The Snow Gypsy(89)

“I’d written down what you told me. I figured that if I halved the amount, that would be safe for a child of Nieve’s age. It’s what I do when I’m treating animals—the dose is always worked out according to the weight, whether it’s a horse, a dog, a sheep, or whatever.” Rose turned to Zoltan. “I was terrified of giving it to her, though, wasn’t I?”

“But seeing her suffer was just as terrifying,” he replied.

Rose nodded. “I knew how dangerous it was. And at one point I really thought she’d died. That I’d killed her. She was stone cold and completely still. I couldn’t hear her breathing, and there was no pulse.”

“You took her to the gates of death,” Maria said. “Shut the body down to allow it to heal itself. Sometimes that works—sometimes it doesn’t. She must be a strong little thing.”

“She is.” Rose smiled. “When we left, she was sitting outside on the grass, making a daisy chain for Gunesh. She wouldn’t let him come with us—she said she wanted to see him wearing it when it was finished.”

“You haven’t left her all alone?” The wrinkles gathered on Maria’s forehead.

“No—she’s with her . . .” Rose checked herself. “She’s with the friend I told you about—the one who used to live in Capileira. She lives in Granada now, but she came back to visit.” She glanced at Zoltan, wondering if she’d given away too much.

Maria nodded and disappeared into the house.

“She won’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Zoltan said.

“Are you sure?”

He nodded. “She risked her life, providing food for the partisans. She and Lola were on the same side.”

Maria came back with something in her hand. It was a gift for Nieve—a silk purse with dried lavender sewn into the lining.

“You must be tired,” Zoltan said to Rose as they made their way back through the orchard.

“Not really,” she replied. “I should be, I know. But I feel as if I could run a marathon.”

He stopped walking, shading his eyes as he scanned the hillside. “We could go for a walk up the mountain if you like. You can show me where you saw those badger cubs.”

“Yes, I’d like that.”

It felt good to be out in the sunshine after the trauma of the past few days. There was a cooling breeze blowing down from the glacial lake at the top of Mulhacén. It rustled the branches of the trees and sent orange blossoms drifting onto their heads.

“They have names for the wind in Spain,” Zoltan said as brushed away a petal that had landed on his nose. “An old boy at the market was reeling them off one day. There’s the dry, hot wind that blows from Morocco and covers everything in red dust; the one from the southwest that always brings rain or snow; a cold one from the northeast that kills the almond blossom if it comes too early . . .” He trailed off with a shrug. “Don’t ask me to remember their names—there are half a dozen or more.”

“You’ve picked up so much about this country—considering you’ve only been living here for a year or so.” Rose smiled. “Do you think you’ll stay?”

Zoltan looked away. “Maybe. I’m not sure. I’ve heard there are opportunities in Argentina. They speak Spanish there, so I’d be off to a good start.”

“That’s a long way away.” She shivered as the breeze caught the bare skin at the back of her neck. Why did the thought of his leaving make her feel so desolate?

“It’s only an idea,” he said. “I haven’t really thought it through.” He brought his hand sharply up to his eyes. “Look! Up there on the ridge. Ibex—can you see?”

She followed his gaze. At first, she saw nothing but rocks. Then a flicker of movement revealed the shape of an animal, its gray-brown body perfectly camouflaged by the landscape. Then she spotted another. And another. They were chasing each other along the edge of an impossibly sheer cliff face, springing from rock to rock like children playing tag.

“They’re amazing, aren’t they?” Zoltan said. “How they don’t fall . . .”

They stood watching until the wild goats disappeared over the top of the ridge.

“It’s a good thing Gunesh isn’t with us,” Rose said. “He’d probably have tried to chase them.”

“What did he do when you spotted the badgers?”

“He’d dozed off. There was water between us and them—I don’t think he could smell them.”

“Was it that stream?” Zoltan pointed to the left. Rose caught a glimmer of silver—the sparkling torrent of a waterfall tumbling over rocks.

“I’m not sure,” she replied. “I’ll recognize it when I see it. Shall we go and have a look?”

They walked along the banks for a while until they reached the spot Rose remembered. Lying facedown among the reeds, they watched and waited. The sound of the water was soporific. Rose found herself struggling to keep her eyes open. She was almost asleep when she felt the touch of Zoltan’s fingers on her wrist. Looking up, she caught a glimpse of white among the vegetation on the opposite bank. A pointed snout with a black button nose emerged from the reeds, glistening with droplets of water.