Summer Comes to Albarosa Read online

  SUMMER COMES TO ALBAROSA

  Iris Danbury

  Caran decided she was going to enjoy her summer job in Spain—especially once she had met the romantic, and very attentive, Don Ramiro Mendosa.

  But she could well have done without that maddening Englishman, Brooke Eldridge!

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘You fly to Madrid, then change planes there for Granada. The rest you can do by car.’

  It had all sounded so simple this morning when Caran left Heathrow, but now, coming in to land at Granada in the twilight of a mid-October afternoon, with only the rose-flushed tins of the Sierra Nevada outlined against the darkening sky, the prospect of that further journey to Albarosa daunted her.

  After snatching a quick meal at the airport there was the difficulty of finding a car-driver to take her. She decided to stay the night in Granada and continue next day.

  She approached one of the airport officials. ‘Could you recommend a small hotel for one night?’

  ‘Certainly, senorita.’ He consulted a reference book and wrote down addresses on a slip of paper. Then as she thanked him, another official told her that he had found someone who was driving in her direction and would take her the rest of the way to Albarosa.

  Outside the airport buildings a tall man stood by the car door and in the dimmed lights she caught no more than a glimpse of a lean, serious face and dark eyes.

  She asked the price for the journey—’Always find our first what it costs,’ she had been advised before she left England.

  ‘I am driving to Almeria for my own purposes anyway. We can discuss the extra charge later.’ She guessed by his voice that he was Spanish although he spoke excellent English.

  When he saw that she still hesitated, he assured her, ‘I will not overcharge you, senorita.’

  She checked her luggage, then settled herself in the car. On the darkened road, punctuated only by occasional flashing headlights from other cars or lorries, she had time to dwell on the extraordinary circumstances that had brought her rushing along the twisting roads of Andalucia, not even for a summer holiday, but in the middle of winter. More than that, in the company of a strange man whom she had not seen clearly and whose name she did not know. She had been looking for adventure, and now perhaps it was speeding towards her more rapidly than she had bargained for.

  Caran Ingram had suddenly become tired of her humdrum secretarial job in the large insurance company. ‘You’re nothing but a number,’ she complained to her flat-mate, Julie. ‘If I’m not careful I shall become part of the furniture—fourth desk along the right, next to the filing cupboard.’

  ‘Strike out into something new,’ advised Julie, who struck out frequently and sometimes disastrously. ‘It’s fatal to be landed in a rut.’

  The employment bureaux offered Caran a wide selection of posts, but few appealed to her. She was dubious about exchanging the frying pan for the fire.

  ‘What d’you want, then?’ demanded Julie one morning. ‘To be secretary to a princess or a world-famous author?’

  ‘I’m not sure that I want to go on being a secretary to anyone,’ murmured Caran.

  ‘You can’t do anything else,’ was Julie’s blunt comment. After a second cup of coffee, she handed over the morning paper to Caran. ‘Look down the ads. There are several interesting ones if they appeal to you. Can’t stop. I must fly.’ Caran examined the advertisements. One in Switzerland, definitely secretarial, but another merely asked for a sensible young woman to manage five villas in Spain, and added a telephone number.

  Caran’s interview with Mrs. Parmenter, the owner of the villas, went well.

  ‘If you’re interested, I think you’d suit admirably,’ this middle-aged woman told her. ‘I’ve had such trouble and bad luck with the two previous firms of agents that were supposed to look after the villas, so I’ve decided to employ someone to live on the spot.’

  After a long discussion about her duties and responsibilities as a kind of manager-housekeeper, Caran was convinced that the job was attractive and just what she was looking for. She had assured Mrs. Parmenter that she was entirely domesticated, having been trained by her mother. She had the extra advantage in that she had been learning Spanish at evening classes and could cope with the language even if she lacked fluency.

  She would have impulsively accepted the post on the spot, but Mrs. Parmenter suggested a few days to think it over, perhaps consult her parents.

  Julie was less than enthusiastic. ‘Spain?’ she echoed. ‘Thar means I’ll have to get someone else to share the flat. Oh, why did you let your job bore you? All you needed was a new man to rake you out.’

  Caran laughed at that. Every time she acquired a new man acquaintance, Julie lost no time in annexing him. Her mind was made up now for the new job, never mind the new man.

  She gave her notice to the insurance company, then paid a brief visit to her parents in Gloucestershire to reassure them about taking a job in a foreign country. Back to London to collect her necessary belongings and receive final instructions from her new employer.

  This morning when she had come to Heathrow to see Caran off, Mrs. Parmenter had been accompanied by her nephew, Paul, an attractive young man who said how much he envied Caran going to southern Spain at this time of year.

  ‘Lucky you, to be escaping the English winter, hut I shall be coming to Albarosa fairly soon and I shall insist that you take some time off so that I can show you some of Andalucia.’

  He cast a provocative glance at his aunt, but there was no more time for conversation. Caran saw him later at the waving base as the plane slid along the runway. Julie had announced her intention of seeing Caran oft, but changed her mind at the last minute as she had a lunch-date with a new man friend.

  Now Caran was being driven at frightening speed by a man who seemed to pay more attention to his cigar-smoking than to his driving. A cluster of lights appeared in the distance and he slowed down a little. ‘Are you hungry?’ he asked politely. ‘We could have something at the next town.’

  Uncertain of how long it would take to arrive at Albarosa and, again, what she might find there, Caran decided to eat when the opportunity offered. ‘I had very little at the airport,’ she answered, ‘so I’d like to stop wherever it’s convenient.’

  She noticed, though, that he included himself in whatever meal they might share. What was she to do now without causing this polite Spaniard embarrassment? Perhaps she could ask him to pay the bill for her and add the amount to the total fare.

  When they alighted in a small square and he conducted her to a restaurant she had a clearer view of her companion. Tall and slim she had imagined him to be, but she had not noticed the proud Latin nose, the high cheekbones and hard jawline. His black hair matched his strongly marked eyebrows.

  Here was no ordinary taxi-driver, and for a second or two she hesitated, but he took her elbow and guided her to a table, where he was amiably greeted by the proprietor. So evidently he was known here, unless this welcome was merely the usual Spanish smiling courtesy.

  ‘Perhaps we had better introduce ourselves,’ he said, while she studied the menu, ‘My name is Ramiro Mendosa. And yours?’

  A vague uneasiness caused her to hesitate. Was it essential to exchange names with a car-driver who gave you a lift because he was going in your direction?

  She glanced up and caught the amused expression in his dark eyes.

  ‘Have I offended you or have you some reason for not wanting to be known?’

  ‘No reason at all,’ she replied crisply. She must not let him imagine that she was some kind of criminal on the run. ‘I’m Caran Ingram.’

  ‘Caran,’ he repeated softly. ‘That is an English name unknown to me.’
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  ‘It’s really Caroline Anne, but I’ve always been called Caran since I was small.’

  He surveyed her with a frankness that she found slightly embarrassing. ‘Yes, the name suits you,’ he decided at last. ‘Then you are not on holiday? Our tourists do not usually choose October.’

  She smiled at him now. Better tell him the whole story or he would certainly extract from her piece by piece. Yet she could not agree that it was any business of his. Once she arrived at her destination she was unlikely to see him again.

  Glasses of dry manzanilla were brought to the table. No doubt Don Ramiro imagined that a glass of wine would surely loosen her tongue, but over the meal of grilled prawns almost six Inches long, followed by a delicious helping of roast pork with mushrooms, Caran told her host why she was travelling in Spain at such an odd time of year.

  ‘So you are working at Albarosa?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s what I came for,’ she replied.

  ‘Albarosa.’ he murmured. Then, after a pause, ‘Do you know where these villas are?’

  ‘Only that they’re near the shore.’

  ‘But not at all near the town.’

  ‘Perhaps that doesn’t matter to me. Do you know the place well?’

  ‘I live just outside this town where we are now, Almeria, but yes, I could say that I know Albarosa quite well. It is not a holiday resort—at least not what I think the English would regard as such a place.’

  ‘Maybe that’s why people want to go there and stay in my employer’s villas, for the sake of peace and quiet. Not everyone wants to be surrounded by crowds on beaches.’

  His mouth curved in a faint smile. ‘You are already defending a place you have not yet seen.’

  ‘True,’ she admitted. ‘How much farther is it to Albarosa from here?’

  ‘About a hundred kilometres,’ he answered.

  Her eyes widened with surprise. ‘But that’s about—what?—sixty miles or so. It will be very late when we arrive.’

  He smiled. ‘Not perhaps as late as you imagine.’ He looked at his watch. ‘It is still only half-past nine.’

  A glance at her own watch confirmed that this was so, but another two hours’ travelling would land her at Albarosa not much before midnight.

  ‘Yes, I see. It seems to have been dark for so long at this time of year. I thought it was later. But I can’t let you drive me all that way.’

  His curved eyebrows rose. ‘No? Then what will you do? Try to get a taxi from here?’

  ‘It might be possible,’ she muttered lamely.

  ‘But not desirable, senorita. What makes you unwilling to trust me for the rest of the journey after you have come this far?’

  She realised that her objections might sound ungrateful to a man who had driven her a considerable distance and who was mindful that she needed a meal and then acted the charming host.

  She gave him a half-smile, partly to reassure him that she saw the sense of accepting his escort until her destination, but partly to reassure herself that there was no alternative.

  ‘Then if you do not mind the inconvenience, I shall be very grateful to continue with you,’ she said with a touch of dignity, affected a little, perhaps, by his cool composure and acceptance of the situation.

  Soon after they left the inn at Almeria, rain began to appear on the windscreen and in the headlights the road appeared like black patent leather. Don Ramiro slackened his speed slightly, for which concession she was thankful. Sitting in the front seat, she was more aware of the twists and turns of road, the occasional blinding lights from approaching vehicles.

  It seemed to Caran that the journey was taking most of the night, but at last they were climbing a steep, sinuous road and she could see a few isolated lights.

  ‘Is this Albarosa?’ she asked.

  He nodded.

  ‘I hope I can find the villas,’ she continued. ‘I’d no idea it was going to be so dark.’

  ‘Did you think they would be floodlit for your arrival?’

  The sarcastic edge to his tone made her answer sharply. ‘No, I didn’t. Nor did I expect a red carpet.’

  ‘You will not be able to reach the villas tonight, senorita,’ he told her. ‘The road out of the other side of the town ends in a rough path and tonight it will be a small river.’

  ‘But what am I to do?’ She was suddenly afraid. What had she let herself in for? In the next moment she told herself not to be stupid and babyish, believing that every unknown man in a foreign country was bent on kidnapping her. ‘Is there a small inn where I could stay?’ she asked, forcing her voice to a calm tone.

  ‘I shall take you to a friend who will look after you well for the night. In the morning, you will see everything in daylight.’

  He was now in the centre of a deserted town, even though a few lights streamed out from bars and occasionally a figure dashed across the street to take shelter from the torrential downpour. Then he stopped outside a tall house with a massive wooden door.

  ‘Wait here while I go inside and make arrangements with Senora Molina,’ he commanded, and leapt out agilely across the pavement. A small section of the door opened at his touch and he disappeared inside. In about five minutes he returned to the car.

  ‘Everything is arranged,’ he told her. ‘You will stay with my friends for the night. Take your handbag and I will attend to the rest of your luggage.’

  Even as she dashed out of the car and ran towards the door, the heavy rain attacked her and she stumbled breathlessly into what she imagined to be the house, but now she was in a wide courtyard, dimly lit, with a stairway in one corner. A plump, elderly woman came towards her.

  ‘Bienveniedo!’ she greeted Caran, holding out both hands in welcome.

  ‘I’m sorry to put you to so much trouble,’ began Caran in her careful Spanish.

  The senora waved away such apologies. ‘I am happy to do anything for Don Ramiro.’

  Caran was shepherded towards the curving stone stairway and then shown into a living room, slightly crowded with dark, solid furniture, but giving a welcome warmth to Caran who was now feeling chilled by the cold, wet evening.

  ‘First, a glass of wine, then you must eat,’ declared her hostess.

  ‘Wine, perhaps,’ agreed Caran, ‘but Don Ramiro took me to dinner in Almeria.’

  ‘But of course. He would not let you starve.’

  Don Ramiro now entered the room. ‘I have put your luggage downstairs in the patio,’ he told Caran. ‘Senora Molina, permit me to introduce to you Senorita Caran Ingram, if I have her name correct. She is from England.’ To Caran he said, ‘Senora Molina, who is your hostess for the night.’

  Caran knew that there was no point in stressing her apologies for the trouble she was giving. Better to say thank you and leave it at that.

  After the promised glass of wine and a couple of biscuits, Caran was shown to the bedroom she was to occupy.

  ‘It is always ready for my daughter,’ explained Senora Molina. ‘She is a nurse in Granada and sometimes she comes without warning.’ The woman laughed happily. ‘But then we do not want warnings when those we love come home.’

  Caran warmed to this friend of Don Ramiro. She told Senora Molina that she had come to look after the villas belonging to Senora Parmenter, but the woman looked blank.

  ‘They are near the shore and have the names of jewels, like Villa Turquesa and Villa Cristal and so on,’ explained Caran.

  ‘Oh! Yes, yes.’ The woman’s face cleared, then a slightly anxious expression crossed her plump features. She turned away hastily. ‘I will fetch a hot-water bottle for you.’

  As Senora Molina went out, Don Ramiro appeared in the doorway. ‘I brought you this bag in case you needed some of your possessions for the night.’ He held out the small overnight holdall.

  ‘Oh, thank you, Don Ramiro,’ Caran said. ‘That was thoughtful of you.’

  He bowed slightly. ‘Good night, senorita. I hope you sleep well and may I wish you great good luck in your
task, your new career.’

  When he had gone she thought he had made his good wishes sound as though she would need all the luck she could get. Was there something sinister about these villas? Or was it perhaps that they were regarded as an intrusion into an unspoilt town, one that had not yet geared itself for crowds of tourists?

  All this she would have to find out tomorrow. In the meantime she was tired and immensely grateful to Don Ramiro and his friend, Senora Molina, for this comfortable room.

  The high Spanish bed was covered with a heavy red and white quilt and the beautifully carved bedhead was of some dark wood that matched the rest of the furniture. Thick wool rugs with intricate patterns in blue, white and black covered the marble tiled floor and several flower paintings decorated the walls. A pleasant room for a daughter to return to, Caran thought as eventually she slid into a sound sleep that seemed to last no time at all, for Senora Molina had entered with codec and rolls and was already drawing back the heavy curtains.

  ‘Buenos dias,’ called the older woman. ‘The sun shines this morning after the rain,’

  When Caran was dressed and ready to leave after breakfast, she said tentatively, ‘If you will tell me how much I owe you, senora,’ but the woman waved away any further words.

  ‘Don Ramiro has settled whatever there was to settle,’ she declared hastily, ‘and of course, we are friends.’

  Caran knew better than to insist on paying for a night’s lodging. No doubt there might be other ways in the future when she could return Senora Molina’s kindness.

  ‘Don Ramiro did not stay here?’ queried Caran.

  The Spanish woman shrugged her plump shoulders and thrust out her hands in a gesture that indicated the wilfulness of men. ‘No. He could have stayed here in a comfortable bed, but no, he must drive his car back to Almera.’