Tell the Moon to Come Out Read online

  After his father’s death he had talked to his mother about Isabel. She had said, ‘The years I had with your father were good years and they will sustain me in the time ahead. I know you didn’t have as long with Isabel, but you might come to feel the same when you look back. Sometimes people meet too young. The time is wrong. There was no way forwards at that point for the two of you, she was wise to see that.’

  ‘She is wise.’

  ‘But you know it yourself as well.’

  His father died a week after arriving back at their home in the Highlands, but it was a relief for all of them that he was there. He was buried in the village churchyard, overlooking a loch on one side and hills on the other. It was what he had wanted.

  Nick recognized the narrow alley. At the end of it he should come into the square where Los Santos Mártires was located. He did. He passed the church and went round the corner to Calle Comedias. He recognized the door, too. He tested it to see if it was locked and finding it open he went inside and climbed the stairs to the first floor.

  Faced with the door to Doña Rosalía’s apartment, and possibly to Isabel, he paused again. Should he knock, or not? He raised his hand, then dropped it. Isabel might have forgotten him. It was still not too late to change his mind, to listen to the common sense in his head telling him that he should have left well alone. But it was not well, not for him, at any rate. He had had to come because he had unfinished business and until it was finished one way or the other he would not be able to get on with the next part of his life. While he was in the army, caught up in the war, everything had been put on hold.

  He knocked, waited, listened. How many doors had he once stood in front of, waiting to see if anyone would come, his nerves jangling in case the person who opened the door would prove to be an enemy?

  No one came. He knocked again, more insistently. But still no one came. Perhaps they had moved away. Or Doña Rosalía might have died. He knocked again and again until finally he turned away, dejected.

  He returned to the square and after a moment’s pause entered the church. Immediately he became aware of a powerful smell of lilies. He stood still. In front of the altar two women were arranging flowers. One was elderly, the other young. Nick felt himself begin to tremble.

  The women, aware that someone had entered, glanced round. For a moment neither moved, then the younger of the two detached herself and came slowly down the aisle. She stopped before she reached him. She was wearing a red silk scarf over her head.

  ‘Nick,’ she said.

  ‘Isabel.’

  They looked at each other and each saw that the other had changed in the seven years. Nick felt suddenly shy and realized that Isabel did too. But he realized also that everything about her was familiar. He knew that strong-boned face and those dark eyes and the way she held herself so straight and tall. She was not a stranger. He put out his hand and without hesitation she took it. As they left the church she let the scarf slip from her head and her long dark hair swung free.

  ‘I’m glad you haven’t cut your hair,’ he said.

  She smiled, then, noticing his limp, she frowned. ‘What’s happened to your leg?’ He told her. ‘I wondered if you might have been in the war,’ she said.

  ‘So you did think about me?’

  ‘Of course! You have a lot to tell me, Nick.’

  ‘And you me.’

  They walked down through the town to the waterfront. The night air was balmy and warm. They sat on a wall and watched the lights on the moored boats bobbing gently in the swell. A full moon was casting its silvery light over the dark water making it shimmer and shine. When Nick slipped his arm round Isabel’s waist, she let it lie.

  ‘You first, Nick. I want to hear about your father.’ After learning that he had died, she said, ‘Jaime and I didn’t think he could live long, sadly. But I’m glad he made it home.’

  She had stayed for another day in Nerja with Jaime and then, with money he had lent her and which she had since repaid, she had taken a bus back to Málaga, where she had been ever since. She had trained as a nurse and was working in a local hospital. She loved the work and she had been happy living with Doña Rosalía.

  ‘And Sister Encarnata?’

  ‘She comes to visit from time to time. She’s well. We always talk about you and try to imagine your life.’

  Isabel had not seen or heard from her parents again but knew from her aunt in Madrid that her mother had died. Her voice quavered when she spoke of her mother. ‘That was a bad time for me. I felt I should have been with her.’

  ‘I still feel guilty that you had to leave her.’

  ‘You shouldn’t. It was my choice.’

  They sat for a while in silence while Nick pondered how to raise the next subject. Isabel was gazing straight ahead, out to sea, and he remembered how often he had not been able to tell what she was thinking. He had talked to his mother about it and she had said that no one should expect to know everything another person was thinking. Their privacy had to be respected.

  He decided to plunge in. ‘I thought you might have married?’

  ‘I was engaged for a while.’ Isabel shrugged. ‘Then I realized I had made a mistake, so I broke it off. I couldn’t go through with it. After that, you know how it is in Spain, no man would want me.’

  ‘I want you,’ he said in a low voice.

  ‘You feel obliged to.’

  ‘No! It’s got nothing to do with you saving my life or leaving your home to come with me.’

  ‘It must have something.’

  ‘Well, perhaps. It showed me what you were. Courageous and generous.’

  ‘You will swell my head if you go on!’

  ‘Isabel,’ he said, ‘seven years ago I asked you if you would come to Scotland with me. You said you had no clothes. You said you couldn’t earn your living. I have come back to ask you again. You’ve got clothes now. And they need nurses in Scotland.’

  She let out a peal of laughter. ‘In that case,’ she said, turning to him, ‘how can I refuse?’