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.He had looked out into a very different Pig Lane.The lines of bunting that were stretched across the lane were whirling madly.Flowerpots had crashed to the ground from the balconies and broken geraniums were strewn across the cobbles.A dog was chasing its tail like a thing possessed.The sign that hung above the Bar Pedro clanked loudly, and on the balconies songbirds clung shrieking to their perches inside their swinging cages.Then the screaming had begun downstairs and Father Daley had dressed hurriedly and gone to see what was going on.Down in the lobby Señora Hipola was standing with her apron pulled up over her head, hollering and stamping her feet like an overwrought tap dancer.“Calm yourself, Señora Hipola.Whatever has happened?”Nancy Carmichael and Padraig came hurrying downstairs moments later, their eyes still heavy with sleep.It was a good five minutes before Father Daley could get any sense from Señora Hipola.When he finally coaxed her out from under her apron she said that Marta, her ungrateful niece, had done a bunk in the middle of the night.Señora Hipola had discovered her bed empty this morning and her few belongings gone.What was Señora Hipola to do? The wedding was to take place tomorrow.The dress was bought the guests invited.Holy saints, the shame of it all would kill her.What would people say? What would she tell Ramon and his father?“Are you absolutely sure that she’s gone? There’s no mistake?”“Yes, yes, I am sure.Violante Burzaco said she saw them hurrying off together at the crack of dawn.”“You said ‘them’.Who else do you mean?”“The other woman, the one with the blackened eye.I never liked the look of that one.Piadora she was called.The moment I set eyes on her I knew she was trouble! She’s gone too, though at least she had the grace to leave payment for her stay.”Señora Hipola continued to wail and bawl and stamp her feet.Then to add to the commotion all the church bells of Camiga began to ring out and that had set Sefiora Hipola off even more.As the pilgrims stood looking on at the distraught Sefiora the whole house shook under the buffeting of the winds and echoed with the clattering of bells.Dust blew in under the door and swirled round their feet and a pile of ash fell with a dull thud into the grate.Then they all jumped as a large head appeared in the doorway that led out into the courtyard.The old donkey, escaped from his stable, stood in the entrance blinking nervously at them.“Poor old devil, he’s afraid of the storm,” said Padraig.“Shall I go out and calm him down and put him back in the stable?”“I’ll come with you,” Father Daley said with alacrity, leaving a disconcerted Miss Carmichael to cope with Sefiora Hipola’s histrionics.Padraig and Father Daley had led the sad-faced old donkey across the courtyard, which had taken a pounding from tihe storm and was in a sorry state.The ground was strewn with fallen lemons and straw and the oilcloth from the table had blown away into a corner.On the washing line the enormous wedding dress ballooned in the ferocious wind.“Get him in the stable, Padraig, and then we’d best get that dress off the line, though God knows it’ll not be needed now.”As they bolted the stable door an enormous gust of wind blew into the courtyard.Chaff and straw flew up into the air and lemons hurtled to the ground like small bombs.On the washing line the enormous wedding dress billowed and somersaulted, neck over hem, arms flailing wildly.Then suddenly it broke from its moorings, and before Father Daley and Padraig had a chance to rescue it it was carried up, up and away on the back of the rampaging wind.They had stood together staring in horrified wonder as the dress, more like a barrage balloon now, soared and dipped and then disappeared from sight over the rooftops.They’d had to wait hours for the storm to subside until eventually they had left a tearful Sefiora Hipola waving at them from the doorway.What a day!Across the room Padraig was muttering restlessly in his sleep.Father Daley closed his eyes, listened to the call of a barn owl somewhere outside, heard the dog bark down in the courtyard and then fell into a deep and blissful sleep.Nancy Carmichael opened the shutters on the windows of her bedroom.The cool night air, fragrant with herbs, wafted into the room and felt like a balm on her tired skin.She breathed in greedily and looked out longingly into the night.Beyond the narrow window the sky was a deep indigo bowl, peppered with stars, the moon a waxy orb spinning high over the mountains.In the far distance the hazy lights of Los Olivares and Camiga blinked lazily.A keen sea breeze blew up the deep valley, whimpering through the pine trees, murmuring through the long grass down by the river.Nancy Carmichael shivered with pleasure.The sheer drop down into the valley was both terrifying and yet exhilarating.She felt like a princess in a tower looking down on her fairy-tale kingdom.Like Rapunzel waiting for her prince! She giggled at the thought and told herself not to be so silly.A princess at her age indeed.Besides, she didn’t have long enough hair to let down!She was just a slightly tipsy woman in her forties letting her imagination run away with her.Turning to the right she could see the rough cart track that led up from the tiny ruined hamlet to Santa Eulalia.The track was dappled with moonlight and Nancy could just make out the statue of the Blue Madonna.Tomorrow, she thought she’d take a walk down there and leave a prayer at her feet.As she stood there she felt unaccustomedly at peace with herself; indeed, undoubtedly the happiest she had ever been in all her life.She felt like shouting out to the sleeping world below.Quite what she would shout out she wasn’t sure.It was as though, especially since Miss Drew had gone, this pilgrimage had opened her eyes to enjoyment, and she was freeing herself little by little from her troubled past.She was about to close the window shutters in case something unpleasant flew into the room while she slept; there could be bats, bugs, huge moths on the loose.Then she changed her mind; she was sick and tired of being afraid of things, always living on the edge of real or imagined fears.Bugger it and sod it! For once she’d let the sweet cool air roll over her while she slept.She undressed slowly and then looked down at the pile of her clothes.They really were most unsuitable for this climate.They were drab, old-fashioned garments that made her look years older than she really was.As soon as she could she would buy something more summery.A cool cotton dress or skirt maybe, in a nice bright colour, maybe a pair of those rope-soled espadrilles.She’d throw away her stockings and go bare-legged, let the sun brown up her legs a little.She picked up her flannel nightdress and was about to pull it on over her head, then changed her mind.Usually, last thing at night she got down on her knees and went through the long list of people to pray for.Her mother, Aunt Maisie and Uncle William, Grandmother Jones…All of them long dead and buried.And lastly but not least for poor dead Henry William Fitzallen.But tonight, damn it, she wasn’t going to pray for any of them.They could do without her prayers for once.Henry William had dogged her daylight hours and her dreams for too many years.Henry, the little child from Kilgerry who had killed himself [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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