Carlos put the picnic basket in the back of the truck and Susan appeared at the door with a sunhat on her head and a thick book in her hand. George climbed in at the wheel and revved up the engine. They drove in silence up the drive, beneath the avenue of lofty plane trees, and out onto the dirt road that led to Jesús Maria.
‘I have some explaining to do,’ he began. Susan put her hand on his knee and smiled at him in understanding.
‘Now isn’t the time, George. Let’s get to Santa Catalina and spread out the blanket in the shade of some big tree. Then you can tell me about Rita.’
‘It isn’t what you think,’ he began.
‘It never is,’ she replied drily with a slow shake of her head. He chuckled, feeling foolish.
‘You have an answer for everything,’ he said. ‘The day I strike you dumb I will know I’ve got the upper hand.’
‘I’m an American woman. We’re taught to answer back.’
‘They taught you too well. What do you think of Aunt Agatha?’ he asked, changing the subject. Now it was her turn to chuckle.
‘What an extraordinary couple they are. She’s short, stout and rather fierce in a very English way. I imagine she would make a formidable headmistress in one of those cold English boarding schools of yours. He’s coarse and rough and bombastic, but not without charm. He’s got a mischievous twinkle in his eye and a good sense of humour, though I wouldn’t want to cross him. I wouldn’t want to cross either of them.’
‘They’re unlikely, aren’t they?’
‘As a couple, yes. But he’s probably got a beautiful mistress tucked away somewhere. He’s Latin after all.’
‘Not like us Englishmen.’
She glanced at him sidelong. ‘I should hope not.’
The route to Santa Catalina was no more than a dirt road that rose and fell as it cut across undulating plains and thick woodland. The snow-capped sierras soared out of the mists on the horizon to touch the sky with their jagged peaks, and George could imagine the condors riding the winds in search of prey. It was already hot and they drove with the windows down, taking in the scenery, happy to be there in this remote place where only the most persistent memory could find them. The church of Santa Catalina stood proud and magnificent, the two bell towers and dome rising high above the ancient trees that gave it shade. There seemed to be no one else there. It was peaceful and quiet, almost eerie. They could very well have stepped back across the ages to the eighteenth century when it was built by the Jesuits in the flamboyant style of German baroque. The building hadn’t changed and neither had the air it breathed.
George parked the truck in the shade and walked around to open the door for Susan. She left her book on the seat and stepped out into the sunshine. George took her hand and helped her down then lifted the picnic basket and blanket from the back. They found a cool spot beneath a cluster of plane trees not far from the walls of the church and spread the blanket on the ground. A couple of doves settled nearby, eager to see what delights lay in the basket and determined to be the first to seize upon any crumbs.
Susan leaned against the trunk of the tree and sighed happily as she surveyed the surroundings. ‘Oh, it’s so pretty here,’ she said with a smile. ‘It’s peaceful. Churches always give off an unearthly serenity, don’t you think?’
‘They never change, we do and the cities we build around them. They’re timeless and that in itself gives them a certain poise.’ George lay on his side, propping up his head with his elbow, barely able to believe that the woman he thought he had lost for ever was sitting with him now, as naturally as if they had known each other a lifetime.
‘Are you going to read your letter now?’ she asked coolly. George looked up at her and his brow furrowed.
‘I wish she hadn’t sent it,’ he said with a sigh. ‘I wish it wasn’t full of her hopes and dreams, all of which rely on me.’
‘Tell me about her. She’s the reason you needed time alone, isn’t she?’
‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before,’ he began, but Susan simply silenced him with a soft laugh.
‘You owe me nothing, George. Besides, if you were intending to return to England to marry her you wouldn’t have declared yourself to me, nor would you have looked so forlorn on the boat. In fact, if you were in love with her, you wouldn’t have left her in the first place.’
‘You’re right on every count, Susan. I’m a cad.’ He sighed and his face seemed to sag with misery. Susan shuffled across the rug to lie next to him, resting her head on her elbow as he did. She touched his forearm tenderly.