Bay of Secrets (44 page)

He moved back towards his father. ‘There is something I need to ask you, Papa,’ he said. ‘It’s important.’

‘Oh, yes.’ His father nodded as if he already knew what it was. ‘I suppose there is. And there’s something I need to tell you, my boy. The time has come and as I keep telling your mother, there’s no putting it off, not any more. There’s something I need to tell you.’

What was she going to find … ?

Ruby tried not to think about it, tried not to let her expectations rise too high. She was walking along the beach the same way she’d walked with Izabella, past the semicircular pods of rocks which she had learnt – from the hotel receptionist – were called
corralitos
. Lava rock piles with sandy bases, a natural windbreak and protection from the strong breeze which was even now whipping sand around her ankles and shunting the hair from her face. She liked the feeling though. In the distance, the lighthouse seemed to mock her – seeming closer one minute and then far away as the coastline twisted and turned.

She thought of the nun at the convent – Sister Julia. Why did she want Ruby to go back there? What was this story she had to tell?
Well, you won’t know unless you go
 … She’d have to do it. Apart from letting the old lady down, she was a journalist, wasn’t she? Whatever her personal circumstances, whatever her quest, she’d hopefully never lose her nose for a story.

She paused at the top of the rocks, looking down into what Izabella had referred to as the secret bay. The beach was
almost deserted and right at the far side of the bay, back by the dunes, she could see the orange beach house, and beyond, the red and white finger of the lighthouse pointing up to the sky. She thought of Laura and the photographs. Now, once more, it looked very far away.

At the water’s edge the surf was bubbling over the sand and, on impulse, Ruby ran down and took off her shoes to let her feet sink into the soft grains, the creeping water frothing tantalisingly around her toes. She walked on to where the rocky outcrop bordered the bay, to where the incoming tide was leaving tiny rock pools of sea water where little curlews and terns were scouring for food. The water was so clear that she could see the rocks on the sea bed and the tiny fish swimming above.

She walked over the sand towards the beach house. There was a path lined with the yellow spikes of succulent plants that seemed to wind between the dunes towards the lighthouse.
El faro.
She shielded her eyes to get a better view. Had Andrés walked to the lighthouse – to go fishing, maybe, or beachcombing? This island was in his blood. Whatever had happened between him and his family, it was a part of him. Had he honestly and completely let it go?

She hadn’t called Andrés to tell him what had happened with Sister Julia at the convent, what she had discovered about Laura. And he hadn’t called her. What was the point of ringing him again? He knew his father was ill and yet he hadn’t told her. He knew how important it was for Ruby to come here, and yet he hadn’t wanted her to come, let alone
offered to come with her. If he couldn’t even visit his own father who might not have long to live, if he couldn’t come back and support the rest of his family when they needed him, let alone give Ruby some emotional back-up … Well, then he wasn’t the sort of man Ruby was looking for at all.

Ruby had said as much to Mel who had called her yesterday, eager for news.

‘Come on, darling,’ she had said. ‘Don’t give up.’

‘On what?’

‘On Andrés.’

‘It isn’t me who’s given up,’ Ruby reminded her.

‘Sounds like you have to me,’ Mel said. ‘I thought he was special.’

So had Ruby.

‘Didn’t anyone ever tell you, Ruby?’ she said. ‘You should never give up on something special. At least not without a fight.’

Which was all very well. But … ‘How about you?’ she asked.

‘Funny you should say that.’ Mel clearly knew exactly what she was talking about. ‘Me and Stuart had a long chat last night. About what we really wanted, you know?’

‘I know.’

‘And … I realised I was scared.’

‘Scared?’ Ruby couldn’t see that. Mel had always been the brave one, even back when they were teenagers and she’d always had the courage to chat to the boys. Or maybe she’d just been better at putting on a brave face? ‘What of, Mel?’

‘Of losing what I’ve worked so hard for, of my life changing, of not being in charge of things any more.’ Mel paused.

‘And now?’ Ruby asked.

‘I talked to Stuart and I realised I didn’t have to be scared,’ Mel said. ‘And that I don’t have to lose anything. The shop, being in charge of my own life, I can keep all that.’

‘You only have to gain,’ Ruby said softly.

‘Exactly.’

Our life
 … And Ruby knew that Mel had Stuart and that whatever happened, whatever the two of them decided, she would be fine.

But did she have that with Andrés? She really wasn’t sure.

Meanwhile, the breeze was getting stronger. This must be a moving landscape, shifted and formed by the wind. Even the
corralitos
were banked up with drifts of sand that looked more like snow; it seemed that one day a rock pile would exist – the next day it would have disappeared and become part of a dune. And so – things changed and you could never be sure of what you might find.

At last she stopped, the beach house right in front of her. As she had thought when she first saw it, bizarrely, it was built on the sand, near the track that led to
el faro
. And it was an unusual building in other ways too. It was a simple, almost childish design and it was made of cream and orange painted stone, with a Moorish tilt to it in the contours of the windows, the pear-shaped conical chimney, the sloping orange roof. Around it was a low stone wall loosely constructed from stacked black volcanic rocks. Ruby took a
few deep breaths. Steadied herself. This was it. This was the place.

There didn’t seem to be anyone around as she approached. Should she go straight up and knock on the door? Ruby’s heart was thudding in her chest. She thought of Vivien.
I understand why
 … But Laura hadn’t brought Ruby up, nor had she cared for her – apart from in those early weeks. Was Ruby wrong even to be searching for her? Shouldn’t she simply just let things be?

But it was irresistible. Ruby had lived here too – if only for a few short weeks. And Laura had lived here for a lot longer. Maybe the place was also in her blood? She pulled out the photos and examined the landscape, working out where each one must have been taken. There was the orange wall of the beach house which Laura had been leaning against when this photograph had been taken; there was the
corralito –
a natural
corralito
with deep curved sides – where she had been sitting, playing the guitar, empty now, save for a shaving of golden sand on the black pitted lava floor. This was the place where the psychedelic VW camper van had been parked; the track from the road was long and rough and it was hard to believe the van had even made it – but it must have done because the evidence was right here in the photo. The red and white stripes of the lighthouse were easily visible now. And there was the sea, clear and enticing. This was, without any doubt, the place.

‘Can I help you?’

Ruby spun around.
Laura … ?
But no. She saw at once
that the woman – evidently English – who had come out of the little beach house, although around Laura’s age, was too tall and too dark to be her.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘But I don’t know if you can. I’m, er, looking for someone.’

‘Oh?’ Although the woman seemed curious, she also looked friendly, and so Ruby came closer.

‘I’m sorry to disturb you,’ she said, for this spot was so quiet, so tranquil. ‘But do you live here?’ For the first time she noticed the image of a clock engraved into the stone chimney and a smiling face tucked into one corner of the wall. What a strange house. Not as childlike as she had thought before. More quirky and surreal; like a Dali house.

‘Yes, I do. I’m Trish.’ The woman held out a hand and Ruby took it.

‘Ruby,’ she said.

‘Hello, Ruby.’ She eyed her appraisingly. ‘Who was it you were looking for?’ She glanced around them with a smile and Ruby followed her gaze.

She saw the joke. As far as she could see, they were entirely alone. ‘Someone called Laura,’ she said. ‘Laura Woods. Do you know her?’

‘Laura?’ The woman called Trish peered more closely at her. She was wearing a faded T-shirt and a simple wraparound skirt and flip-flops. Her hair was loose and shoulder length and she wore not a scrap of make-up.

Ruby felt ridiculously overdressed in her tailored shorts and red flowery top. She nodded.

‘Are you a friend of Laura’s?’ the woman asked, instead of answering the question.

But of course she had answered the question. So … She knew her. Maybe Laura even lived here. ‘Sort of,’ Ruby said.

‘A relative? You look a bit, well, familiar.’

‘Um … ’ Ruby was still holding the photograph. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to go through the whole story again. ‘Does she live here?’ she asked again.

‘She did.’

Ruby’s heart sank.
She did.
She had gone then. ‘When did she leave?’ she asked bleakly. ‘Do you know where she went?’

‘Almost a year ago. And I have no idea where she went, I’m afraid.’ Trish was eying the photograph in Ruby’s hand. ‘May I see?’ she asked gently.

What difference did it make, if Laura wasn’t even here? With a sigh, Ruby handed it over. ‘I’m the baby,’ she said.

‘And Laura’s the mother.’ Trish’s expression softened. She looked from the photograph back to Ruby and then back again. ‘Oh, my dear, I didn’t know. But now I can see the resemblance, of course. Come in. Please.’ And she led Ruby into the Dali beach house.

The door opened straight into a sitting room. There were bright red tiles on the floor and rugs woven in vibrant patterns, though the colours had faded with time. The furniture was simple – a small wooden table covered with an embroidered cloth, a chest of drawers and a few wicker chairs. Cushions were strewn around the room too – large and
colourful – and above them some sheets of fabric – maybe silk – billowed softly in the breeze from the open front door.

‘Sit down, please.’ Trish waved Ruby into one of the chairs and disappeared to get drinks. She returned with two glasses of fresh orange juice, one of which she passed to Ruby. She sat down on the wicker chair opposite her and regarded her appraisingly. ‘I never knew Laura had a daughter,’ she said. ‘She never told me.’ She seemed surprised; as if trying to make sense of it all.

Ruby shrugged. ‘Perhaps she was trying to forget.’

Trish frowned.

‘I never knew her,’ Ruby explained. ‘She gave me away when I was a baby.’ It sounded stark. But she supposed that it was.

‘Oh. I see.’ Trish shook her head. ‘Or at least, no, I don’t see. But—’

‘It’s OK.’ Ruby was trying to put a brave face on it. It was disappointing though. She had come here to find, if not Laura herself, then some answers about her natural parents. She wished Laura had confided in this woman. At least then she might find out who her father was, how Laura had felt about giving her up and maybe even why she’d done it. Did she need to know, she wondered, that it hadn’t been easy for Laura, that she had always regretted it, perhaps, that if only she could turn back time … ? Rejection, she brooded. It wasn’t pleasant. It wasn’t easy.

‘I’m sorry I can’t be of more help,’ Trish said, sympathy in her eyes.

Ruby sipped at the orange juice Trish had given her. But perhaps she could? She must after all know Laura better than anyone else Ruby had spoken to so far. So Ruby could at least find out more about her. She looked around the room. ‘This is such a cool place,’ she said. Trish had left the door open and they were being serenaded by the hiss and rumble of the wind and the ocean. How lovely to fall asleep listening to this. To be soothed into dreams every night; for it to be the first thing you heard every morning when you woke up.

Trish nodded. ‘Laura loved it too,’ she said. ‘She rented it from the German guy who built it – sometime in the seventies, I believe. He had a bit of a crazy dream, you know?’ She laughed, but Ruby knew exactly what she meant.

It was just the sort of thing people must have done back then.
Let’s go and live on the beach. Get away from it all.
And in a house that was not conventional; which was weird and quirky and symbolic perhaps of how differently its occupants wanted to be regarded from the rest of the world outside. And the late seventies was when Ruby was born – 1978, to be precise.

‘Did she live here with Julio when you first knew her?’ Ruby thought of Laura’s boyfriend, the casual arm slung around her shoulders in the photo. He might not have wanted the responsibility of someone else’s baby. But how many boys would at that age? Like Ruby’s natural father – maybe he too had simply been one of the drifters who was just passing through.

‘She was on her own when I met her. But people here
come and go.’ Trish waved towards the beach outside and Ruby remembered what she’d been thinking about moving landscapes, shifting sand. And drifters. Like Laura. Like Trish. People that came and went with the wind, with the tide, as the fancy took them.

‘What happened to him?’ she asked. ‘The German guy who built the place?’

Trish shrugged. ‘I think he went off and built some more conventional houses in the village,’ she laughed. ‘He had a bit of a thing for Laura. But then most men did. She’d get involved with someone, he’d try and pin her down and that was usually the beginning of the end.’

Was her father one of those men? Ruby wondered. Had her natural father also tried to pin Laura down and then lost her – not even knowing that she was already carrying his child?

‘Did she pay him rent?’ Ruby asked, not really sure where she was going with this.

‘I suppose so.’ Trish seemed vague. ‘Then he just kind of disappeared. Maybe he went back to Germany. I don’t know.’

Like Laura had disappeared, Ruby thought. So Laura, she supposed, had assumed ownership of the house. Because it should be looked after, because she needed it and because it was there.
God.
Ruby froze. Exactly like Vivien had assumed ownership of the child Laura had left behind. She supposed it was different when a child was involved. But even so, she could see how easy it would be when the house or the child
seemed like the answer to all your prayers. And what about that German builder? What if he had let Laura keep the house because of Ruby? What if Laura had even been part of his crazy dream in the first place? What if … ?