‘Not at all. Why not have breakfast with us? Eight o’clock—is that OK for you? We’ll go after that, shall we, at about nine? The earlier we go the better—the shops won’t be so crowded at about ten, but the rush-hour will be over as far as traffic is concerned.’
‘OK.’ Bianca nodded and Freddie smiled at her, then hurried away.
Hauling herself out of the pool, Bianca picked up her towelling robe and put it on, towelled her hair and dried her feet before pushing them into her sandals, then she walked back to her apartment, passing the security man to whom Gil had spoken much earlier. He gave her a sharp look and nodded politely.
Back in her apartment she showered, ate a very light supper—salad and a little fruit—then read for an hour or two before she went to bed. She must have been immensely tired, because she slept like a log, and if she dreamt she didn’t remember it in the morning. She woke up when her alarm went off at seven-thirty; the bedroom was full of pale primrose light, and outside she heard the birds singing in the trees. For a moment she was so drowsy and disorientated that she couldn’t remember where she was or what had woken her up, then she realised her alarm was buzzing and she hurriedly leaned over to turn it off.
Swinging her legs out of the bed, she stood up, stretching, gave a convulsive yawn then hurried off to the bathroom. It didn’t take her long to get ready and walk over to the hotel for breakfast.
She found Freddie and her family there already, Karl eating cheese and thin slices of German sausage, the children eating fruit and yoghurt, Freddie toying with a slice of toast and a cup of black coffee. They waved and told her to join them—there was a free chair for her.
‘Did you sleep?’
‘Too well. I couldn’t wake up.’ Bianca yawned, hurriedly covering her mouth. ‘Sorry; I can’t seem to stop.’
Freddie yawned too. ‘Don’t worry, I feel the same way. The funny thing is, I slept very well.’
‘Same here; odd, isn’t it? Oh, well, I’d better get something to eat.’ Bianca went off to the buffet table to collect some orange juice and some green figs, over which she poured a little natural, plain yoghurt.
When she came back the children had gone and Karl and Freddie were alone, energetically discussing what to buy to take back for various relatives back in Germany.
‘Your mother’s very difficult to buy for,’ Freddie complained. ‘She hates ornaments—they need too much dusting! She never likes any clothes I choose. I can’t think what to buy her.’
‘Perfume?’ suggested Karl.
‘She only wears Dior, and she’s drowning in bottles of the stuff, you should know that! You’re the one who buys it for her all the time.’
He made a face. ‘I can never think what to buy her. She has everything.’
‘Well, lucky her!’ Freddie said drily.
‘How about some local lace or something made of leather?’ suggested Bianca. ‘That’s what they’re famous for in this part of Spain, isn’t it?’
Freddie looked uncertainly at her husband. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think lace is a wonderful idea—so long as it is really high quality; Mutti is very fussy,’ said Karl.
Freddie raised her brows. ‘Isn’t that the truth?’
Karl laughed and tweaked her ear. ‘Don’t be unkind about my poor little Mutti.’ He stood up. ‘I’llsee you back at the apartment—don’t be too long; we want to get to Marbella early.’
When he had gone, Freddie said drily, ‘His poor little Mutti is a good five feet ten in her stockinged feet and has the muscles and punch of a boxer. The odd thing is, she is very feminine, floats around in a haze of perfume all day, and wears the most exquisite clothes. Some really good lace would be the perfect present for her; I should have thought of it myself. I have a sort of blank spot where she’s concerned, that’s the trouble. She terrified me when Karl first took me home to meet her, and I suppose I’m still wary of her.’
‘Mother-in-laws can be a problem! Thank heavens, mine was fine.’ She smiled, remembering Molly, Rob’s mother, who had been kind and generous, a warmhearted woman who adored her son. ‘She’s dead now, though. I was glad about that when Rob died—it would have been such a blow to her; she adored him—he was her only son.’
‘Gil is an only son, and he was terribly spoilt,’ said Freddie.
Bianca nodded, instantly self-conscious, aware of an immediate flush in her face and trying to hide it by taking a sip of her coffee. Why did his name always come up when they talked? Did Freddie think she was obsessed with him?
Of course not. He’s her brother-in-law and she knows I know him! she argued with herself. It’s perfectly natural for her to mention him from time to time. Stop being so hypersensitive.
‘What about you?’
‘Me?’ Bianca was confused, too busy thinking about Gil to work out what Freddie meant.
‘Are you an only child?’
Bianca shook her head. ‘No, I have a brother, Jon; there were just the two of us, though, and my mother spoilt him—she thought the sun shone out of Jon. She was one of those mothers who prefer their sons to their daughters—she would have loved to have lots of sons. She couldn’t have any more after she had me, so she poured all her love into Jon. I don’t think he has ever really grown up because of that, actually—he expects every woman he meets to dote on him the way Mum did, and of course they don’t—they want a grown-up man, not a Peter Pan. That’s why I made certain that my own son, Tom, could take care of himself. I taught him to do his own washing and ironing, to make his bed, and cook, just the same as his sister. I don’t want Tom growing up as useless as his uncle Jon.’