Like One of the Family (54 page)

While Fernando went off to make further enquiries Claire and Terry wandered down to the stony beach and sat some yards apart, not looking at each other or speaking. Claire reflected sadly on how once they had tripped over their tongues with all they had to say to each other.

She got to her feet and waded into the sea. She felt unbearably warm and dreaded the thought of getting back into the car without first cooling off. Her feet bumped and scuffed on the high piled rocks beneath the waves. She had not realised how stony the beach was. As she struggled to keep her balance she was carried out of her depth and gasped in the cold water, feeling the shock of it through the thin material of her sun-dress.

It was an enormous relief after the intense heat. Claire turned amongst the bobbing bathers and faced back to the shore. In this heat she would be dry in minutes.

Terry sat on a pile of rocks near the roadway, staring down at her, with a brooding expression so reminiscent of Eddie's.

Claire came out of the water, her sodden sun-dress held before her as she squeezed out the drops of sea water, the movement accentuating the fullness of her tanned breasts in the low neckline. She saw the way Terry's eyes fixed on them, and the longing to have him in her arms was so great in her that she blushed for her thoughts and abruptly turned away.

Terry saw Fernando stepping down on to the beach. So that was why she coloured up like that, he thought. He frowned and got up moodily from the rock, but forgot his grievance as he heard what Fernando had to tell them.

‘Delgado and your sister were seen last night on the road between San Pedro de Alcantara and Ronda.' Fernando's dark eyes shone with excitement and relief. ‘This time there is no mistake. The car was a 1979 sports coupé of the kind Delgado drives. There are not many to be found on Spanish roads.'

‘Ronda?' Terry queried. ‘Way up in the hills?'

Fernando nodded. ‘And I have it on good authority they have not come down again. The best assurance.' He tapped his wallet significantly.

Instead of being angry Terry felt only relief. If Fernando's money succeeded in delivering up Sheena to them he had no fault to find with it.

‘Let's be on our way then.' Terry briskly assumed command. ‘We've wasted too much time already.'

This time the Spaniard meekly took his cue from him and led the way, almost humbly, to where he had parked the Mercedes.

The road to Ronda was sharp and twisting. At times Claire felt like a fly on a wall, so steep was the incline. From the back seat, she was glad not to have too good a view as they roared around narrow hairpin bends. They had barely time to straighten out before the next one leapt at them. More than once she caught her breath as she looked out the rear window and saw the mountain drop sheerly below them.

Fernando was silent at the wheel, giving all his concentration to keeping the roaring machine on the dusty ribbon of road. Once Terry turned and passed Claire the bottle of water and when she handed it back to him and he put his lips to it, she felt as though they had kissed. The feeling was so strong in her that she wondered if Terry felt the same.

Fernando turned his head to glance at Terry. ‘Would you like to take a turn at the wheel?' he suddenly asked.

Terry stared. ‘Sure.' His face broke into a grin. ‘Thought you'd never ask.' They changed seats and Terry set off at a pace almost equal to Fernando's.

From where she was comfortably stretched Claire watched the backs of their heads and wondered at the new ease between the two men. Terry flicked through the gears, getting the feel of the stick and testing the grip of the tyres on the tight bends. Beside him, Fernando kept an impassive face and although Claire's mouth was in her throat and she frequently stabbed at an imaginary brake pedal in the floor, the Spaniard seemed quite at ease.

‘You handle a car well,' he told Terry, ‘but then you are a pilot, are you not?' Terry was struck by something in the way he said it and shot him a glance. ‘You fly yourself?'

Fernando shrugged. ‘I did my National Service with the Spanish Air Corps and I hold a commercial pilot's licence.'

Terry looked at him with new interest. ‘Say, that's great. It never occurred to me... I mean I thought ... ‘

Fernando smiled. ‘Do not take your eyes off the road.'

Terry grunted and settled his hands in a fresh grip on the wheel. They travelled on in friendly silence. Fernando nodded soberly through the window as they sped up along the road leading into Ronda. ‘That is the gorge where the Republicans flung the townspeople to their death during the civil war in our country.'

Claire looked out the window and shuddered as she imagined the falling figures and the screams.

‘To stand on the Puente Neuvo will give you some idea of the Ronda's towering position,' Fernando was saying. ‘It is the first thing tourists do.'

‘Looks jolly high.' Terry spared a glance. ‘Hey! ‘That's an idea. When we find this Miguel maybe we should toss him off the cliff.'

‘Very appealing,' Fernando agreed, ‘But in Spain I fear you cannot take the law into your own hands or you will find yourself in grave trouble.' He raised his hand. ‘Stop here,
por favor
.'

Terry parked the big car by the side of the Plaza and switched off the engine. He sat and glowered in silence.

Fernando glanced behind at Claire with an understanding smile. ‘On a lighter note, it may be of interest to know that one of Spain's greatest bullfighters, Antonio Ordonez, was born here in Ronda.'

‘Oh yes?' Claire asked absently, anxiously regarding the back of Terry's head. She supposed their brief truce had been too good to last.

Fernando unclipped his seat-belt. ‘Actually, the Ronda school of bullfighting is held to be bullfighting at its purest. Nowhere else are matadors trained with such high emphasis on skill and courage.'

‘How very interesting,' Terry said sarcastically. ‘This is beginning to sound more and more like a guided tour of Ronda.'

Fernando looked at him. ‘You feel we should not speak of anything but your sister?'

Terry frowned. ‘I'm conscious of how long it is since we last heard from her. Something very bad could have happened to her. Yes,' he said consideringly, ‘I would be happier if we could cut all this tourist crap and go find her.'

Claire winced for Terry's rudeness while, at the same time, feeling a sneaking sympathy with his views.

‘By all means let us not delay any further.' Fernando held out his hand imperiously for the car keys.

Terry got out of the car and stalked up the street. Fernando paced after him, with his hands behind his back and his chin in the air. Claire sighed and followed them both. She wished they would hurry up and find Sheena and they could all go back to Nerja.

After a while Fernando unbent enough to tell them he had elicited the name of a person in Ronda who might be able to help them. Happily, he seemed to have unlimited contacts.

It was nearing eight o'clock that evening before they met their contact, who to Claire's shock, turned out to be a woman. The Spaniard insisted on being paid before she would speak and then revealed that Sheena was being kept a prisoner by Delgado in a room over the bar of a local hostelry.

Claire, feeling a little sick, was unable to repress a shiver of fear and disgust. All at once her arm was gripped and, looking around, she found Terry close behind her.

‘The bloody swine,' he said fiercely, his eyes bright with unshed tears, ‘When I get my hands on him he'll wish to God he'd never been born.'

Claire looked up at him and nodded vehemently, a lump in her own throat. For a moment they stared wordlessly at each other, united by an overwhelming surge of love and loyalty for Sheena, and family and the past.

Later that night Terry and Claire went with Fernando to the bar in question and waited inside the door while he approached the counter. The room was full of men and in one corner a long-haired musician played a guitar, his frenzied shrieks splitting the air. Close to him another proudly postured, his heels drumming the floor. Cigar smoke hung thickly over the room.

Fernando glanced back and motioned to Terry to take Claire out again. When they were gone he ordered a beer and sipped it slowly, for he had recognised Miguel almost at once in a group of men squatting about the guitarist. Although Fernando knew the man by sight, he was reassured when he deliberately held the other man's gaze and saw him glancing past without recognition.

Miguel deliberately let his own eyes slide past Fernando. He had already spotted him in the town that afternoon, so he was not surprised to see him now. Miguel had his contacts too and been warned that Alejandro's brother was on his trail. Of Alejandro himself Miguel had neither seen nor heard anything since their furious exchange of words. The money owing to him had not been repaid but Miguel considered that he had already been amply rewarded by the opportunity to bring down the proud young man. As for the more senior member of that arrogant Gonzales family...

Miguel sniffed contemptuously at the naivety of his pursuer in expecting to pass unnoticed driving about Gibraltar in his flashy Mercedes. He had seen it too often in Nerja, and even driven in it on occasion with Alex, not to recognise it at once sticking out like a sore cock on a virgin.

Miguel waited until Fernando had paid for his drink then he got to his feet and went out to the back, as if to urinate. He paused in the shadowy passage, aware that Fernando was following him and when the man had gone past into the open, he lingered in the gloom until he judged it long enough for the other Spaniard to have gone back inside or given up.

‘
Qué
i
mbécil!'
Miguel sneered, and slouched back along the passage congratulating himself on outwitting his stupid countryman. But as soon as he stepped back into the light he realised his mistake.

Sheena came out of a doze in the darkened room and lifted her head at the tempestuous far-off sound of flamenco, the staccato shrieks and wildly drumming heels inspiring in her a feeling of dread. The nightmare was beginning all over again. She felt hysteria swiftly rising as she anticipated the sinister shuffle outside her room and the grating key in the lock, the coarseness and brutality which inevitably followed.

She had not long to wait and when hands fumbled the door handle, fresh tears of agony and despair slid from under her swollen eyelids and she huddled on the mattress and frantically rocked backwards and forwards. No! No! No!

‘Oh God,' she prayed brokenly. ‘Please, please!'

Slowly, the door pushed open and, despite the futility of flight, Sheena scrambled off the bed and fled sobbing to crouch in an alcove cupboard

She clawed over the flimsy door in a feeble effort to conceal herself and as the footsteps drew nearer and came to a stop at the other side, she stuffed her hand into her mouth and chewed on the already raw and bleeding flesh to gag her screams.

Terry hovered with Claire at the entrance to the bar, undecided what he should do. ‘I feel Sheena is somewhere near,' he told her anxiously. ‘I've got to find her before that bastard moves her again.'

Claire shivered and nodded. It felt good to have Terry confide in her again and see his gaze soften when he looked at her. She knew she would never be able to tell him about the baby because that would be like trying to stake a claim to him, but she was happier than she been for a long time.

Terry gripped her hand. ‘Claire, you'd better go back to the car. I'm going to scout about inside while Fernando keeps Delgado occupied.'

Claire shook her head. ‘No. I'm staying with you,' she said firmly. ‘We'll look for her together.'

When he saw that she was determined, he wasted no more time. ‘Come on then.' He led the way round the side of the pub and ducked inside a doorway. Claire peered after him. There was a stairway leading to the next floor and already Terry was going up it. She quickly followed.

Terry tried the handle on the door nearest to him and the door opened easily. He peered inside but the room was empty except for a sagging bed covered by a fringed rug. He approached another door as Claire tiptoed near.

‘Look,' she whispered. ‘There's a key in the lock.'

They stared into each other's eyes on the dim landing, and then Terry turned the key and cautiously opened the door. From below came a fresh burst of flamenco singing and the rattling thud of many heels. With a warning nod for Claire to stay where she was and watch out, Terry slipped into the room.

At first, he thought there was no one there and was about to withdraw, when he heard a piteous gasping whimper in the gloom.

His nerves on edge, Terry stepped deeper into the room and glanced about him. The noise was coming from a cupboard in an alcove between the window and the bed. He braced himself and flung wide the door. At once the sound ceased. As Terry stared down at what looked like a bundle of clothing in the corner, he saw it move and was conscious of eyes in the swollen bruised face regarding him in terror. For a second he did not recognise his sister and when he did, he was horrified. He dropped on his knee and cradled her fiercely against his chest.

‘Oh Shee, thank God to find you. Thank God you're all right.'

She stared up at him in blind terror, and her unrecognising stare was more unnerving than her bruised and bloodied flesh. Then she began to scream and struggle in his arms and when he tried to hold her she fought him.

‘Sheena!' Terry gripped her arms and shook her hard. ‘Stop! It's me...Terry!' She calmed, pulled back to look up at him, really seeing him, and the mad light faded from her eyes.

‘Terry!' Sheena quavered, through swollen lips. ‘Is it really you? ‘ She clung to him piteously, her tears soaking his shirt. ‘Oh ‘Terry, I thought you'd never come... I'd given up hope.'

‘Well, you shouldn't have,' he told her with gruff tenderness. ‘You must have known I'd find you, no matter what.' He looked down and saw the raw mangled fingers clutching his shirt, the fresh blood leaving bright streaks on the cloth, and his anger and revulsion overcame him. What terrible things had been done to her? The thought made him shake and he forced himself to remain calm and continue to hold and soothe her, fighting his urge to rush below and vent all his hatred on the man responsible. Gradually she grew quieter, blubbering softly as she lay against him.