, I can’t really complain.

’ His PhD had been on the main pilgrimages of the Middle Ages and the Compostela pilgrimage had been of special interest to him.

She lapsed into a reflective silence for a few minutes, concentrating on her salad.

‘So remind me how many times you’ve done the pilgrimage to Compostela? ’

‘This’ll be my third. Although, to my shame, I’ve only walked about half of it.

’ She was only partway through her salad while he had almost finished his plate by now but, he told himself, they had only had a sandwich for lunch.

He picked up the last slice of baguette and toasted cheese and forced himself to nibble it slowly as he watched her formulate an answer.

As he did so, he couldn’t miss the way her lovely jumper so perfectly matched her eyes in that perfect face.

Yet again he reflected how bitterly ironic it was that such a beautiful girl should have lost the power of sight.

‘I wish I could walk it.’ There was a plaintive note to her voice that was quite unlike her. By now, he had got used to the way she resolutely did her best not to let her handicap get in the way of doing things. He swallowed the bread and took a mouthful of wine to wash it down.

‘I don’t see why you couldn’t. I tell you what, as long as it doesn’t snow too much tomorrow, let’s try walking a stretch of it.’

She nodded as she chewed a mouthful of salad. ‘That would be great. So, for people on foot, how long would it take to get from here to Compostela?’

Luke did a quick calculation. ‘I suppose a bit over a month, depending upon how far and how fast you walk. I think the average is twenty to thirty kilometres a day.’

‘What’s that in old money? Fifteen miles a day?’

‘Bit more, bit less. It also depends on the terrain. Tomorrow we’re going to climb to over fifteen hundred metres.

In our big comfortable car, that’ll be easy, but just imagine doing it on foot.

And, remember, back in the Middle Ages, there would have been all sorts of other obstacles, like bandits for example. ’

A few minutes later, the waitress came to remove their empty plates.

As she carried them off, Luke glanced across at Amy again.

He still felt uncomfortable doing so, when he knew she couldn’t see him in return, but he was gradually getting used to it.

They had been on the road now for two weeks, zig-zagging their way down through France, en route to Spain, and he was getting very familiar with her and her mannerisms. Now, it didn’t need the slight furrowing of her brow for him to know that she was thinking hard.

She paused for a moment, took a mouthful of wine and then, clearly, made her mind up.

‘Luke, I’ve been thinking, and I wonder if we could do something.

’ She sounded unusually hesitant, which was not her normal way. He hastened to help her.

‘Whatever you like.’

‘All right, then, I’ve got a suggestion for you. Tell me, are you any good at telling stories?’

‘Erm, you’ve lost me there. Stories?’ He picked up the bottle and topped up their glasses. She murmured a quiet thank you and then carried on.

‘As a child, did you and your brothers tell each other stories? My sister and I used to do it all the time.’