The Snow Gypsy(93)

“I know you’re right, but it’s hard to control those feelings.” Lola glanced over her shoulder. The door was open a couple of inches. Nieve’s head was just visible. “She’s still asleep,” Lola said. “When she wakes up I’m going to have to tell her that we’re leaving. I need to go today, Rose, not tomorrow. I’ve got to get away from him.”

Rose nodded, staring past her at the sleeping form beyond the bedroom door. Her heart felt as if it were being squeezed in an iron fist. “I’ll come with you to órgiva. We can borrow Zoltan’s mules. If we go straight after breakfast, I can get them back to him before the market packs up.” She went to unhook the pot of migas from the fire, not wanting Lola to see the anguish in her face. If they took Zoltan’s mules, she would have to return them. There would be no chance of her making a spur-of-the-moment decision to jump on the bus to Granada.

As she doled the contents of the pot onto three plates, she tried to imagine what life was going to be like after Lola and Nieve had gone. It was too early to know if she and Zoltan had any real future together. She could have asked him last night, but after the trauma of the day’s events, all she’d wanted was to lose herself in the warmth of his body. The thought of leaving him behind was unbearable.

“You know I’d love it if you came with us.” Lola was suddenly beside her. “But I’m not blind, Rose. I’ve seen the way you and Zoltan look at each other. You’ve fallen for him, haven’t you?”

“I . . .” Rose faltered, the ladle halfway between the pot and the plate. “I don’t know what to do—I feel as if I’m being torn apart.”

“You don’t have to decide now,” Lola said. “I’ll write to you when we get to Madrid. I’ll let you know where we’re staying. You can come and visit us, can’t you? Even if you decide to stay here.”

Rose nodded, pressing her lips together to stem the fresh tide of emotion Lola’s words had set off. Yes, she could visit. But it wouldn’t be the same. The thought of not seeing Nieve every day, of not watching her grow up, was heartrending.



It took less than half an hour to pack their belongings. Lola had left Granada with nothing but the clothes she was wearing. Nieve’s things fit into a small suitcase.

“Where’s your rucksack, Auntie Rose?” Nieve asked as they walked through the door of the cottage into the sunshine.

Rose turned away, fiddling with the latch.

“She has to stay behind to help Uncle Zoltan for a while,” Lola piped up. “But we’ll see her soon—once we’ve found a place to live in Madrid.”

Nieve’s eyes brimmed with tears. “What about Gunesh?”

“He has to stay here, too. But we’ll get a dog of our own once we’re settled—that’ll be exciting, won’t it?”

Nieve wouldn’t be comforted. She sobbed silently as they made their way down the track, her shoulders twitching beneath the thin fabric of her blouse. Rose walked in front of her and Lola, not trusting herself to speak. The three of them trooped down the hillside as if they were on their way to a funeral.

They’d almost reached the ruined mill when a familiar sound came drifting on the breeze—the clump of hooves on sunbaked earth. Someone was coming toward them, hidden from view by the bend in the stream.

“Rose!”

Zoltan came riding out of the trees at a trot, yanking the second mule on a lead rein. His face was pink with exertion.

Rose ran up to him. “What are you doing back so early? Did they close the market?”

“Nothing like that.” He was panting for breath. “There was a man asking questions. He wanted to know who was living with me.”

“A policeman?” Rose’s hand flew to her mouth.

“I don’t know. He wasn’t in uniform.” Zoltan glanced over to where Lola was standing with the suitcase in her hand. “Someone must have seen her when she met me by the fountain.”

“What’s happened?” Lola had come up beside them. Her face crumpled as Zoltan repeated what he had told Rose. “There was a woman outside one of the houses,” she said. “She stared at me as if she knew me.” Her eyes went from Zoltan to Rose. “I didn’t think anyone in Pampaneira could know me. But Maria said I’m the image of my mother . . .”

“The comandante’s wife,” Rose breathed. “Could it have been her watching you?”

“Whoever it was, word’s obviously spread around the village,” Zoltan said. “It’s not safe to go there. They’ll be watching out for her. Maybe checking the bus in órgiva as well.”

“What can we do?” Rose could hear the panic in her own voice. “If we go back to the cottage, they might come looking.”

“We’ll go over the mountain.” Lola sounded almost unnaturally calm. “I’ll take the route I took with Nieve when she was a baby.”

“Over the Mulhacén?” Zoltan shook his head.

“Why not? I did it in a blizzard back then—it’ll be nothing in weather like this.”

“But there are people looking for you now,” Rose said. “I can’t let you do that on your own—I’m going with you.”

“We’ll both go with you.” Zoltan jumped down from the mule and lifted Nieve into the saddle. “Let’s get going—if we unload the panniers at the cottage, you three can ride most of the way.”