Bitter Memories Read online

  It was bliss. Sheer, sweet heaven.

  The party went on around them but neither was aware of it, and when Alejandro’s mouth left hers to burn a trail down the arch of her throat, Tanya could not stop him. It was a mutual hungering of like souls; it was the sweetest torture imaginable, setting her body on fire, pulses pounding, desire coursing through each and every one of her veins.

  Born in the industrial heart of England, MARGARET MAYO now lives with her husband in a pretty Staffordshire canal-side village. Once a secretary, she turned her hand to writing her books both at home and in exotic locations, combining her hobby of photography with her research.

  Books by Margaret Mayo

  HARLEQUIN PRESENTS

  3029—CONFLICT

  3155—TRAPPED

  3190-AN IMPOSSIBLE SITUATION

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  Bitter Memories

  Margaret Mayo

  CHAPTER ONE

  TANYA could not believe her bad luck. The reason she had consistently put off visiting her sister in Tenerife was because she was afraid of bumping into Alejandro. And now, almost before she had set foot on foreign soil, he was here at the airport, instantly recognisable, instantly causing her heart to quicken its beats, instantly causing confusion in her mind.

  He was as devastatingly handsome as she remembered, taller than most of his compatriots, his shiny black hair cut well above the collarline, his eyes—— those soul-searching brown eyes which had frequently reduced her to jelly——enviably large and thickly fringed, his lips full and sensual. She would have lied had she said she did not feel anything, but her pain over the way they had parted, and the subsequent news that had filtered through to her that he was married, was a much more dominant emotion.

  ‘Tanya! Tanya! Over here.’

  Her sister’s excited voice reached Tanya above the noise and general confusion of exiting passengers. She was not the only one to hear it. Alejandro turned his head and looked in Charlene’s direction, and then from her to Tanya. It all happened in a split second; their eyes met and she saw the sudden narrowing in his before his attention was taken up by the beautiful woman who threw herself into his arms, a woman with jet-black hair piled on top of her head, perfectly applied make-up, elegantly dressed. Tanya’s bitterness deepened. She had wondered what his wife looked like. Now she knew. And she would have given any-thing to be able to turn right round and catch the same plane back to England.

  By this time Charlene had pushed her way to Tanya’s side and was welcoming her sister enthusiastically. When Tanya next looked in Alejandro’s direction he had gone. Maybe she had even imagined him? Although she knew she hadn’t. It was all wishful thinking. She ought to have followed her instincts and never let Charlene persuade her to come here. The holiday was going to be a disaster. The next instant a card was being pushed into her hand and a well-remembered voice growled low in her ear, ‘I would like to talk with you. Give me a ring.’

  He disappeared as quickly as he had approached. Charlene looked at her sister in amazement. ‘Was that who I thought it was?’

  Tanya nodded. ‘The very same.’

  ‘I cannot believe it. In the two years I’ve been out here I’ve never seen him, not once.’

  ‘I know, you told me,’ muttered Tanya unhappily. ‘It was what finally persuaded me to come. Hell, I wish I hadn’t; he’s going to ruin my holiday.’

  ‘Rubbish, you won’t see him again.’ Charlene’s tone was positive, her arm protectively around her younger sister. ‘What did he want anyway?’

  ‘He said he wanted to talk to me.’

  ‘What a nerve.’ Charlene was incensed. ‘Is this his address?’ She plucked the card from Tanya’s hand and tore it into pieces, throwing them into the air where they fell like confetti.

  Charlene was the elder of the two sisters, taller and heavier, and had always had more to say for herself. Not that Tanya was lacking in confidence; far from it. Having lost both their parents at a very tender age, they had been brought up separately by a succession of foster-parents, some not always happy experiences, and they had frequently needed to stand up for themselves.

  Tanya’s shoulder-length hair was a soft honey-gold, in complete contrast to Charlene’s raven darkness. The only things they had in common were their eyes, sloe-shaped and a beautiful azure-blue.

  ‘Come along.’ Charlene picked up Tanya’s case. ‘My car’s in the car park. Let’s forget we ever saw that man; he’s bad news without a doubt.’

  Tanya followed her sister through the line of people waiting for taxis and over the road to the busy car park. The warmth of the day after England’s freezing winter temperatures was blissful, and she shrugged off her jacket as she walked. Seeing Alejandro at the airport had put a damper on her spirits, but she was determined not to let it get her down. Charlene was probably right; they wouldn’t see him again.

  ‘Here we are.’ Her sister’s voice cut into her thoughts. She opened the boot of a smart white car and threw Tanya’s case inside. ‘Let’s go.’

  Alejandro was forgotten as they left the airport and hit the motorway. Tanya gazed with interest at her surroundings; the bare, jagged mountains in the distance, their tops draped in mist; the brown, barren countryside with just the odd shrub or clump of prickly pear growing tenaciously in the dry earth; the occasional flush of buildings, some industrial, some purpose-built holiday developments close to the shore.

  It was all new and exciting, and she did not want to miss a thing. Charlene had recently moved in with a family whose daughter worked in the same hotel as Charlene, and they had become good friends. The girl’s mother had agreed to Tanya’s spending her holiday with them as well. Tanya found it difficult to believe the woman’s generosity to a complete stranger.

  They soon left the motorway and headed up into the hills, the road curving and climbing, bushes of white daisy-like flowers and clumps of spiny cactus adorning the roadside. They passed through a dusty village where old men sat outside bars and children kicked balls or rode BMXs, and passed several isolated houses on the outskirts; square, box-like dwellings built out of blocks. Some had been whitewashed, some were still bare concrete, looking, to Tanya’s English eyes, as though they were not finished. One or two had pantiled roofs and looked more attractive, but when Charlene turned off the road and pulled up beside one of the unpainted buildings Tanya looked at her with a frown. ‘Is this where you’re living?’

  Charlene smiled and nodded. ‘It’s not like it looks, I assure you. It’s heavenly inside; most of them are. You can’t go by external appearances. I was once told that it was because the Canarians didn’t care what a house looked like on the outside, as we do—but I later learned that the real reason is that they don’t have to pay taxes on unfinished buildings. The government run campaigns sometimes to try to get people to paint their walls white, but they’re always a failure.’

  Still looking doubtful, Tanya followed her sister. The single-storey building was an odd shape, as though it had had further rooms built on as and when the need arose. There was a wall, built yet again out of grey blocks, denoting the boundary of the property, but there was no garden as such, just a few straggly plants growing and a dog foraging. Coming from her smart semi-detached house on the outskirts of Sheffield, with its tidy green and abundant garden, Tanya found it difficult to feel happy about spending a month here.

  All the windows were shuttered—wooden, varnished shutters—and the front door was wooden too. In fact it was an ornately carv
ed, expensive-looking door which looked oddly out of place with its surroundings. And once inside Tanya could see what Charlene meant. The cool, clean hallway boasted a tiled floor, a polished chair in the corner and a profusion of healthy plants which hung and sat and filled every corner. It was like an oasis m the desert.

  In the shadowy living-room Charlene’s friend’s mother waited to greet her. The tiny woman was dressed all in black, her greying hair secured in a neat bun. She smiled warmly as Charlene made the introductions in fluent Spanish and held out her hand. Tanya smiled back. ‘It’s very kind of you to let me stay here.’ she said.

  Through her sister she established that Señora Guerra was very pleased to welcome her into their-house and she was to treat it as her home and come and go as she pleased and not to worry about disturbing them.

  Tanya was grateful her sister spoke the language—it had actually been a prerequisite of her job at the hotel. In fact Charlene spoke several languages. Tanya, on the other hand, spoke no more than schoolgirl French.

  ‘She’s a wonderful lady,’ Charlene told her. ‘Señor Guerra died a few years ago, but she has coped admirably. Maribel is her only child left at home. She has three sons, but they are all married now, though they frequently visit. She’s delighted about it. The house almost bursts at the seams when they all come.’

  ‘I hope I won’t be in the way,’ said Tanya worriedly.

  ‘Of course not. It was Señora Guerra’s idea that you stay here.’ She turned and said something to the older woman, who instantly smiled, speaking rapidly, gesturing eloquently, reassuring Tanya that she was not putting them out in the least.

  The room they were in amazed Tanya. It was like going back a hundred years; it was like photographs she had seen of days gone by. The furniture looked like oak, big and solid, and the dresser packed with plates and cups and saucers. There was a settee and rocking-chairs with hand-embroidered cushions, pieces of pottery, photographs and pictures on the walls and more plants standing in big pots on the tiled floor or hanging from the ceiling. Every inch of space was used. It was cluttered but beautiful, and Tanya loved it.

  She suddenly realised that her host was watching her, and she gave an apologetic smile. ‘I was admiring your house. It’s lovely.’

  Charlene translated and the woman beamed, and then Tanya was taken to her room, which was next to Charlene’s. Again, heavy oak furniture was dominant. The walls were painted a simple white, only the patch-work bedcover providing a bright splash of colour.

  The first thing she did was open the windows and push back the shutters, allowing the bright sunlight to flood the room. The jagged outline of the mountains was up above them, the earlier mist having completely disappeared, the sky a clear, intense blue. Tanya was anxious to explore—so long as she did not bump into Alejandro! The thought of him being somewhere out there still festered in the back of her mind.

  Her sister helped her unpack, and by the time she had freshened up and changed into a cotton sundress Señora Guerra had lunch waiting. A white cloth had been spread on the table in the living-room, and as soon as Tanya sat down her meal was set in front of her—white fish, potatoes cooked in their skins, carrots and peas.

  ‘Bacalao,’ confirmed Charlene with a smile, ‘or codfish to you and me, and these——’ indicating the potatoes, ‘—are papas arrugadas, which, translated literally, means wrinkled potatoes. They’re cooked in very salty water and allowed to boil dry, leaving a salty coating on their skins. The Canarians always cook them this way. I love them.’

  Tanya’s verdict later was one of approval too. It was a simple meal, yet filling and tasty, and when she was offered fresh fruit for dessert she had to refuse. They drank wine also, a sweet, local wine that was not really to Tanya’s taste, though she was too polite to say so. Señora Guerra was a marvellous hostess, even with the language barrier, her actions and expressions when she was trying to get something across making Tanya laugh wholeheartedly.

  After lunch Charlene took her for a short drive; once back she met Señora Guerra’s daughter, ate another excellent meal—thinking she would be as fat as a pig when she went home if she went on like this—and now she lay in bed, her head sunk into a soft, sweet-smelling pillow. One way and another it had been quite a day, and she was desperately tired, yet thoughts of Alejandro kept her wide awake.

  He had duped her all right. She had never dreamt that he was using her, that it was an affair he was after, a passionate fling before he went back to Tenerife to marry his childhood sweetheart. What a gullible fool she had been. He had even talked about bringing her here, had spoken of the pleasure he would get in showing her his beloved country—and she had believed him! What a silver-tongued swine he was. All the anger she had felt nine years ago came back with a vengeance, boiling, enraging, making her wish desperately and deeply that she had not let Charlene persuade her to come.

  And why should he want to talk to her? What was there to say? Nothing! Not a thing. He had hurt her feelings immeasurably; she had given him all of her love, and for what? He was the last person she wanted to talk to now, and she hoped and prayed that she would never see him again.

  Inevitably her thoughts went back to their first meeting. She had been eighteen at the time, and they had met at a friend’s wedding. He had been working as a waiter in the hotel restaurant in which the reception was held, and there had been an instant mutual attraction. They had not spoken, Alejandro refusing to put his job in jeopardy by chatting to one of the guests, but the suggestion had been there in his eyes that he would like to see her again.

  How he had found out where she worked Tanya did not know, but two days later he had been waiting outside the office block when she finished at five. For a few seconds all she could do was stare in amazement.

  ‘Do forgive me,’ he said, in heavily accented English, ‘but I wanted to see you.’ His teeth were white and even, his smile cautious.

  ‘How did you know where to find me?’ Her heart began to hammer and her blue eyes were wide as she looked at him. He was dressed in jeans and a black leather jacket with a roll-collared blue sweater beneath. He was fantastically handsome and a whole head taller than herself, which made him over six feet. He was a few years older as well, and she found him tremendously exciting.

  ‘I 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 pla
n 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.