Free Tapestry of Fear by Margaret Pemberton Page B

against the wall. I dropped the blouse onto the bed, padding into the adjoining bathroom. Slowly I turned the taps, dropping my skirt and underclothes to the floor, the smell, the taste of Jose, lingering around me.
    Then I froze, staring blindly at the gushing water, my whole body ice-cold.
    â€œOh God,” I whispered weakly, fumbling for the taps, halting the rush of water, staring unseeingly down into the quivering depths. Then I stumbled back into the bedroom and sat down heavily on the bed. In front of me, specks of dust fluttered in the bars of slanting light that seeped through the closed shutters. The doves were back, cooing and fluttering. The faint whinny of a horse was carried lightly in the still air. The joy and perfection, the exultant happiness had been knifed, murdered to death by someone I had not given a thought to over the last twenty-four hours. Someone I had forgotten entirely. Who could take away from me all the brightness and brilliance that I had believed to be mine. There was, quite simply, Jose’s fiance. There was Carmen. It was Carmen he loved. Carmen he was going to marry.
    My head ached as I tried to think clearly. I stared unseeingly at my naked reflection in the shadowed mirror. What was it Miss Daventry had said on that first, fateful morning? I had asked her if any local men had been on board the boat trying to make for the safety of Miguelou’s harbour and she had said: “Four. Among them Luis and Jose Villada. Jose is Carmen’s fiance.”
    If the tears pricked my eyes before they fell I didn’t feel them. Happiness had filled me, surrounding me like intoxicating music. For a brief fragment of time I had believed myself at the gates of paradise. Now the nectar and ambrosia, the musk and civet, had turned sour. I saw it for what it had been. For the past three days we had faced death together three times. His kiss had been the culmination, the natural reaction of a man with Jose’s nature. It had been a kiss … only that. Not love. Simply a kiss, given lightly and no doubt expecting to be taken lightly.
    Unless … hope flickered, struggling for life. Unless in these past three days he had fallen in love with me. Was prepared to relinquish Carmen? And if so, then surely he would tell me. Put his feelings into words. Leave me in no doubt of his love for me. And if he didn’t? a small voice asked.
    Then if he didn’t, my joy was killed. I could see only a future without love, or at least the love I wanted. I sat bleakly, wondering how such a craving could be overcome, wondering how I should ever be able to get used to living without him.
    Numbly I resumed filling up the bath. I lay there, the hot water doing little to comfort my turmoiled emotions but easing my aching body. There were more skirts and blouses hanging over a chair and as I slipped my arms into a freshly laundered blouse, I wondered cynically if they were, in fact, Carmen’s.
    Cries of greeting and hurrying feet reverberated through the rooms. I stopped, hand in mid-air, straining to catch the sound of the visitor’s voice. If it was Carmen’s.…
    A door closed and silence fell. I ran quickly along the corridor and down the wide sweep of stairs. I had to be put out of my misery quickly. I had to know who the visitor was. I headed straight for the room from which muffled voices could be heard and with only a brief knock, and without waiting to be asked to enter, opened the door. My sigh of relief must have been audible. The visitor was Javier. His jeans were frayed and caked with dirt, his tee-shirt splitting wide at the shoulder, his plimsolls were scruffed and his hands and face looked as if they hadn’t seen water for a week. He was the nicest, dearest sight in all the world. He flung his arms wide, swinging me round.
    â€œYou look wonderful! I shall hold you to your promise when we reach Bayonne. Think how those peasants will stare! The French think only they