Page 31 of Under a Spanish Sky

The drive down from the monastery to the floor of the main valley involved hairpin after hairpin and it was approaching noon by the time the road levelled out.

The April sun was already hot enough for Luke to feel grateful for the cold air from the air-conditioning unit blowing in his face.

High summer here would be very, very hot.

‘So is it all downhill from here?’ Amy reached for her bottle of water and took a mouthful. ‘I’m not sure my stomach can cope with any more bends for a while!’

‘You and me both. As for downhill, I suppose it’ll be pretty much gently downhill now for a day or two.

But then it all gets hilly again as we start going west, into the Rioja region and on through the Montes de León.

’ He spotted a filling station ahead and pulled over.

‘Not the most modern-looking petrol station. Mind you, at least there’s little shop next door.

I’ll see if I can get us something for lunch. ’

‘Remember, no beer.’ She was enjoying her role as medical supervisor.

‘Yes, Doctor.’

The attendant came to serve them and Luke jumped out into the surprisingly warm noonday sun to ask him to fill the tank.

It was probably ten degrees warmer down here than up by the monastery.

While the Range Rover was being filled up, Luke bought a chorizo sausage, some Manchego cheese and two enormous bread rolls from the shop.

He used a sponge in a bucket to clean the windscreen, the lights and the number plates.

The rest of the car remained a muddy brown colour after their days on the snowy roads of the mountains. He paid for the fuel and rejoined her.

‘I think I’ll run us through the next car wash we come to.’ A glance around the bare hillsides in all directions prompted him to add, ‘Though it might be a while before we find one of them.’

‘Pretty remote up here?’

‘A few sheep, the odd crumbling barn and that’s about it. Probably not substantially different from what it looked like in the Middle Ages.’

The valley was wide and the valley floor sloped down so gently it appeared almost flat.

As for traffic, there was little or nothing on the road.

Luke could easily have put his foot down and sped along.

As it was, he chose to take his time, savouring the clear blue sky and the warm sunshine and trying to be as graphic as possible in his description to her of their surroundings.

Amy listened with interest as he described the spectacular snow-capped chain of the Pyrenees behind them.

‘It’s like a great white-topped wall. It’s exceptionally clear today, after the recent snow.

You can see for miles in all directions.

’ He did his best to convey the sense of sweeping vastness that Spain always aroused in him.

The dusty fields without hedges to divide them stretched out as far as the eye could see.

Amy enjoyed listening to his voice and, in spite of her resolve, found herself wondering what she would feel, and what she would do, when this wonderful journey finally finished.

Back to the huge, elegant, but empty house in London?

Somewhere else? She still had the house in the Alps, although she knew she would need all her strength before she could go back there to confront the ghosts and the memories.

Maybe if Luke came with her. There, she had said it.

She wanted his support. There could be no doubt in her mind how close she was getting to him.

How, she wondered, did he feel about her?

They arrived in Sangüesa at six o’clock that evening. It had been a fascinating, if tiring, day. On their way down the valley from the mountains onto the plains they had visited everything worth seeing – and for two people with a special interest in medieval history, that had meant an awful lot.

When they finally got there, Luke booked two rooms at the Hostal Santiago.

Unsurprisingly, almost every town along the Pilgrims’ Way had a Hotel Santiago or a Hotel Compostela.

This one was very simple, but it was clean and the man on the reception desk very friendly.

And it was slap bang in the medieval centre of this historic town.

Luke accompanied Amy to her room and gave her the usual tour.

‘Not the height of luxury, but quite comfortable. And definitely a lot more comfortable than the pilgrims’ hospice where our man would have stayed.’

‘You mean I don’t need to sleep on the floor and share a hole in the ground as a toilet with a couple of hundred people?’ She was smiling at him.

‘Not unless you want to.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘What do you feel like doing?’

‘I’m determined to wash some underwear before I run out completely. Give me an hour or so.’

‘I’ll go and take a look round town. I’ll come back for you at, say, eight-thirty.’

Outside the hotel Luke turned right and walked down the long, narrow Rúa Mayor until he reached the crossroads at the end by the river.

There, dominating the scene, was the Collegiate Church of Santa Maria la Real, its sandstone walls glowing in the rosy light of the setting sun.

After pausing to stare in silent appreciation at the wonderful medieval figures carved around the portal, he entered the church.

The church was empty, silent except for the cooing of doves high up on or, more probably, in the roof.

The altar was a simple affair surmounted by a delicate statue of Our Lady of Rocamadour, showing the close links all these different stages on the Pilgrims’ Way had with the lands north of the Pyrenees.

He had told Amy he wasn’t religious and he wasn’t.

He found it impossible to study the crimes committed by the medieval church, let alone the atrocities still being committed by Man all over the world today, and still retain a belief in a kind, merciful god.

But he did appreciate the atmosphere of peace and tranquillity to be found in many churches, and this one was no exception.

He sat down on a pew in silent contemplation for many minutes, thinking back on all his troubles, his depression and despair.

These past few weeks with Amy had been the brightest point in his recent past and he knew he was growing ever closer to her, whether or not he should be.

Her presence had cheered him and helped him, and his life would never be the same again as a result.

Maybe, just maybe, he was finally on the way out of the abyss in which he had been stuck for so long.

After quite some time alone with his thoughts, he stood up.

There was something he had to do. He turned and made his way out of the church.

Outside, the sky was still and clear, the sun just dipping below the horizon. Luke sat down on a stone bench in the main square, pulled out his phone and dialled. Father Tim answered straight away.

‘Hi, Luke, great to hear from you. Where are you and how’s everything going?’

‘Hi, Tim. We’re in Sangüesa, not far from Pamplona, and I’ve got a bone to pick with you.’ His tone belied his words.

‘With me? What’ve I done?’

‘You know full well. When you put me and Amy together, it wasn’t just so we could talk about history, was it?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Father Tim wasn’t a very good liar. ‘So, does this mean you two are getting on well together?’ His tone betrayed more than casual interest.

Luke told him the truth. ‘We’re getting on very well together, just like you knew we would. She’s a lovely, bright girl and I feel I’m getting closer and closer to her. And it’s all your fault.’

‘I’m delighted to hear it.’ Tim sounded delighted for them. ‘So where do you go from here?’ Luke knew he wasn’t talking about their route, but he chose to interpret it as that.

‘We start going west now, through Burgos and León towards Santiago. Depending on what stops we make, I reckon we should be there in a couple of weeks.’

‘And what then, Luke?’

‘That’s what I’m trying to work out.’

Luke went on to tell Tim that he was feeling better than he had in years and the reason for this was, without question, his proximity to Amy.

They chatted for some minutes and when the call ended, Luke definitely felt brighter, more cheerful and reassured.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket and stood up.

All around, people were finishing their day’s work. The bars were already starting to fill, as men and women met to talk over the day and relax. He thought about stopping off for a beer, but a glance at his watch made him realise that he had left Amy alone long enough. He headed back to the hotel.

He knocked a couple of times, but she wasn’t in her room. Coming back down the stairs, he met the proprietor.

‘Senor Patterson, I have a message for you.’ The man smiled broadly and pointed back up the road. ‘Your friend thought you might be in one of the bars, so my daughter is walking with her down the Rúa Mayor to look for you.’

He was a kindly looking man fighting, in common with so many restaurateurs, against the steady and inevitable expansion of his waistline. He proudly sported a moustache worthy of a Mexican bandit. He proceeded to curl it up almost to his eyebrows as he gave Luke a conspiratorial grin.

‘My wife is also often checking up on me too. It is their way.’ This observation was accompanied by an expansive wave of the hand that conjured up generations of wives checking on their husbands, and the husbands in turn telling other men, who would in their turn be checked up on by their wives, and so on throughout an eternal cycle.

‘She’s not my wife.’ Before he could stop himself, Luke added, ‘Yet.’

‘But she will be.’ The hotelier was quite sure of his prediction. ‘And she is already starting to check up on you now.’ He chuckled and spread his arms wide once more. ‘It is their way.’ With a bow he returned to his kitchen, leaving Luke still stunned that he had chosen to use the word yet .