his forearm to wipe some trickles from his forehead.
He was not, she noticed, as hairy as many Spaniards. Some women liked hairy men but her preference was for a smooth chest and only a light dusting of hairs on a man’s arms and legs. Enough to be unmistakably masculine but not reminiscent of a gorilla.
She caught herself thinking that Nicolás had exactly the right amount of body hair, at least as far as she could see. The thought was followed by another: what the hell am I doing appraising his body like this?
She was not the only one. A couple of young village women, on their way to the bakery, eyed him with interest as they exchanged good mornings with Cally. Knowing how their minds worked, she guessed that they would be wondering if he was one of the casa rural’s visitors, or someone she had in tow.
At the house, he pushed open the door for her, but did not follow her in. ‘I need to do some cool-down exercises. I won’t be long.’
Carrying the bread to the kitchen, Cally wondered if the woman across the street who kept a close eye on the comings and goings from their house was getting an eyeful of the tall stranger stretching various areas of his muscular anatomy. He must be in great physical shape to be able to run that distance and get back looking as if he could do it again if necessary. Occasionally she met holiday-makers jogging among the vineyards and looking fit to collapse.
The next time she saw him he had showered and changed into clean clothes. He had brought down a flask to be filled.
‘The notice on the back of the bedroom door says you have laundry facilities? What does that mean?’ he asked.
‘If you leave whatever you want washed in the big plastic bag that you’ll find in the wardrobe, it’ll be collected when your room is done and ready to wear by tonight.’
‘That’s better than five-star hotels. They often take twenty-four hours to turn around personal laundry.’
‘We aim to please,’ said Cally, smiling. ‘Would you like a cooked breakfast? I can do you a French omelette, or bacon with a fried egg and mushrooms, or a piece of grilled haddock with tomatoes.’
‘Is an omelette with tomatoes and mushrooms possible?’
‘Certainly. But I won’t cook it till you’ve finished your selection from the breakfast buffet. You’ll find it round the corner. I take it you’d like coffee to drink?’
‘Yes, but descafeinado rather than the real stuff, please.’
He didn’t drink much. He didn’t kick-start his day with strong shots of caffeine like many of the people she knew in London. What were his vices? she wondered. Most people had some.
When she brought him a cup of coffee, he had already drunk a tumbler of orange juice from the jug on the buffet and was eating a bowl of muesli.
‘Is it today you’re doing the Barranc de L’Infern?’ she asked.
‘Tomorrow. Will the people I met last night still be here this evening?’
She nodded. ‘I’ll start your omelette.’
When she brought it to him, he said, ‘Don’t go away. Stay and talk to me. Apart from surfing the Web, how else do you amuse yourself?’
‘There’s no shortage of things to do. There are cinemas not far away, and art exhibitions and reading groups. Also, once you get on the autopista, it’s not much more than an hour to Alicante and Valencia, both of them very lively cities.’
‘I know. I’ve been to them. Do you go there often?’
‘Fairly often.’
This was true. When flying to and from Spain, as she did several times a year, she used both cities’ airports. She liked Valencia’s airport best. It was quieter, used mainly by Spanish business people rather than the package holiday tourists who poured into Alicante, the gateway to such popular resorts as Benidorm and Torrevieja.
‘You haven’t explained how you found us,’ she reminded him.
‘On the Web. I was looking for sites about the rock-climbs in this area and found a site belonging to two professional climbers. There was a link to another site with a list of all the casas rurales. Yours seemed the most convenient for the things I wanted to do. Do you get many enquiries via your webpage?’
‘Not at first, but now more and more people are using the Web for looking for and booking holidays. I picked up an email from a prospective visitor this morning. He wanted to know if we do vegetarian meals.’ Remembering that Nicolás’s reservation had been made by telephone, she said, ‘You had someone telephone us rather than booking by email. Why was that?’
He shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. Perhaps the person I asked to make the booking was more comfortable with the telephone than email. If I wanted to extend my time here, could I do that?’
‘Certainly.’ It annoyed her that the prospect of him staying longer pleased her on a personal level as well as from a business point of view.
‘I’ll let you know tonight. How will you spend your day?’
‘This morning I’ll work. This afternoon I might drive to the coast and swim. The sea will still be warm but the beaches won’t be as crowded as they are in the summer.’
‘Yesterday, when I arrived, you were doing housework. Do you do that routinely, or is your parents’ regular cleaner off sick?’
The frank answer was that her mother had a problem keeping household help. She tended to lose her temper when things weren’t done her way. At the time Cally was born, so she had been told, it had been possible for retired ex-colonials, settling in Spain, to employ several staff and pay them low wages. But those days were long gone. Young Spanish women had jobs in offices, shops and supermarkets, and even for their mothers and grandmothers there were now alternatives to domestic service. Those who still did cleaning expected to be treated as equals and Mrs Haig’s haughty manners had not endeared her to the helpers who had come and gone, usually after a stormy altercation.
But Cally was not about to reveal this to Nicolás. She said, ‘Not many women want to do other people’s housework as well as their own nowadays. It’s understandable. Actually I find it rather satisfying.’ Though I wouldn’t want to do it full-time, was her unspoken addendum.
He gave her another of those disconcertingly intent looks. ‘It seems a waste of your capabilities.’
‘You don’t know that I have any other capabilities,’ she said lightly.
‘You read. You’re a linguist. Your whole appearance and manner indicates intelligence and initiative. You have the computer skills that are essential in most jobs today. I’d say you could handle any number of interesting careers.’
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him she had a career that delighted and fulfilled her, but somehow to say that seemed to be tempting fate to snatch it away from her.
‘Thank you for your confidence,’ she said, with more warmth than she had shown him so far. ‘Normally I don’t pry into guests’ backgrounds unless they volunteer information. But I have to admit I’m curious about what your work is.’
He
