Beneath the Orange Blossom

It was Sarah’s hen weekend on Friday and the four of them were off to sunny Spain for a three-day break in a grand villa, complete with resident cook and waiter. Sarah, who had been pretty secretive about their actual destination, was to reveal all tonight. Janet, always the early one, was first to arrive and Sarah led her though to the kitchen, ‘The brochure’s on the table, take a look, while I pour us a glass of wine, you’ll love it, three whole days with nothing to do but swim, eat and be waited on.’

‘Sound marvellous, be nice to do nothing but relax for a change,’ said Janet.

She sat at the table, picked up the brochure, looked at the picture on the front and sucked in her breath. It had been all of eight years, but little had changed, Casa Mirador with it’s red tiled roof and bougainvillea covered walls, stood as it always had, at the end of a dusty track on the mountainside above the orange blossom filled valley.

‘Well what do you think?’ asked Sarah as she handed her a glass of red.

Janet opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, the doorbell sounded and the kitchen soon filled with laughter and greetings as Vicky and Clare came in. More wine was poured and the brochure was discussed, commented upon, and despite the others knowing she had spent some time in that area of Spain, Janet didn’t let on that she had stayed at Casa Mirador itself. She told herself that it was to allow her friends to discover the delights of the house and it’s surrounds for themselves, but she knew she was fooling herself.

Eight hours after rolling out of bed in the middle of the night and making her way to the airport, Janet turned off the road onto the dusty track that led to the villa, Clare sat next to her with the map on her lap giving unneeded directions, while Sarah and Vicky dozed in the back seat of the Seat Ibiza hire car. Ahead the track widened in front of the house and the dust cloud that tailed the car settled as they came to a halt. As they piled out of the car a woman came out to greet them. Janet judged her to be a couple of years older than they were and was not so much beautiful as strong and striking in appearance, she welcomed them in broken English and said her name was Maria. Janet replied in Spanish and introduced the others. Maria explained that she would be doing the cooking, while her husband, who had gone into town for supplies, would fetch, carry and act as their waiter.

‘Whatever you need just ask Jose and we will do our best to help,’ she said with a smile.

Janet’s heart lifted as Maria said the name Jose and fell as she realised that Maria also had said – me marido – my husband. Still, she thought, there must be a million Jose’s in Spain, so there was no reason why this should be the young boy from the village that she had known. She found out that she was wrong, when, just before the evening meal was served, Maria introduced her husband. If anything he was even better looking than she remembered and in the intervening years he grown from a good looking youth into an extremely handsome man. His eyes met hers and slid away without the slightest hint of recognition and she felt a touch of sadness as he shook her hand and move on to the others.

She tried to put him out of her mind and settle down to enjoy the weekend. The second part was easy enough to do; the casa was every bit as wonderful as she remembered it to be. The first however was a problem; every time Jose brought drinks or served a meal her heart beat a little faster and she found it difficult not to reach out and ask why he was ignoring her. She knew he was married now and she accepted that he had a new life to lead. It was stupid really, but the more he ignored her, the more she felt the need to know that hadn’t forgotten her.

Several times she tried to catch him on his own, but each time he was either called away by Maria before she could speak, or one of her friend would appear and ask for a drink or a snack to be brought to the pool. Monday was their last day and in the morning Sarah decided to take a last walk through the orange grove to the place where they had made love beneath the orange blossom. There was no mistaking the spot, for like young lovers do, Jose had carved J & S inside a heart, near the bottom of the tree. It was only small because he didn’t want to do serious damage to the tree, but it was there and would remain forever, a small testament to their love.

She turned to leave and suddenly he was there and for a moment she saw into those deep dark eyes and she knew, ‘You do remember!’ she exclaimed. ‘I thought you had forgotten me.’

‘Of course I remember you, I will always remember you.’

Maria called for him from the house; he continued to look into her eyes, smiled as he had that night long ago and then left to go to his wife.

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