Dancing in the Shadows (3 page)

‘The contrast, you mean? We are a country of sharp contrasts. Light and shade. Cruelty and kindness. We love and we quarrel in
practically
the same breath.' Triumphant recognition darted across her features. ‘I am right! I knew I was. We have met before, and I've remembered where!'

Feli's smile deepened; so did the colour in Dorcas's cheeks.

‘I see I must own up. I gate-crashed your parents' anniversary party.'

‘You were not unwelcome. On the contrary, you were most welcome to stay. Why did you run away? What did my wicked brother say to make you go in such a hurry?'

‘Nothing. I found your brother quite charming.'

The stiffness in her voice drew a perceptive: ‘Ah! Too charming, perhaps?'

‘That seems to infer he is too charming to a lot of females. But perhaps he is more charming to one than the others?' Her probing was rewarded.

‘You mean Isabel? He won't marry her. Papa won't press it for one thing, because he is too much of a romantic. It would please Mama. It would unite two old families and two family businesses. Isabel's family are also wine merchants. Carlos won't marry her for that. He has not officially asked for Isabel. He's always teased her and told her that he's waiting for her to grow up, but that's not the same, is it?'

‘Don't you want Isabel for a sister-in-law?'

‘No. How blunt that sounds. Don't
misunderstand
me, she is a dear girl, no one could wish for a sweeter friend, but I feel it in my heart that she is not right for Carlos.' Impulsively, Feli reached forward and touched Dorcas's hand. ‘Now that we've met, do not slip away. Will you spend part of your holiday with me? We have too many empty rooms, and my Jaime will be delighted to meet you. He likes me to have company.'

Dorcas felt the silken thread of fate very gently pulling her in. It would have been so easy to say yes. She genuinely liked Feli, and if she were honest with herself she didn't want to lose touch with Carlos's family. But there was something too planned about the whole thing. Something that caught like a scream in the throat. Something as frightening and forbidding as the thing we don't understand, like the storm she had lived through last night. It had drawn her and terrified her, so that while every nerve craved to huddle under the illusory safety of the bedclothes, she had squared her chin and gone out to meet it. She was not a coward.

She shook her head to clear it. This wasn't the same thing at all. And so, for the second time, she denied fate.

‘I'm sorry,' she informed Feli, smiling regretfully, ‘but I must say no to your kind offer. There is so much of Spain that I've promised myself to see that there won't be any time to squeeze in a visit to you.'

‘It
was just an idea,' Feli said wistfully. ‘You must follow the dictates of your heart.'

Dorcas thought that if she did that she would be accepting the invitation, not declining it.

The sky darkened with terrifying swiftness. It was as if some enraged power, showing its displeasure, had contemptuously flung a cloak over the earth.

Feli shivered. ‘We're going to have another storm. I hate storms.'

The baby absorbed her mood and began to whimper.

‘Now, now,' said Dorcas in brisk, jollying round tones. ‘We mustn't look on the—'

‘Dark side?' said Feli, casting her frightened eyes up at a sky that was getting blacker by the second. ‘There have been reports of tornadoes seen off the southern coastline. Weird tunnels of wind sucking up everything in sight.'

‘Now stop that,' Dorcas admonished sharply. ‘This is just a storm. Most likely it will die out as quickly as it started.'

The sky was now so black it was the colour of pitch. The rain started to fall like some terrible vengeance, ceaselessly beating and flattening the vineyards and olive groves, tormenting the deepening spread of trees and a lone farmstead that valiantly clung to the side of a hill.

The rails sliced down into a valley where there were more vineyards, and the wind
rivalled
the rain until there was little to see of the whipped, tossed, wet countryside. Thunder rolled down the mountains. A blue light, like the blue-white flash of a camera flashgun, illuminated the carriage, picking out Feli's stone-tense features and those of the whimpering child.

Aggressively cheerful, Dorcas reached into her handbag.

‘Have a mint.' Anything to snap Feli out of her frozen inertia. ‘Not you, sweetie.' Pressing a finger against Rosita's button nose. ‘Can the little one have some chocolate?'

‘What?' Feli's eyes were as blank as her voice.

‘Chocolate. Can Rosita have some? Inclined to be messy.'

‘Yes of course. I'm not one of those fussy parents,' said Feli, momentarily snapping out of it, and accepting the broken-off piece of chocolate. ‘I'm being silly, aren't I?'

Dorcas, not feeling too brave herself, was keenly sympathetic. ‘We all have our hang-ups. Look, the sky is brightening. The storm is abating, just as I said it would.' She heaved a sigh of relief. She was beginning to feel like a spent force herself.

Too much had happened in too short a time. She was as much mentally as physically cramped to the point of exhaustion. Too many things had played on her emotions. Her grandmother's death had been a cruel blow.
Her
grandmother had filled a large part of her life and she still couldn't believe that she would never see her again. Apart from losing a loved one, Dorcas had been faced with the upheaval of leaving home for the uncertainty of finding temporary accommodation and never properly unpacking her suitcase. The strain of rehearsals and the fight to keep on her dancing toes in a competitive field. All this on top of the heartache of discovering that her brother Michael had a hard, greedy side to his nature that was difficult to forgive.

Grandmother had spent as she lived, leaving only the house and its contents. At first Dorcas had been hurt that she hadn't been remembered in the will, until she reasoned it out in her mind that her grandmother had assumed that Michael would keep on the house and provide Dorcas with a home there. But Michael had sold the house and contents. Dorcas didn't want a share of the proceeds. She had her pride. But it would have comforted her to be offered something. She was not too proud to ask for a memento of her grandmother. ‘Of course,' Michael said obligingly when asked. ‘I didn't think. Take anything you want.' ‘If I may, I'll have this,' and she picked up her grandmother's well thumbed bible.

The sky was darkening again. For a moment Dorcas thought the storm was returning. Then she realized the train was travelling in the
shadow
of a range of mountains. She disliked the mountains. They blocked out the remaining bit of daylight and she felt menaced.

Rosita was still fretful. Dorcas offered to hold her for a while. Feli gladly handed over her precious burden. The child gazed up at Dorcas disbelievingly; her eyes were like twin moons. There was a chocolate smear down the side of her mouth. She stared at Dorcas for a long moment, wondering whether to accept her or not. Finally she gave an aggrieved snuffle and settled her head against Dorcas's breast. Dorcas could feel her breathing; the warmth of conquest mingled with the wonder of the child's perfection. She was sorry to hand Rosita back to her mother.

There was a distant rumbling sound, and the feeling of menace gripped Dorcas once again, only it was fiercer now. Feli's and Rosita's cheeks were glued together; Feli was smooth-talking her daughter to sleep. The rumbling sounded again, nearer, like thunder, and not like thunder. Dorcas found herself struggling to identify the sound, recognizing its importance with the sense of self-preservation.

She was sitting up, tense, alert, waiting. The train seemed to be reducing speed, as if it too was hesitant to plough into danger. Or were her taut nerves playing tricks? No, the train was slowing, she was quite certain of that. And the rumble of thunder, that was not thunder, filled her ears.

She
knew she had to move. Quickly. She was acting on instinct alone. She couldn't give Feli a plausible explanation. Feli could not heed the danger and was reluctant to move. ‘Stretch your legs if you want to. I'm perfectly all right here.'

‘It's not that. I think we should all go to the end of the train. There's a fair chance that we might be safe there.'

‘Safe? What are you talking about? Safe from what?'

Dorcas couldn't tell her because she didn't know herself. She only knew she had to get Feli and Rosita to the end compartment. The urgency of the presentiment that was driving her, robbed her of simple speech. She must not panic. She must stay cool. Her eyes were eloquent of all the things she could not find words for. Success at last! She could tell by the changing expression on Feli's face that she had managed to transmit her fears. For the first time she blessed her ‘talking' eyes.

‘I'll come with you. I don't know why, but if it matters to you that much, I'll come.' So saying, Feli got to her feet.

They began to walk. They were only two thirds down the train when it happened. Rocks started to smash against the carriage windows. The floor quivered alarmingly beneath them. The mountainside was crumbling. It was coming down on them in an avalanche of rock and sludge.

Feli
screamed. ‘
Madre mia!
It's a landslide.'

Rosita was clutched tightly in Feli's arms. Dorcas's arms went round both of them. The instinct now was to protect. The train screeched to a stop. The thunder of the collapsing mountainside went on . . . and on . . . and on. A dull, reverberating boom . . . boom . . . boom . . .

CHAPTER TWO

They had been thrown to the floor of the carriage, which seemed to be tilted at an angle. In assessing the situation, Dorcas thought she might have come off worse. Her leg was trapped. She must have acted as a sort of buffer for Feli and Rosita. Feli's mouth quivered between laughter and tears. Dorcas didn't need medical knowledge to know she was in a state of shock.

Rosita's face crumpled and she let out a great sobbing wail as blood appeared from nowhere and began to trickle down her forehead. Dorcas ignored the stinging pain in her leg and by reaching out as far as she could, managed to collect up the hurt little girl. Rosita was too tiny to be caught up in such a frightening situation. It seemed very important to wipe the blood away before Feli saw it. Dorcas rummaged for her handkerchief and wiped away the sticky wetness before it got into Rosita's eyes. She dabbed at the poor mite's forehead until it became apparent it was only a superficial scratch.

Rosita looked up at Dorcas, regarding her for an endless moment with her huge moon eyes. Her expression was very still and serious as she considered the situation. When you are that young it's terrifying to have the world tip
you
upside down and then find yourself in a stranger's arms. She gave Dorcas a look as if to say, ‘Oh, it's you again', and snuggled close. Dorcas felt justifiably smug and would have been content to continue rocking Rosita to and fro as she whispered indiscriminate soothing noises in her ear. Only:

‘Feli. Would you mind taking charge of your daughter. I think I'm going to faint.'

* * *

What happened next wasn't very clear to Dorcas. In fact she remembered little of the next seven days. Someone told her it was seven days, otherwise she wouldn't have known. To her it was a long, drugged hiatus. The only time things were clear was when she felt the pain. They gave her something and the pain went, and so did clarity.

She knew she had hurt her leg. She knew she was in hospital. She thought Feli and Rosita were all right because every time she asked, a chin—not always the same chin—bobbed up and down. And there was a hand by the bed, and that was always the same hand. It stayed there day and night, ever constant, giving her all the assurance she needed. She had only to put her hand out to have her fingers gripped and held. It was a big hand. Her own disappeared into it with room to spare. She felt small and fragile and the hand
was
big and comforting. It protected and enclosed her in its strength. She never stopped to ask herself who the hand belonged to. That wasn't important. The fact that it was there when she needed it was enough.

And sometimes, when the world was wrapped in a night stillness, a pair of lips would brush her cheek, and her throat would close on tenderness. She was aware of talking a great deal. An urgency of words bubbled from her. She had no idea what she was saying and was too dazed to worry about whether she was being indiscreet. She gabbled on and on, encouraged by soft, male murmurs. And the hand did warm, intimate things to hers. It stroked the inside of her wrist and played with her fingers.

Then she was better, sitting up and appreciating her visitors. Feli and Rosita were among the first. Feli stared at her with shiny, grateful eyes while Rosita scrambled all over her bed, and ate her chocolates and grapes.

‘I'm pleased to see the patient looking so much better,' said Feli.

‘You mean you've been before?'

Feli rolled her eyes. ‘Everybody's been before. Carlos. Mama and Papa.' And then a small, tearing sob came from her throat. ‘How can I ever thank you, Dorcas. You saved our lives.' She scooped up Rosita and pressed her close, as though to blot out the horror. ‘If you hadn't insisted we move, we would have been
in
the part of the railway carriage that was completely wrecked. And if you hadn't bothered with us, you could have got clear yourself and you wouldn't be lying in hospital now.'

Dorcas pleated the bedspread. She hated praise and didn't know how to deal with it. She protested that she had done no more than anybody would have done in the circumstances. But Feli wouldn't have it.

‘That's not true, Dorcas. You didn't have one thought of self. Your only concern was for us. I feel so bad that you are having to pay so terribly for your kind deed.'