Bitter Memories

Through her sister she established that Señora Guerra was very pleased to welcome her into their-house and she was to treat it as her home and come and go as she pleased and not to worry about disturbing them.

Tanya was grateful her sister spoke the language—it had actually been a prerequisite of her job at the hotel. In fact Charlene spoke several languages. Tanya, on the other hand, spoke no more than schoolgirl French.

‘She’s a wonderful lady,’ Charlene told her. ‘Señor Guerra died a few years ago, but she has coped admirably. Maribel is her only child left at home. She has three sons, but they are all married now, though they frequently visit. She’s delighted about it. The house almost bursts at the seams when they all come.’

‘I hope I won’t be in the way,’ said Tanya worriedly.

‘Of course not. It was Señora Guerra’s idea that you stay here.’ She turned and said something to the older woman, who instantly smiled, speaking rapidly, gesturing eloquently, reassuring Tanya that she was not putting them out in the least.

The room they were in amazed Tanya. It was like going back a hundred years; it was like photographs she had seen of days gone by. The furniture looked like oak, big and solid, and the dresser packed with plates and cups and saucers. There was a settee and rocking-chairs with hand-embroidered cushions, pieces of pottery, photographs and pictures on the walls and more plants standing in big pots on the tiled floor or hanging from the ceiling. Every inch of space was used. It was cluttered but beautiful, and Tanya loved it.

She suddenly realised that her host was watching her, and she gave an apologetic smile. ‘I was admiring your house. It’s lovely.’

Charlene translated and the woman beamed, and then Tanya was taken to her room, which was next to Charlene’s. Again, heavy oak furniture was dominant. The walls were painted a simple white, only the patch-work bedcover providing a bright splash of colour.

The first thing she did was open the windows and push back the shutters, allowing the bright sunlight to flood the room. The jagged outline of the mountains was up above them, the earlier mist having completely disappeared, the sky a clear, intense blue. Tanya was anxious to explore—so long as she did not bump into Alejandro! The thought of him being somewhere out there still festered in the back of her mind.

Her sister helped her unpack, and by the time she had freshened up and changed into a cotton sundress Señora Guerra had lunch waiting. A white cloth had been spread on the table in the living-room, and as soon as Tanya sat down her meal was set in front of her—white fish, potatoes cooked in their skins, carrots and peas.

‘Bacalao,’ confirmed Charlene with a smile, ‘or codfish to you and me, and these——’ indicating the potatoes, ‘—are papas arrugadas, which, translated literally, means wrinkled potatoes. They’re cooked in very salty water and allowed to boil dry, leaving a salty coating on their skins. The Canarians always cook them this way. I love them.’

Tanya’s verdict later was one of approval too. It was a simple meal, yet filling and tasty, and when she was offered fresh fruit for dessert she had to refuse. They drank wine also, a sweet, local wine that was not really to Tanya’s taste, though she was too polite to say so. Señora Guerra was a marvellous hostess, even with the language barrier, her actions and expressions when she was trying to get something across making Tanya laugh wholeheartedly.

After lunch Charlene took her for a short drive; once back she met Señora Guerra’s daughter, ate another excellent meal—thinking she would be as fat as a pig when she went home if she went on like this—and now she lay in bed, her head sunk into a soft, sweet-smelling pillow. One way and another it had been quite a day, and she was desperately tired, yet thoughts of Alejandro kept her wide awake.

He had duped her all right. She had never dreamt that he was using her, that it was an affair he was after, a passionate fling before he went back to Tenerife to marry his childhood sweetheart. What a gullible fool she had been. He had even talked about bringing her here, had spoken of the pleasure he would get in showing her his beloved country—and she had believed him! What a silver-tongued swine he was. All the anger she had felt nine years ago came back with a vengeance, boiling, enraging, making her wish desperately and deeply that she had not let Charlene persuade her to come.

And why should he want to talk to her? What was there to say? Nothing! Not a thing. He had hurt her feelings immeasurably; she had given him all of her love, and for what? He was the last person she wanted to talk to now, and she hoped and prayed that she would never see him again.

Inevitably her thoughts went back to their first meeting. She had been eighteen at the time, and they had met at a friend’s wedding. He had been working as a waiter in the hotel restaurant in which the reception was held, and there had been an instant mutual attraction. They had not spoken, Alejandro refusing to put his job in jeopardy by chatting to one of the guests, but the suggestion had been there in his eyes that he would like to see her again.

How he had found out where she worked Tanya did not know, but two days later he had been waiting outside the office block when she finished at five. For a few seconds all she could do was stare in amazement.

‘Do forgive me,’ he said, in heavily accented English, ‘but I wanted to see you.’ His teeth were white and even, his smile cautious.

‘How did you know where to find me?’ Her heart began to hammer and her blue eyes were wide as she looked at him. He was dressed in jeans and a black leather jacket with a roll-collared blue sweater beneath. He was fantastically handsome and a whole head taller than herself, which made him over six feet. He was a few years older as well, and she found him tremendously exciting.

‘I have seen you many times as I live not far away from here, but I did not have the courage to speak,’ he told her honestly. ‘Then at the wedding I knew I had to make the effort. I hope you are not offended.’

Tanya shook her head, completely mesmerised by this fascinating stranger. She could not quite make up her mind from which part of the world he came—Spain or Italy, perhaps, judging by his colouring.

He held out his hand. ‘My name is Alejandro Vazquez Herrera, and I believe you are Tanya? A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.’

‘Tanya Elliott,’ she confirmed, putting her slim hand into his, liking the feel of his firm handshake. ‘How did you know?’

‘By keeping my ears open at the wedding reception,’ he confessed with an engaging smile. ‘May I take you for a drink?’

‘Perhaps a coffee?’ she murmured. She felt a sudden shyness which was alien to her, and put it down to the fact that he wasn’t English. He was really quite the most exciting person she had met in a long time.

She walked along at his side, aware of the curious glances of her colleagues. There would be plenty of questions tomorrow. ‘Are you living in England permanently?’ she ventured after they had walked a few yards in silence.

‘No,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I am here to study English. I am taking classes and doing a job at the same time to help pay for both them and my accommodation.’

‘Your English sounds very good to me,’ she said, hiding her disappointment that he would one day return to his home country.

‘It has improved,’ he agreed, lifting his shoulders in a modest gesture. ‘I have been here twelve months now. I have enjoyed it very much.’

‘How much longer do you plan to stay?’ She waited with bated breath for his answer. It would be just her luck if he was planning to go home very shortly.

‘I am in no hurry,’ he told her.

Tanya’s face broke into an involuntary smile of relief. ‘Where do you come from?’

’The Canary Islands—Tenerife, to be exact. Have you ever been there?’

Tanya shook her head.

‘Then you must; they are beautiful. Politically we belong to Spain, but we prefer to think of ourselves as independent.’

Tanya showed her ignorance. ‘I’m not even sure where they are.’

He gave a slow, tolerant smile. ‘In the Atlantic Ocean, just off the coast of Africa. The climate is superb. Ask a Canarian what the islands are unique for, and he will say the weather. It is our blessing. It encourages tourism and prospers our economy.’

‘So what do you think of England?’

A grimace took the place of his smile. ‘What do I think? I am used to it now, but it was so cold when I first came. I wondered how you put up with it. Now I think England is beautiful—not so much as Tenerife, of course, but…’ He broke off and laughed. ‘I am joking. Your country is—how do you say it?—on a par. Each has its own—advantages. Is that right?’

Tanya nodded, laughing also. He was being very diplomatic.

‘Shall we take our coffee here?’ He halted outside a tearoom which had a good reputation and was not very busy at this time of day.

Afterwards Tanya had no idea what they talked about. She remembered him saying that his mother was no longer alive, that he had several brothers and sisters, all younger than himself, but apart from that she recalled nothing. She knew only that she had had a wonderful time and that Alejandro was no longer a stranger but a warm, humorous man who had kept her amused and happy and wormed his way just a little into her heart—even in that short space of time.

She could not sleep that night for thinking about him, and could not wait for their next date. He had only one evening free a week, he told her ruefully, but this week he had all day Sunday off and he would very much like to see her then.

Tanya lived in a small bed-sitter on the top floor of a converted Victorian house on the outskirts of Birmingham, found for her by the local council when she became of age and no longer qualified for foster care. Charlene had wanted her to move in to her much bigger and comfortable apartment, but Tanya craved her independence. She wanted to lead her own life.

In the weeks that followed Tanya saw as much of Alejandro as was possible, given that he worked unsociable hours and still took English lessons in his spare time. It was a passionate, intense affair, both feeling as though they had known each other forever, hating the hours they were forced to spend apart, never able to get enough of each other.

When her sister met him she was equally impressed. ‘Lucky you,’ she said, ‘but be careful. Don’t forget he’ll be going home one day.’

‘Yes, but he’ll take me with him,’ said Tanya confidently. ‘He’s already spoken about it.’

Charlene looked sceptical. ‘Isn’t that what they all say? I’ve lived longer than you, Tan; I know what men are like.’

But Tanya would listen to nothing detrimental about her beloved Alejandro, and for three months the affair raged. She grew more and more confident in her love for him, never actually declaring her feelings—and nor did he—but they both knew that it was there, and as far as Tanya was concerned she was happier than she had ever been in her life.

He showed his love in a dozen different ways; in his caring attitude, in the intense physical pleasure of their lovemaking, in the little gifts he bought her—nothing expensive—a single rose, chocolates, a glossy magazine, bath oils. None cost more than a pound or two, and yet they meant as much to Tanya as if he had bought her diamonds or gold.