garage. Simone was standing beside it dressed in slacks and sweater. A black leather suitcase was on the ground at her feet and she was stowing another behind the driver's seat.
"Good morning," I called cheerfully.
She looked up at me. Her face was very pale and there were faint shadows under each eye as if she had not slept too well.
She hesitated and for a moment I thought she was going to get into the car, but she didn't. Instead, she put the second suitcase inside and came toward the outside steps, her feet crunching in the gravel.
I returned to the living room, went behind the bar and poured myself a large gin and tonic. A bit early in the day, even for me, but I had a feeling I was going to need it.
She paused at the window, looking in. I raised my glass and smiled brightly. "Join me for breakfast?"
But she didn't smile. Not then or later. I don't think it was in her anymore.
"I'm sorry, Oliver," she said. "I'd hoped you wouldn't waken."
"What, not even a note?"
Her voice was full of pain, ragged and unsteady. "I can't take it--not any of it. What happened yesterday afternoon especially."
She shuddered visibly. I said, "Where are you going to go?"
"I don't know. It doesn't really matter. Paris maybe. Do you mind if I take the Alfa?"
I wasn't angry. There wouldn't have been any point. I said, "You were going to anyway."
"I'll leave it in Almeria. At the station."
"How are you for money?"
"I'll get by."
I dropped to one knee behind the bar and prised up one of the ceramic tiles. Underneath was a black tin cash box containing my mad money, just in case of emergencies. An old habit. I counted out ten one hundred-dollar bills and put them on top of the bar.
She didn't argue, simply walked across and picked them up. She looked around the room for a long moment and there was an infinite sadness in her voice when she said, "I was happy here. For the first time in years I was truly happy."
I said, "One thing before you go. That night after Langley's party when I passed out on you. Well, I didn't. I just wanted you to know that."
She said bitterly, "Damn you, Oliver! Damn you to hell!"
She walked out, her footsteps echoed across the terrace. I poured myself another large gin with a steady hand. From somewhere a thousand miles away a door slammed. There was a pause, the engine started and then she was gone.
So that was very much that. And why worry? As a great man once said, a woman was only a woman. I raised my glass and found that my hand was not so steady after all and that would never do. I put the glass down very deliberately on the bar top, went into my bedroom and found a pair of bathing shorts. Then I went out onto the end terrace and descended the three hundred and twenty-seven concrete steps which zigzagged down the cliff to the beach below.
The morning was dull and gray and the white sand cold to my feet as I crossed to the boathouse by the small stone jetty. I opened the door and went in. Skin-diving being closer to a religion with me than a sport at that time, I carried a pretty comprehensive range of equipment. Everything from my own compressor for recharging air bottles to an Aquamobile.
I took down a neoprene wetsuit in black and pulled it on because from the look of that sky it was going to be cold down there this morning. I slipped my arms through the straps of a fully charged aqualung, found a face mask and went back outside.
I had an inflatable with an outboard motor on the beach beside the jetty, but I didn't bother with it. Simply pulled on the mask, waded into the sea and struck out toward the entrance to the cove. I did this most mornings. So much so that it had become a habit, mainly because of the fascinating wreck I'd discovered about a hundred yards beyond the point.
There was a heavy sea mist rolling in toward me pushed by the wind and it started to rain again, not that that bothered me. There wasn't much of a current and it took little effort to reach the appropriate spot. I
"Good morning," I called cheerfully.
She looked up at me. Her face was very pale and there were faint shadows under each eye as if she had not slept too well.
She hesitated and for a moment I thought she was going to get into the car, but she didn't. Instead, she put the second suitcase inside and came toward the outside steps, her feet crunching in the gravel.
I returned to the living room, went behind the bar and poured myself a large gin and tonic. A bit early in the day, even for me, but I had a feeling I was going to need it.
She paused at the window, looking in. I raised my glass and smiled brightly. "Join me for breakfast?"
But she didn't smile. Not then or later. I don't think it was in her anymore.
"I'm sorry, Oliver," she said. "I'd hoped you wouldn't waken."
"What, not even a note?"
Her voice was full of pain, ragged and unsteady. "I can't take it--not any of it. What happened yesterday afternoon especially."
She shuddered visibly. I said, "Where are you going to go?"
"I don't know. It doesn't really matter. Paris maybe. Do you mind if I take the Alfa?"
I wasn't angry. There wouldn't have been any point. I said, "You were going to anyway."
"I'll leave it in Almeria. At the station."
"How are you for money?"
"I'll get by."
I dropped to one knee behind the bar and prised up one of the ceramic tiles. Underneath was a black tin cash box containing my mad money, just in case of emergencies. An old habit. I counted out ten one hundred-dollar bills and put them on top of the bar.
She didn't argue, simply walked across and picked them up. She looked around the room for a long moment and there was an infinite sadness in her voice when she said, "I was happy here. For the first time in years I was truly happy."
I said, "One thing before you go. That night after Langley's party when I passed out on you. Well, I didn't. I just wanted you to know that."
She said bitterly, "Damn you, Oliver! Damn you to hell!"
She walked out, her footsteps echoed across the terrace. I poured myself another large gin with a steady hand. From somewhere a thousand miles away a door slammed. There was a pause, the engine started and then she was gone.
So that was very much that. And why worry? As a great man once said, a woman was only a woman. I raised my glass and found that my hand was not so steady after all and that would never do. I put the glass down very deliberately on the bar top, went into my bedroom and found a pair of bathing shorts. Then I went out onto the end terrace and descended the three hundred and twenty-seven concrete steps which zigzagged down the cliff to the beach below.
The morning was dull and gray and the white sand cold to my feet as I crossed to the boathouse by the small stone jetty. I opened the door and went in. Skin-diving being closer to a religion with me than a sport at that time, I carried a pretty comprehensive range of equipment. Everything from my own compressor for recharging air bottles to an Aquamobile.
I took down a neoprene wetsuit in black and pulled it on because from the look of that sky it was going to be cold down there this morning. I slipped my arms through the straps of a fully charged aqualung, found a face mask and went back outside.
I had an inflatable with an outboard motor on the beach beside the jetty, but I didn't bother with it. Simply pulled on the mask, waded into the sea and struck out toward the entrance to the cove. I did this most mornings. So much so that it had become a habit, mainly because of the fascinating wreck I'd discovered about a hundred yards beyond the point.
There was a heavy sea mist rolling in toward me pushed by the wind and it started to rain again, not that that bothered me. There wasn't much of a current and it took little effort to reach the appropriate spot. I
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