The Women Who Ran Away - Sheila O'Flanagan Page 0,104
up the yellow inflatable ball that had landed on her.
‘They were told not to kick it about. Alejandro, Susanna – come here at once!’
The two children she’d seen racing in the pool earlier scampered across the grass to stand beside him.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘Apologise to the lady.’
The boy began to speak in Spanish, and Grace waited until he’d finished before saying that her Spanish wasn’t good enough to understand everything but thanking him for his apology all the same.
‘English,’ said the man, and Alejandro repeated his apology in a Scottish accent.
Grace laughed. She couldn’t help it. It sounded so odd to hear the gentle burr coming from a boy who’d previously spoken in perfect Spanish.
‘Can we go back to the pool now, Grandad?’ asked the girl.
‘Scoot,’ he said, and threw the ball into the water. ‘But no messing, mind,’ he warned. ‘I’ll be watching you, and I’ll tell your papa if you step out of line.’
‘We’ll be good,’ said Susanna. ‘Promise.’ Then she jumped into the pool, followed by her brother.
‘You’re not hurt, are you?’ asked their grandfather.
‘Startled,’ said Grace. ‘Otherwise fine.’
‘They’re good kids really. But you know what they’re like when they see a pool.’
Grace nodded.
The man, who, she thought, looked young to be a grandfather of children who were about seven or eight, stayed where he was.
‘You’re not actually English, are you?’ he asked.
‘Irish,’ she replied.
‘I knew when you started to speak.’
‘And you’re not from around here either.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Aberdeen originally, but I’ve lived in Spain for the past twenty years. My daughter married a man from the local town, and so I’ve proper roots here now.’
Grace nodded. There were plenty of people in similar situations in the area around the apartment.
‘Anyway,’ he said. ‘Sorry again about the kids.’
‘No bother.’ She smiled. ‘I was having a rather horrible dream and it was good to be woken up.’
‘Nightmares on the sunbeds are usually to do with people reserving them with towels.’
She laughed.
‘See you around,’ said the man, and went back to supervise his grandchildren.
Grace stayed by the pool for another hour before returning to her room. This time she did text Deira, who responded by saying that she wasn’t feeling great and would stay where she was. She then sent a follow-up text saying that she’d do some investigating on the Toledo clue later, but that obviously there was a statue of Cervantes somewhere in the town and Grace should take the photo of it herself.
Clearly Deira’s hangover had been worse than she’d let on, thought Grace, as she got into the car and headed down the steep hillside towards the town on the opposite side of the river. Shots were always a disaster.
She found a car park on the outskirts of Toledo and left the car there before walking into the medieval centre. The throngs of tourists couldn’t take away from the fact that it was like walking through the pages of history; at every turn she was faced with ancient city walls, Roman ruins, Moorish arches, churches, mosques and synagogues. In the narrow streets of the old town, the shops were full of knives and swords. When she stopped to look at them, a shop assistant told her that the city was famed for its steel work and that the knives were the best in the world. She invested in a set of steak knives and matching forks to bring home, thinking that ferry travel had a lot going for it; she’d never have got them through a luggage check at the airport.
She’d googled Cervantes before she left the hotel, and followed her map to find the statue, rather oddly placed at the bottom of some steps leading from a narrow cobbled street through an archway to a plaza. She took a photo, then walked along a pedestrianised street, shaded from the sun by brightly coloured sailcloths stretched across it. There were more knife and sword shops here, and jewellery stores too, but Grace’s legs were beginning to ache, and when she found a small bar on a corner, with tables outside, she sat down at one and looked at the menu tucked into the napkin holder.
She ordered a sparkling water and a mushroom and herb omelette, which was lighter, fluffier and infinitely more tasty than she’d expected. From her table she could watch other tourists taking photos of a nearby church with an enormous wooden door, everyone adopting the same pose of looking as if they were knocking on it.