THE talk around Ana turned to the pork pies which had intrigued her when she first saw them, unlike anything she had ever eaten. Ivan said he loved them because they reminded him of school and insisted that Ana try a small slice, “the merest morsel, my dear Ana, it can’t possibly harm you.”

The jelly was odd and the pastry too heavy for her taste but the overall flavour, she admitted, was not so very different from the charcuterie in Brussels.

“I can’t believe that they served pork pies in your school, Ivan,” Jonathan joked “the food at mine was so bad that toast and jam was a huge treat. We got boiled meat, boiled potatoes and boiled cabbage for most meals and, quite honestly, you could hardly tell one from another.” 
“Jonathan sweetie” intervened Sarah “if your school was that bad, I’ve never understood why you ended up going back there to teach.”

Sarah’s tone made Ana look at her, further down the table. She was smiling but by the look on the faces around the table, they had all caught the edge in her voice.  When he had stayed with them in Brussels, Jonathan had told Ana that after leaving university and travelling abroad, taking whatever jobs he could find for several years, he had returned to his old school to teach and had enjoyed it for a while until he took the opportunity of redundancy to launch himself as a freelance writer. There was something in the story that had sounded odd, she had wondered why he had not begun writing from the security of a job and surely teaching wasn’t that onerous, but Jonathan, usually so open about everything, had said nothing more and she had not pressed him. 

The tension eased when Ivan took over the conversation and soon had them all, even Sarah, roaring with laughter. Apparently, Carole was driving so he had drunk quite a lot of wine already, and the pork pie episode had encouraged more stories of his schooldays. His life story ,Ana was gradually able to piece together, was of a Russian mother, part of a rich family living in Germany, in exile from the revolution, who had met his father, an army officer, in Berlin at the end of the Second World War. He certainly seemed to be well connected, and he hinted at good contacts in several governments, including in Spain. He never mentioned the name of his school, but Ana had the impression that if she were English, and in the know, she would recognise it. The others seemed to.

The only person not laughing wholeheartedly at Ivan’s jokes was Jeff Guy. He sat with one hand covering his mouth as he listened. A sure sign, in Ana’s experience, that a person was less than happy with what they were hearing. As the meal went on people began moving around so Ana looked for a chance to move closer to Sarah. This time she was thwarted by Lynette, who came and sat down next to her. Holly fetched a fresh bottle of wine and sat on the other side, so Ana was trapped. Lynette said she was looking forward to the visit of Dominic and Tony in the summer holidays and that she hoped they could work out an interesting programme. “I am sure they would love spending time with you in the old town, sweetie, it will be a real change for them, a chance to sample Spanish life.”

Lynette went on to bemoan the number of new houses being built on the hills to the south and Holly agreed.

“Good God, just look at those apartments being built at the top of the cliff over there. That is such a dumb place to build.” Holly explained to Ana that she had joined a local environment group because she was so worried about overbuilding.

“They’re pumping in massive amounts of concrete to shore up the swimming pool, otherwise it will fall down the cliff into the sea. Of course, it’s the latest thing, infinity pools, and really, money gets you building approval for almost anything, anywhere, around here.”
Ana was surprised when, with a smile and a “sorry, sweetie, just a tiny bit of business”, Lynette turned to Holly and started to talk to her about working together, but Ana was happy to take the chance to move away. She was looking to see where Sarah was sitting when Daniel caught her arm and said “Ana, Jonathan and I were talking about you, and your translation skills” and she found herself between the two of them, her glass full of unwanted cava.

Jonathan told her that his agent had phoned him, just before he left the house, to say that at last they had found a Spanish publisher for his book and that he needed a translator.

“It’s taken an age to get an agreement for this book about Spanish artistic exiles during the Franco dictatorship, but I think I underestimated how sensitive that period still is here.”

“You can’t believe how sensitive, Jonathan. Papi is the only one in my family who talks about that time, and I know he finds it difficult. His family near Barcelona were Republican and suffered badly, but at least they knew which side they were on. Here, especially in small towns like this, the position is so much more complicated. Sometimes I think it wasn’t just politics, but that in bad times people can do the bad things that they always wanted to do, take revenge for past slights, take the neighbour’s house they have always coveted.” 

Seeing the look on Jonathan’s face and on Daniel’s, she quickly said, “But don’t let’s dwell on such dark thoughts, on such a lovely evening. I would love to work with you Jonathan, it would be an honour. What a lovely thing to happen on the eve of San Juan.”

Perhaps this news was a sign that she had made the right decision to come back and that her involvement with these people was going to positive.

She picked up her glass “to us”, “to us “ the others echoed as they all touched glasses.

It was just after midnight when an edge crept into the conversation. Several people were on their second bottle of wine, and there were the usual signs of intoxication; a slightly truculent note entering a discussion, a metallic edge to a laugh. It was coming near the time to put an end to what had been a very pleasant evening. But on one of the longest days of the year, Ana saw how it was easy to linger and drink one more glass of a pretty decent wine, to continue seductive discussion of friends, their lives, and their indiscretions.  She had been ready to leave for quite a while and, watching Daniel match his friends,  glass for glass, had decided early on that she preferred to drive home. She was, in any case, content with her two glasses of cava, drunk several hours ago and had poured herself a large glass of water.

She looked out at the sea, the phosphorous on the tops of the waves shining in the light of the moon and she let the voices next to her fade a little. The conversation had followed what she realised must be a common pattern, lamenting the awfulness of their fellow expatriates and bemoaning the impossibility of getting the native Spanish workmen to do even the smallest job efficiently. They had probably forgotten she was there, and that she too was Spanish.

She tuned back in to hear Lynette talking about Kelly, an English hairdresser, whose salon was used by all the women there. Lynette said she found the salon a hive of interesting and amusing gossip, as well as a source of genuine news.  “Pity none of us are writers,” she said.  “ There’s a treasure house  of stories there.”

Giggling, she told them about a woman she had recently met, who had pots of money, from her dead first husband. The woman had described their home in Barking. Barking, which Lynette told them the woman had described as ‘a palatial Spanish villa it was, dear, just like the houses in Dallas’. Lynette had been almost tempted to make friends with her, so she could visit the house and Lynette reported that husband number two, apparently a much younger man, had been paid off He was, apparently a Brit, with no money at all, but handsome. Apparently, all the Spanish women on the beach at Benidorm had given him the eye, and I got the feeling that some of them had given him quite a bit more than just an eye, hence the pay off!” 

Encouraged by the laughter that followed, Holly joined in with similar anecdotes, several of which Ana thought, by the look on Jeff Guy’s face, she had probably shared a few times before.  

Sarah Harris had, Ana judged, been drinking more than anyone and was probably quite drunk by now. She had listened to the anecdotes, a quizzical smile on her lips, saying nothing. But now, after Holly and Lynette had told a quite unflattering story about a woman they all knew and probably, Ana thought, called herself their friend, Sarah got up and walked around the table so that she was directly in front of Ivan Hepworth. She stood for a moment without speaking, smoking a cigarette, a glass in her hand. When she spoke her voice was loud and clear.

”Well, Ivan darling, as we are sharing amusing stories, I heard such an interesting one just the other day. Shall I tell you about it?”

“I’m sure you’re going to, Sarah, don’t hold back.”