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comfort.
    The road continued to climb and wind, giving occasional breathtaking glimpses of the sea directly below. Dorcas was spellbound by it all. So much so that she lost some of her fear of meeting Carlos’s grandmother.
    She got out of the car to the realization that she had never touched such heights or feasted her eyes on such peace and beauty. Mountains swept like soaring eagles down to bays of fine white sand; or rounded, less fiercely, to merge with sea and sky. Carlos had to take her arm and drag her away.
    â€˜It won’t go away. It will be here for you to look at later. Right now, I am impatient for you to meet my grandmother.’
    She was infected by his mood. This was important to him. Why? Because . . . ? But the answer she provided for herself was one step beyond belief.
    Nothing was quite real. Even the view had an illusory quality about it. It was too dramatically drawn to be real.
    Then Dorcas was being guided through a door that was far too stout to be an illusion. The hall was wood-panelled, but not sombre. The mellowed simplicity of the dark furniture blended well with the softly-hued fabrics of the pretty patchwork cushions and throw-over covers.
    A Spanish woman came forward to greet them. Carlos introduced her as Inez, his grandmother’s maid-companion. Inez went to inform her mistress; Carlos sent Dorcas a look that was meant to inspire confidence. It did. But this given courage was immediately lost in awe of meeting his grandmother.
    Doña Madelena was a tiny, graceful, imperious figure, despite the fact that the tapping, silver-topped stick was a necessary walking aid, and not for effect. Her face was like a cameo; silver hair peeped from beneath an exquisite lace shawl. Eyes, undimmed by age, rested on Carlos first, as if there was a great hunger in her to see her beloved grandson. Satisfied that he was in fine health and humour, she turned to Dorcas.
    She held out both her hands. ‘So this is the young lady I have been hearing so much about. Quite the heroine, aren’t you?’
    Dorcas didn’t dare take her hands away until she felt the gentle dismissal in the old señora’s fingers. And then she put her hands demurely to her sides and tried not to look embarrassed or coy. Very difficult in view of her tingling fingertips and warm cheeks.
    â€˜Dorcas doesn’t like talking about it,’ Carlos said drily.
    â€˜And quite right, too,’ applauded his grandmother. ‘Can’t abide people who make capital of a moment’s glory. Not that I’m minimizing yours, child. It was a brave thing you did, and now we will forget about it.’ Turning to Carlos she said briskly: ‘How long are you here for?’
    â€˜For breakfast,
abuela.
Dorcas didn’t eat any at the hospital and she’s fading away.’
    â€˜And I suppose you will eat merely to keep Dorcas company?’
    â€˜Of course. I have been brought up to be polite.’
    Breakfast consisted of fruit juice, morning baked rolls, honey, a peach preserve, and endless cups of coffee with a taste that lived up to its heavenly aroma.
    Doña Madelena scraped back her chair and braced herself for the slow and difficult task of forcing her rheumaticky legs to rise. Carlos stepped forward, diffidently offering assistance which was accepted with alacrity.
    â€˜I am not as fiercely independent these days. The infirmities of age have an oddly humbling effect.’
    The thought of anything humbling this wonderful old lady brought a lump to Dorcas’s throat.
    â€˜And now, Carlos, you may disappear for the next hour. I am going to conduct Dorcas on a tour of the house. I know she is only just out of hospital—’ Answering her grandson’s look—‘I promise not to overtax her strength. A snail could keep up with my pace.’ Her chin swept autocratically high. ‘Dorcas, your arm!’
    Dorcas gave it. She thought they must look a comical pair as they