Chapter 16

"Rosalba!"

There was a tap on her shoulder and she gave such a start that the lace tumbled from her lap. Angela deftly caught it before it landed in the dust.

"I'm sorry, Rosalba, I did not mean to frighten you."

"Frighten me!"Rosalba rose from her chair, an expression of such fury on her face thatAngela drew back in a panic. "I am not frightened. I have never been frightened of anything in my life! You should not sneak up on a person like that."

"I am so sorry, Rosalba," said Angela, contrite. "It was thoughtless of me."

"Humph!" said Rosalba, but her features softened a little as she reached out for the lace.

Angela hesitated in the act of handing it over. "Why, Rosalba!" she exclaimed, "This is exquisite. Did you make this yourself? It is the most beautiful lace I have ever seen."

Rosalba gave a small nod of assent. "It is the very same design as for my wedding dress," she said. And then, with considerable satisfaction. "I think it will be ready in time."

"In time for what?"

"The wedding, of course," said Rosalba.

Angela exchanged looks with Domingo, who had just come over, having tied up the mule. He gave an eloquent shrug, which said, as plainly as words, "Rosalba knows everything."

"Come into my kitchen," said Rosalba, "and we will discuss the arrangements."

Actually, they didn't so much discuss the arrangements as listen whilst Rosalba informed them about what would happen. It seemed that little Dolores and Juanita, Marcia Belén's youngest, would be bridesmaids, as they had taken first communion together only a month ago and had matching white dresses. Since Angela's father was dead, the Mayor, as the most important man in the village, should give her away. The women of the village would see to the feast. Rosalba herself would provide Angela's wedding dress.

"But you will need white shoes," she said.

Angela shook her head, feeling inadequate.

Was there a shoe shop in the village? She couldn't remember seeing one. And the market which came every Monday was woefully inadequate. Most times it was just vegetables, which were no better or cheaper than you could buy at Rosalba's shop. There was sometimes a stall which sold children's clothes, workmen's overalls and the strange, shapeless garments the old ladies wore, called 'batas'. She had a feeling she might have occasionally seen wooden workmen's shoes and sandals made out of esparto grass, but nothing remotely suitable for a wedding.

"You will have to go down the mountain," Rosalba said, correctly identifying Angela's concern. "There is a very nice shop in Vélez Malaga. I will come with you. We will need the shoes before we finish the dress, so we can adjust the hem."

She indicated the edge of her own skirt.

"And I don't know what we are going to do about Domingo." Rosalba shook her head in a despairing way. Domingo shifted uncomfortably in his seat, unsure of what was expected of him. "He has nothing respectable to wear."

Domingo sat up. "That is all right," he said. "I have my good black suit."

Rosalba frowned at him. "Domingo Guerrero Garccia," she declared, "that was your father's suit. To my certain knowledge it has been worn every Sunday and fiesta day for the last twenty years. It has had wine, beer, brandy, and every kind of food spilt on it in that time. If you were to boil it up, it would make a nourishing soup."

Angela exploded into laughter. Rosalba glared at her and she subsided.

"No, there is nothing else for it. He will have to have a new one."

Domingo, who had been about to protest, suddenly lapsed into complete silence. He was imagining what a suit he would buy, a fine riding outfit with high leather boots. He could see himself now in his mind's eye, wearing a crisp white shirt and bolero, skin-tight black trousers and a proper hard riding hat. How elegant he would look!

Angela was sitting with her hands over her mouth, repressing an overwhelming urge to giggle.

Rosalba looked at them in exasperation. "I don't know what's the matter with you two," she complained. "One of you is hysterical, the other appears to have gone to sleep."

Domingo shook himself and sat upright with every appearance of paying attention. Angela took her hands from her mouth and said.

"It is all right, Rosalba, I have plenty of money, more than I know what to do with. I can buy the shoes and the suit. And perhaps I could buy a pig or an ox to roast at the feast."

Rosalba's eyes gleamed. "That would be most appropriate," she said.

She began to stand up, clearly indicating that the interview was over. "Then, if you are agreed, I will go ahead and start making the arrangements. I will talk to the father on Sunday."

Angela suddenly looked crestfallen. "Does it have to be the old priest?" she asked.

Rosalba looked at her incredulously. "Of course," she said, "Who else?"

"Well, I thought," Angela said shyly, "that we could have the young one. It's just," she added hastily, seeing the mutinous gleam in Rosalba's eye, "that I can't understand a word the old one says."

Rosalba thought about this.

"Well, of course not, nobody can. Nobody has understood a word he has said these past ten years." She was silent, with a pensive expression on her face. "But there might be a way," she said, thoughtfully. "In three weeks it is the festival of Our Lady of Sorrows. There will be a big party in Canillas de Daimonos and the priest will have to officiate."

"And I must marry on that day. . ." interrupted Angela.

"Yes," went on Rosalba, getting into the spirit of the thing, "because . . . because . . .""Because it was my father's birthday!" cried Angela triumphantly.

Rosalba gave her an approving look. "Exactly so," she said.