A Love for Rebecca (5 page)

The wide estuary channel came into view. Thick fog and a soft veil of rain blurred the low ridges rising on the opposite bank. The scenery became monotonous; everything was green, with the exception of an occasional barley field.

Soon enough, a large sign with a rounded top and a crest in the center greeted them: “Welcome to Beauly,” it announced in an arc that followed the shape of the sign. Below, there was something incomprehensible:
“A’ Mhanachainn.”

“What does that mean?” asked Berta.

Rory pronounced the words, provoking comical looks from those hearing the foreign sounds.

“It means ‘The Monastery.’ It’s a little farther ahead, in the center of town, but it’s only ruins. You’ll get a chance to see it. Some people find it a very spiritual place.”

“Well, the only one here with a spiritual side is Rebecca,” joked Lola.

“Hey!” Berta said. “Speak for yourself.”

“OK,” Lola said, “but she’s the only one who does anything about it.”

They drove through town on the main road, where the architecture was similar to what they’d been seeing. Then they turned off to the left, leaving the main street behind. Here there were individual houses with little gardens. On a street named Riverside Drive, Rory stopped the car.

“We’re here,” he said, nodding his head toward a cottage they could spot behind a thicket of trees and bushes.

Lola wiped the fog off her window, as did Berta and Rebecca in the backseat. The cottage looked like all the others: stone construction with a peaked, coffered roof. It had a cute little front garden surrounded by a low wall topped with a brown painted railing.

“It looks nice,” Berta said, trying to see around two large trees that blocked the view.

Rory pointed to the house next door, which was almost identical but a little larger. “Mrs. Munro lives there. She’ll be waiting for us.”

They stayed in the car and waited a few minutes for the rain to let up, then dashed the short distance to the bigger cottage. Mrs. Munro welcomed them cheerfully. Her kind face was round and smooth, free of wrinkles despite the fact she was probably past seventy.

“Welcome,” she greeted them in Spanish before switching to English. “Come in, get out of the rain.”

Mrs. Munro appeared to study her renters as Rory made the introductions and they all took a seat in the parlor.

“So
 . . .
from Barcelona,” the older woman said as she settled into an armchair upholstered in pink flowers and green leaves.

“Yes, ma’am,” Lola responded.

“May I offer you some tea? I’ve made a fresh pot.”

The girls weren’t big tea drinkers, unless it was iced tea, but they didn’t turn her down, either to be polite or, in Rebecca’s case, because she was cold.

“I see from your lovely tans that you’re from someplace warm,” Mrs. Munro said as she got teacups from an old wooden sideboard. The girls listened attentively to her unfamiliar accent. In addition to the unique Scottish cadence, they had to acclimate to the woman’s sharp, almost shrill, voice. “A lot of folks around here go to the Canary Islands for their holidays, but they don’t return home with that color, no indeed. They come back so red they later shed their skin like snakes and end up just as white as before they went.”

The girls laughed at the description, and Mrs. Munro continued from the kitchen with a detailed commentary on the “blasted Scottish weather.” It had been raining constantly for a week.

“The forecast says it will clear up in the next few days,” Rory said when he saw the look of dismay on the girls’ faces.

“God willing!” Mrs. Munro said as she returned to the parlor with the tea tray. “If not, these poor girls will leave here with their skin falling apart from the damp.”

Berta was having the hardest time following the conversation; her English wasn’t as good as that of the other two. She hadn’t spent any time abroad other than some quick excursions, and the highest level of English she had acquired had started to fade as she concentrated on her university studies. In contrast, Lola, whose father was an executive with a large multinational company, had lived in several countries before her parents divorced and she went to live with her mother in Barcelona. Her father, who was remarried and now had other children, lived in Bordeaux, where Lola spent her summer and Christmas vacations.

When Berta could no longer stifle her yawns, which were more from boredom than from exhaustion, Mrs. Munro decided to let the girls rest.

“I think it’s time to show you the cottage. You look tired,” she announced as she stood up and grabbed the keys from the side table.

The three girls and Rory stood simultaneously, as if launched by the same spring.

“It has everything you could need,” Mrs. Munro continued as they walked the short distance between the two houses. Although the rain had stopped, the air was intensely humid. They rounded the corner, went through the rustic wooden gate, and walked along the flagstone path through the garden. A large bay window protruded from the front of the cottage.

Mrs. Munro gave the door a firm push and, once inside, showed them around. “You have a washer, a microwave, a refrigerator, and a small TV. If you want, I can do the cooking, but that’s not included in the price.”

“Thank you,” Lola said, “but I think we can manage.”

The woman nodded. “There are two double rooms and a full bath. In the bathroom you’ll find a basket for the dirty towels. If you leave it on the front porch, I’ll switch them out for clean ones. Same with the sheets. But just the linens,” she admonished. “No clothing.”

Lola and Rebecca agreed and Berta did too, though she’d caught only a few random words of the conversation.

“The front door sticks when it’s humid,” Mrs. Munro continued, “which means it always sticks. So you just have to push like you mean it. I should have someone shave it down, but I prefer that it stick rather than let cold air in underneath.”

After a litany of rules and recommendations for the use and enjoyment of the house, Mrs. Munro handed over the keys. Before leaving, she said, “I left some sandwiches in the kitchen for you. I’m sure you’re hungry.”

The girls thanked her for her kindness. Finally alone, they explored all the nooks and crannies while Rory watched them. “What do you think?” he said.

Berta gave him a thumbs-up as she opened drawers in the kitchen.

“It’s perfect,” added Rebecca. “And Mrs. Munro is very nice.”

“Did you notice how she pronounces her r’s? And vowels?” Berta said as she wiped her foggy glasses. “I can barely understand anything.”

Lola looked affectionately at Rory. “You don’t talk like that.”

“That’s because my mum is from Liverpool. But you’ll get used to the accent. I’ve known Mrs. Munro since I was born. She’s always been very nice, although she talks more than I like. She’s got two children who work in Glasgow.”

“Do you live far from here?” asked Lola nonchalantly.

“Not far; on the other side of High Street, on Fraser. Beauly’s a small place.”

Lola beamed at him, and Rory turned red. Berta and Rebecca could see that it wasn’t his natural coloring and found it quite endearing. And a little shocking. The crazy, self-assured Lola was smitten with a boy who blushed. They never would have dreamed it.

They discovered a door to the back garden. Through the window curtains they could see a drying rack for the laundry and a small round table with four chairs. There were also several flowering shrubs. But it was too wet out for them to want to explore.

They shared the snack with Rory, who joined them self-consciously. Mrs. Munro was right: they were hungry. And the sandwiches were delicious—except for the ones that, in addition to cheese, tuna, and ham, also had potato chips.

“This is new,” Berta said, showing her friends the potato chips inside her sandwich.

Rory shrugged at their inquisitive looks.

“Crisp potato sandwich,” he said, after swallowing the bite in his mouth.

They shrugged in return and continued eating.

Before leaving, Rory helped them get the luggage inside. Then Lola walked him to the car.

Thirty minutes later she returned to the questioning looks of her two friends.

“What!” she exclaimed.

Berta arched an eyebrow inquisitively. “That’s what we wanted to know.”

Lola’s eyes lit up, and she ran to hug her friends, jumping up and down with giddiness. “I don’t know
 . . .
” she said, pulling away a little. “I’m so
 . . .
” She sighed heavily. “I’ve thought about him so much these few last weeks that
 . . .
”

“I think Lola has finally fallen in love,” declared Berta.

“So wonderful, right?” Rebecca sighed. “Falling in love is always wonderful.”

“I mean Rory. He’s so
 . . .
tender, so sweet
 . . .
Have you seen how he blushes? I just want to kiss him to death.”

Berta again wiped her glasses, which for some reason kept fogging up. “Just to see you like this has made the trip worth it, even if it rains the entire three weeks—”

Rebecca’s hand flew to her mouth. “Don’t even say that. Knock on wood.”

A PASSIONATE ENCOUNTER

Lola was the first one up in the morning. Rory was coming at ten to take them to town. At eight thirty, Lola burst into the bedroom her friends were sharing.

“Come on, sleepyheads. Rory will be here before you know it, and we have only one bathroom for the three of us. And you know how punctual the English are.”

“Rory’s Scottish,” mumbled Rebecca. “Does the saying count for them too?”

Berta opened one drowsy eye. “Maybe the Scots are late for the pure pleasure of being contrary to their neighbors.”

Lola opened the curtains, letting light into the bedroom.

“Did the sun come out?” Rebecca asked, stretching her neck and turning toward the window.

“No,” Lola said, scrutinizing the sky. “But at least it’s not raining.”

“I’ll take it.”

They took turns showering and went to the kitchen for breakfast. They sat on three high stools pulled up to the marble counter and resolved to finish the leftover sandwiches.

“I can’t stand the potato chips in the sandwiches,” Lola said as she spit some out.

“What’s this?” asked Berta, pointing to something that looked like an electric pitcher.

“It’s a water kettle,” Rebecca said. “For making tea.”

Berta stood and opened cupboards, checking out the kitchenware. She held up a red, rectangular carton. “Fancy some tea?”

Lola heaved a sigh. “Seeing as there’s no coffee.”

The water came to a boil in the new gadget in no time. Berta found a white china teapot, added three teaspoons of tea leaves, and poured the water.

They were pleasantly surprised by the intense, invigorating flavor, perfect for starting the day.

Rory showed up at ten on the dot, which prompted them to once again consider English punctuality, this time including the Scots.

On returning to the town, the girls saw that High Street was a long avenue that split the town in half. Two-story homes with shops on the ground floors bordered both sides of the street, giving it a cozy family feel. The girls withdrew British pounds from the ATM at the Bank of Scotland, an elegant building with a square floor plan, Gothic windows, and a salmon-colored plaque displaying the bank’s name.

They strolled through town, stopping to buy groceries for the next few days. The layout of the streets in Beauly, with the long avenue always a point of reference, made it hard to get lost.

In the afternoon, Lola wanted to go out with Rory alone. She had three weeks to find out if the relationship was anything more than a whim or an idealized memory. Wishing her good luck, Berta and Rebecca chose to stay in, grill the chicken they’d purchased, and cook a big pot of vegetable stew that would last several days. In the late afternoon they went for a walk on the path running along the River Beauly.

Berta looked curiously at Rebecca as a fresh, clean breeze rose to greet them. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Why do you ask?”

“I mean about the wedding.”

Rebecca toyed with the engagement ring Mario had given her. She spun it around a few times, as if physical contact with the ring would arouse some feeling. It was a delicate ring with three stones. Engraved on the inside was the date of their engagement.

“I’m looking forward to it all being over. You wouldn’t believe how crazy everything gets.”

“Yeah,” Berta said. “But are you excited?”

“Of course.”

“I’m happy for you.” She was silent for a moment and then ventured: “You’re sure, right?”

Rebecca stopped and looked at her, surprised by the question. Then she looked away and allowed her gaze to get lost in a clump of trees near the riverbank.

“I want to marry Mario, although I wouldn’t have minded waiting longer, maybe until I was twenty-five or so. But then I remember he’s older than I am.” She took a deep breath and exhaled. “And then there’s my mother. I think she was super relieved when we announced the engagement. I’m sure she thinks we’ve never slept together but was worried the inevitable could happen at any moment.” She looked at Berta and gave her a mischievous grin. “She’d die if I got pregnant.”

Berta knew how strict Elvira was with her daughter. “Yeah, but it’s not like it would be the end of the world,” she said.

“It would be the end of my mother’s world.” Rebecca thought a moment and looked up at the dark clouds. “Do you ever have doubts?”

“About what?”

“You know
 . . .
about Albert.”

“Well, I’ve always known he was my soul mate. So no, I’ve never had any doubts.”

“But how can you know? How can I know I’m making the right choice?”

“I suppose your heart tells you. You feel it, and that’s it. There aren’t any magical formulas.”

“I wish there were.”

They walked in silence, accompanied only by the murmur of the river and the songs of birds hidden in the bushes.

Berta stopped suddenly and grabbed Rebecca’s arm. “Do you hear that?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

Rebecca strained to listen. “No,” she whispered.

“It sounds like heavy breathing.”

Berta crept forward along the path and approached a small, thick bush that hid the riverbank a few yards below. Rebecca waited where she was and watched her friend peer through the branches. Berta turned back to her and motioned for Rebecca to come closer.

When Rebecca reached her side, Berta signaled her to keep quiet and look through the opening she’d made among the leaves.

At the edge of the river, a couple was enthusiastically engaged in exploring each other’s bodies. He was seated on a large, flat rock, embracing the blonde straddling him. Their kisses looked as if the two wanted to devour one another. Her hands were tangled in his coppery hair; his were hidden under her skirt.

The two friends stifled their giggles. They noticed fishing gear scattered around the rock, indicating, at least in theory, that the lovers were there to fish.

Berta moved aside, but Rebecca wanted to watch a little longer, fascinated by the couple’s ardent abandon. As she parted the branches for a better view, the noise caught the man’s attention and he looked up. Their eyes met for an instant before Rebecca released the branches and jumped back, startled.

Berta tugged on Rebecca’s arm. When they had gotten far enough away, she chided Rebecca. “They caught you, didn’t they?”

Rebecca still looked panicked. “Just him.”

“What’d he do?”

“Nothing, just looked at me.”

“Well, at least he has better manners than we do. Why did you keep spying on them? They were just kissing.”

“Oh, but the way they were kissing
 . . .
”

“It sounds like you need to teach Mario how to be a bit more passionate.”

“I’m not sure that’s something that can be taught. Are you?”

Berta gave her a crooked smile. “Come on, let’s go.”

They returned home and found Lola’s door closed. They decided to give the couple some privacy, so they took a blanket and went to the back garden. It was almost nine when Lola appeared in front of them, her long, curly black hair disheveled.

“Did you have a nice nap?” Rebecca prodded.

Lola tried to look offended, but she giggled.

“It looks like you’ve been having a great time,” said Berta. “Where is he? Hiding under the bed?”

“He left. But he’s coming early tomorrow to pick me up. We’re going to Inverness.

Rebecca scowled. “And what about us?”

“We’ll all go together another day, I promise. But for now I want to be alone with Rory. You understand, right? Tell me you understand
 . . .
please
,” she added in English.

“What can we say to that?” Berta conceded.

Lola kissed each friend on the cheek and added, “We’ll be back for supper. The four of us can eat together, OK?

“Sounds like a fabulous plan.” Rebecca was still pouting. “And who’s going to make supper?”

Lola gave her a hangdog look, and Rebecca gave in. “Go, take your shower. You look like you’ve been in a tumbling match.”

“And what would you know about a good tumble? I’m certain that stuffy boyfriend of yours has no idea
 . . .
”

Rebecca stuck out her tongue, and Lola disappeared behind the bathroom door.