Bitter Memories. Margaret Mayo

have seen you many times as I live not far away from here, but I did not have the courage to speak,’ he told her honestly. ‘Then at the wedding I knew I had to make the effort. I hope you are not offended.’

      Tanya shook her head, completely mesmerised by this fascinating stranger. She could not quite make up her mind from which part of the world he came—Spain or Italy, perhaps, judging by his colouring.

      He held out his hand. ‘My name is Alejandro Vazquez Herrera, and I believe you are Tanya? A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.’

      ‘Tanya Elliott,’ she confirmed, putting her slim hand into his, liking the feel of his firm handshake. ‘How did you know?’

      ‘By keeping my ears open at the wedding reception,’ he confessed with an engaging smile. ‘May I take you for a drink?’

      ‘Perhaps a coffee?’ she murmured. She felt a sudden shyness which was alien to her, and put it down to the fact that he wasn’t English. He was really quite the most exciting person she had met in a long time.

      She walked along at his side, aware of the curious glances of her colleagues. There would be plenty of questions tomorrow. ‘Are you living in England permanently?’ she ventured after they had walked a few yards in silence.

      ‘No,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I am here to study English. I am taking classes and doing a job at the same time to help pay for both them and my accommodation.’

      ‘Your English sounds very good to me,’ she said, hiding her disappointment that he would one day return to his home country.

      ‘It has improved,’ he agreed, lifting his shoulders in a modest gesture. ‘I have been here twelve months now. I have enjoyed it very much.’

      ‘How much longer do you plan to stay?’ She waited with bated breath for his answer. It would be just her luck if he was planning to go home very shortly.

      ‘I am in no hurry,’ he told her.

      Tanya’s face broke into an involuntary smile of relief. ‘Where do you come from?’

      ’The Canary Islands—Tenerife, to be exact. Have you ever been there?’

      Tanya shook her head.

      ‘Then you must; they are beautiful. Politically we belong to Spain, but we prefer to think of ourselves as independent.’

      Tanya showed her ignorance. ‘I’m not even sure where they are.’

      He gave a slow, tolerant smile. ‘In the Atlantic Ocean, just off the coast of Africa. The climate is superb. Ask a Canarian what the islands are unique for, and he will say the weather. It is our blessing. It encourages tourism and prospers our economy.’

      ‘So what do you think of England?’

      A grimace took the place of his smile. ‘What do I think? I am used to it now, but it was so cold when I first came. I wondered how you put up with it. Now I think England is beautiful—not so much as Tenerife, of course, but…’ He broke off and laughed. ‘I am joking. Your country is—how do you say it?—on a par. Each has its own—advantages. Is that right?’

      Tanya nodded, laughing also. He was being very diplomatic.

      ‘Shall we take our coffee here?’ He halted outside a tearoom which had a good reputation and was not very busy at this time of day.

      Afterwards Tanya had no idea what they talked about. She remembered him saying that his mother was no longer alive, that he had several brothers and sisters, all younger than himself, but apart from that she recalled nothing. She knew only that she had had a wonderful time and that Alejandro was no longer a stranger but a warm, humorous man who had kept her amused and happy and wormed his way just a little into her heart—even in that short space of time.

      She could not sleep that night for thinking about him, and could not wait for their next date. He had only one evening free a week, he told her ruefully, but this week he had all day Sunday off and he would very much like to see her then.

      Tanya lived in a small bed-sitter on the top floor of a converted Victorian house on the outskirts of Birmingham, found for her by the local council when she became of age and no longer qualified for foster care. Charlene had wanted her to move in to her much bigger and comfortable apartment, but Tanya craved her independence. She wanted to lead her own life.

      In the weeks that followed Tanya saw as much of Alejandro as was possible, given that he worked unsociable hours and still took English lessons in his spare time. It was a passionate, intense affair, both feeling as though they had known each other forever, hating the hours they were forced to spend apart, never able to get enough of each other.

      When her sister met him she was equally impressed. ‘Lucky you,’ she said, ‘but be careful. Don’t forget he’ll be going home one day.’

      ‘Yes, but he’ll take me with him,’ said Tanya confidently. ‘He’s already spoken about it.’

      Charlene looked sceptical. ‘Isn’t that what they all say? I’ve lived longer than you, Tan; I know what men are like.’

      But Tanya would listen to nothing detrimental about her beloved Alejandro, and for three months the affair raged. She grew more and more confident in her love for him, never actually declaring her feelings—and nor did he—but they both knew that it was there, and as far as Tanya was concerned she was happier than she had ever been in her life.

      He showed his love in a dozen different ways; in his caring attitude, in the intense physical pleasure of their lovemaking, in the little gifts he bought her—nothing expensive—a single rose, chocolates, a glossy magazine, bath oils. None cost more than a pound or two, and yet they meant as much to Tanya as if he had bought her diamonds or gold.

      Always he came to the flat for her; sometimes they went out, sometimes they stayed in, and once he had taken her back to his room at the hotel. Employees were actually not allowed to have members of the opposite sex in their rooms, but she had said so many times that she wanted to see where he lived, that in the end he had given in.

      How many times since had she wished she had never gone there? It was as small and cramped as her own room, but far more untidy, and when she offered to make them a cup of coffee she could not help noticing the letter that had been left lying on the cupboard where the kettle stood.

      Her eyes flicked over the boldly written page before she realised what she was doing, and once she had started she could not stop. It was from Alejandro’s father, and surprisingly written in English—probably as a concession to his son’s improving his knowledge of the language. Although his father’s mastery of English was not very good, Tanya managed to make out that he was asking Alejandro when he was coming home, because Juanita was growing impatient. It was time he came back and made arrangements for his wedding, which had been put off long enough.

      His wedding! Tanya felt the colour drain out of her face, and without stopping to think she picked up the letter and thrust it under Alejandro’s nose. ‘What the hell is this all about?’

      ‘You should not have read that, Tanya,’ he said quietly.

      ‘But I have,’ she cried, ‘and I want to know about this girl, this Juanita. Why have you never told me about her? Why have you let me assume that it’s me you love? Hell, if I’d known all you were interested in was an affair I——’

      ‘That is not the case,’ he interjected sharply.

      ‘No?’ Her eyes widened, full of scepticism. ‘It looks very much like that to me. Do you deny that there’s another girl in your life?’

      ‘Yes, I do,’ he announced strongly.

      ‘So who is Juanita?’

      ‘A lifelong friend, a family friend; we virtually grew up together.’

      ‘A friend?’ Tanya’s tone filled with disbelief. ‘It doesn’t sound as though she’s just a friend to