The Snow Gypsy(75)

“You’ve made a huge difference to that little girl’s life, you know.” Zoltan pushed the plate of toast across the tray toward her. “She told me she couldn’t read or write before she met you.”

“She’s an easy child to love. Her mother—Lola, I mean—was afraid I might try and take her away if I found out she was my niece. That was before Lola was arrested. I told her that whatever happened, I’d never do that.”

“What will you do now? Is there any chance of Lola being released?”

“I don’t know. I’ve written letters to everyone I can think of. But no one’s replied. I go cold every time I think about it. She could be locked up for years.”

“Would you take Nieve back to England?”

Rose shook her head. “I don’t know. She seems happy here, doesn’t she?” Glancing at the shape of her foot under the bedclothes, she added, “And I’m not going anywhere in a hurry, am I?”

“Well, not for a couple of days. But it’s San Juan tomorrow—remember? I’ve promised Nieve I’ll get you down the mountain on the mule so you can see her in the dance display.”

“Oh God—I’d forgotten all about it!”

“Hardly surprising—you’ve had a bump on the head.” Zoltan’s lips pressed into a wry smile. “You’d better eat some of that toast. Apricots are good for the brain.”

“Are they?” Rose took a big bite and swallowed it down. “I didn’t know that.”

“Nor did I.” Zoltan grinned. “Don’t stop eating now, though, will you?”



The sun was low in the sky as the mule made its way through the cobbled streets of Pampaneira. Zoltan walked in front with Gunesh at his heels. He held the lead rein, taking care not to let the mule get too close to the water channels. Rose held tight to the saddle. The swelling in her ankle had gone down, but she was afraid of putting any weight on it, so only her good foot was in a stirrup.

“The houses look pretty,” she said. “I can see why you did such brisk business the other day.”

“Looks like love is in the air, doesn’t it.” He smiled over his shoulder as they passed yet another front door festooned with a garland of white roses and jasmine blossom studded with cherries.

Rose wondered if Nathan had hung flowers and cherries on Adelita’s door. Very likely they had met and fallen in love in the summer of ’37. But it seemed unimaginable that such innocent pleasures as adorning a sweetheart’s house with flowers and dancing around a midsummer bonfire could have gone on during the dreadful years of the Civil War.

“That one doesn’t look so nice, does it?” Rose pointed to a door on the other side of the street. It had a bunch of thorns and nettles tied to the door knocker.

“That’s what they do if they’ve had a quarrel,” Zoltan replied.

“If someone hung something like that on my door, I’d take it down—I wouldn’t leave it hanging there for everyone to see.”

“They can’t—it’s bad luck. Anything that’s hung on a door must stay there until sunrise tomorrow. If a girl takes it down, they say she’ll never marry.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Maria told me.”

“Is she coming tonight?”

“Oh no—much too dangerous,” he said with a wry grin. “They burn an effigy of a witch on the bonfire. She’ll be tucked up in bed while the fiesta’s going on.”

Zoltan led the mule out of the village and across the bridge to the mill. Rose wasn’t looking forward to going back there, but she had to pick up Nieve’s costume, which she’d left lying on the bed the previous morning.

There was no sign of life when they got there. She gave Zoltan the key, and he disappeared inside while she stayed sitting on the mule. She’d had to ask him to look through her things, to find spare underwear, nightdresses, and a change of clothes for Nieve and herself. It was embarrassing—but there was no way she could get up those stairs herself.

“Oh, you’ve come back, have you?”

The miller’s wife came from behind, startling her so that she nearly lost her balance.

“Buenas noches.” Rose twisted around in the saddle. But before she could explain her absence, Se?ora Carmona let loose a tirade:

“Didn’t take you long, did it, to find yourself a man? I’ve seen him selling his cherries in the market. A dirty Gypsy—that’s what he is. I don’t know how you could lower yourself. I thought you were an educated person! Writing a book, indeed! Well, you needn’t think you’re spending another night under my roof! Whatever he’s gone up there for, you’d better tell him to bring the rest as well. I want you and the kid and that slobbering dog out! Out!”

At that moment, Zoltan appeared in the doorway.

“Se?ora Carmona, you misunderstand,” he said. “Rose injured her foot while walking in the mountains. She only—”

“Don’t give me that rubbish!” the woman hissed.

“You’re wasting your breath, Zoltan. She took a dislike to me the day I arrived.” Rose’s voice, quiet and controlled, belied her seething anger. “You’re not interested in the truth, are you?” she said, turning to Se?ora Carmona. “You only want to see the bad in people. And I wouldn’t spend another night here if you paid me. I’d rather sleep under a bush!”