what on earth are we going to do? She’s as good as promised to marry John, and if he finds out about this …’
‘Why should he?’ Jessica asked practically, mentally cursing Isabel. Trust her to have two men dangling; she was all for the competitive spirit, Jessica acknowledged wryly. ‘All she has to do is to write to this Spanish boy and simply tell him that it’s over.’ Privately she was surprised that Isabel’s Spaniard had bothered to write; most of them made a hobby out of ‘falling in love’ with pretty tourists.
‘She daren’t. She’s terrified that he’ll come over here to find out what’s happening, and then what on earth will she tell John?’
If Isabel didn’t feel able to tell John the plain truth now, it didn’t bode well for their marriage, was Jessica’s private opinion, but she refrained from voicing it, practically deciding that her aunt’s obvious distress was what needed her attention right now.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ she soothed her. ‘It will all be all right.’
‘Oh, Jess, I knew you’d be able to sort it all out,’ her aunt confided, promptly bursting into tears. ‘I told Isabel you’d help.’
Jessica spread her hands ruefully. ‘Of course, but I don’t see what I can do …’
‘Why, go to Spain, of course,’ her aunt announced as though she were talking about a trip to the nearest town. ‘You must go and see him, Jess, and explain that Isabel can’t marry him.’
‘Go to Spain?’ Jessica stared at her. ‘But, Aunt …’
‘You were going anyway,’ her aunt said hurriedly, avoiding her eyes, ‘and you can speak Spanish, Jessica, you can explain to him in his own tongue, soften the blow a little. Think what it would do to Isabel if he were to come here. She genuinely cares for John, and I think he has the strength she needs.’ She sighed. ‘I sometimes think your uncle and I should have been stricter with her, but …’ she broke off as the kitchen door suddenly burst open and a small, fair-haired girl hurried in. She stopped dead as she reached the table.
‘Jess!’ she exclaimed joyfully. ‘Oh, you’ve come—thank goodness! Has Mum told you …’
‘That you’re being pursued by an ardent suitor? Yes,’ Jessica told her cousin dryly. ‘Honestly, Belle …’
‘I really thought I loved him,’ Isabel began defensively. ‘He was so different from John, and it was all so romantic … Oh, there’s no need to look like that!’ She stamped her foot as Jessica raised her eyes heavenwards. ‘It’s different for you, Jess, you’d never get involved in anything like that, you’re so sensible, so unromantic, but me …’
Jessica winced a little as her cousin’s unthinking comment found its mark. How often had she heard that comment ‘You’re so unromantic’? Every time she refused to go to bed with her escort? Every time she refused to get involved? And yet she had always thought secretly that she was too romantic; that her ideals were too high.
‘You’re really sure then about John?’ Jessica questioned her cousin later in the evening when they were both preparing for bed.
‘As sure as I’m ever likely to be,’ Isabel told her with a rare flash of honesty. ‘But it will spoil everything if Jorge decides to come over here to find out why I’ve stopped writing to him. You will go and see him, won’t you, Jess?’ she appealed. ‘I don’t think I could bear it if I lost John!’
There were tears in her eyes, and unwillingly Jessica felt herself giving way. She supposed it wouldn’t hurt to try and see this boy while she was in Spain; even perhaps add a few days to the trip to make sure she did see him, although she was quite convinced that it was highly unlikely that he would turn up in England.
‘But you don’t understand,’ Isabel wailed when she pointed this out to her. ‘We were practically engaged. He will come over, Jess, I know he will!’ She practically wrung her hands together in her fear, and Jessica, feeling immeasurably more than only eight years her senior, sighed.
‘Well, I’ll go and see him then, but honestly, Belle, I’m sure you’re worrying unnecessarily.’
‘YOU MEAN to tell me you actually agreed to go and see this impetuous Romeo on your cousin’s behalf?’ Colin expostulated three days later when she explained to him that she would like to add a couple of extra days’ holiday to their trip to Spain. ‘Can’t she do her own dirty work?’
‘Not in this case,’ Jessica assured him, quickly outlining the facts. ‘And of course, I do speak Spanish.’
In actual fact she spoke several foreign languages. They were her hobby and she seemed to have a flair for them.
‘Well, I can see that nothing I can say is going to cure you of this protective attitude towards your family,’ Colin admitted. ‘All I can say is—thank goodness I don’t have one!’
‘And my extra days’ holiday?’
‘They’re yours,’ he agreed. ‘Although I’d much rather see you spend them on yourself than squander them on young Isabel. She’s a leech, Jess, and she’ll suck you dry if you let her. You must see that, so why?’
‘She’s family,’ Jessica said simply. ‘She and my aunt and uncle are all I have left.’
Often she had wondered after her parents’ shocking deaths if the accident had somehow not only robbed her of her mother and father, but her ability to love as well, because ever since then she had held the world at a distance, almost as though she was afraid of letting people get too close to her; afraid that she might come to depend on them and that she would ultimately lose them.
SEVILLE WAS a city that appealed strongly to the senses. Jessica fell in love with it almost from the moment she stepped off the plane into the benevolent spring sunshine. Madrid was more properly the home of Spanish commerce, and Jessica had been there on several previous occasions, but Seville was new territory to her.
Initially she had been surprised when Isabel told her that Jorge lived in Seville; she had expected to find him somewhere on the Costa Brava, but Isabel had told her that Jorge had been holidaying like herself at the time they met.
Colin, running true to form, had insisted on her staying at the hotel the extra few days at his expense, and although Jessica had demurred, he had insisted, and in the end she had given way. Knowing Colin, the hotel he would have chosen would be far more luxurious than anything she could have afforded, and this supposition was proved correct when her taxi drew up outside an impressive Baroque building.
Her fluent Spanish brought a swift smile to the face of the girl behind the reception desk, and in no time at all she was stepping out of the lift behind the porter carrying her case and waiting while he unlocked the door to her room.
The hotel had obviously once been a huge private house, and had been converted tastefully and carefully. Jessica’s room had views over the city; the furniture, although reproduction, was beautifully made and totally in keeping with the age and character of the room. There was a bathroom off it, rather more opulent than she would have expected in the hotel’s British equivalent, a swift reminder that this part of the world had once been ruled by the Moors, who had left behind them a love of luxury and a sensuality that had been passed down through the generations.
Once she had unpacked Jessica went
