A Flash of Spanish Eyes

By Cyril Lucas

Set in the idyllic wine country of Provence some 40 years ago A Flash of Spanish Eyes tells the love story between Richard Fortescue, a down on his luck Formula One racing driver, and Boom Boom, a young Spanish woman determined to live life on her own terms. Brought together by chance, they find themselves embroiled in a complex web of

• Language: English
• Publisher: Go To Publish
• Release date: Dec 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9781647498368

Cyril Lucas

Cyril Lucas has turned many pages in his varied experience, both figurative and actual, as an insatiable reader of world literature. After education at Eton and in California, he served four years in the British Army before demobilization in 1947. His career has included film project reviewer at Pinewood Studios, aquaculture pioneer, restauranteur, garden designer, and blogger, and residence in London, the Isle of Wight, Provence and currently the US Pacific Northwest. At age 96, he decided to write a novel he describes as ‘a comic, gothic, historical romance’ featuring its enchanting heroine Lady Lucy and a wealth of factual historical interest. He is delighted by the many favorable reviews it has received.

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A Flash of Spanish Eyes

Copyright © 2022 by Cyril Lucas

ISBN-ePub: 978-1-64749-836-8

Every character and event in this story is invented and bears no relationship to any person known to the Author living or dead or its occurrence. Many place names are real but there is no Albergo de Los Angeles or Domaine des Grenouilles at the locations given to them, nor does or did a village called Bouzil shelter a gang of Corsican bandits.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher or author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Although every precaution has been taken to verify the accuracy of the information contained herein, the author and publisher assume no responsibility for any errors or omissions. No liability is assumed for damages that may result from the use of information contained within.

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A Flash of

Spanish Eyes

Cyril Lucas

"Fantasy is the insanity

of the sound mind."

El Bosco. 1450(?) – 1516

Every character and event in this story is invented and bears no relationship to any person known to the Author living or dead or its occurrence. Many place names are real but there is no Albergo de Los Angeles or Domaine des Grenouilles at the locations given to them, nor does or did a village called Bouzil shelter a gang of Corsican bandits.

PREFACE

I found the manuscript which follows among the papers in my father’s safe after his death. It was carefully sealed with red wax and stamped with the gold signet ring he always wore on the little finger of his left hand. Inside the wrapping was a separate envelope containing the following letter addres sed to me:

"To my beloved son Carlos,

I have written this account of my meeting with your mother in the belief that you have the right to know how we came to meet in Spain so many years ago.

I had never been to Spain before I received a phone call from Genghis Cohen asking me whether I would deliver a car for him to his Winery, the Domaine des Grenouilles. I was intrigued. I thought it would be an adventure, a break from a difficult time in my life and I enjoyed wine, so why not say yes?

I had no idea what I was letting myself in for! Car chases, kidnapping, bizarre religious sects, near death. And absolutely no idea that my visit to Spain would introduce me to the love of my life or that wine would play so important a role in my future.

Many interlocking themes will reveal themselves as the story unfolds. I have written this account as fiction under a pen-name out of respect for the privacy of our family and our identities are concealed with false names. Accordingly, I have invented dialogue appropriate to character in situations where I was not present. Wherever possible those directly involved have confirmed my accuracy. I have recorded all the events as they happened.

As Voltaire said in ‘Candide’, everything works out for the best in this best of all possible worlds. Ha! Ha! But in fact, despite danger and absurdity at every turn, things worked out extremely well for your mother and me. And I have every confidence that the splendid wine business we created will continue to flourish thanks to your efforts! With all love and best wishes, your devoted father, Richard Fortescue, July 2012.

My decision to publish my parent’s love story was not taken lightly, but the series of events that unfolded from my parent’s meeting are so remarkable I feel that many readers will be drawn to their story. It is printed exactly as he wrote it and I have maintained the high level of sensuality and sexual tension he describes, because of its importance to the characters of the protagonists and their behavior.

What, after all, is more important in adult life at a personal level than sex, be it used for profit, manipulation or as an expression of genuine love? Readers who are uncomfortable with such frankness will do well to take note of this warning as I have no wish to offend anyone’s attitudes or sensibilities. It was my father’s wish to treat the subject with an open mind and I have respected his decision.

CHAPTER ONE

Santander, Spain. Richard found the café on the outskirts of the city appointed for the rendezvous in his instructions without difficulty. He sat at the table under the last umbrella on the right to read Eulalia’s message again. Your Provencal caper includes a classic car, cold fizzy wine and a red-hot Chiquita known as Boom Boom. Who’s a lucky boy then? sh e teased.

He did not have to wait long. The girl wore a light blue tee-shirt emblazoned Boom in the obvious places, and black Bermuda shorts which also clung tightly. Richard knew she must be his contact instantly. It was no problem because the place was almost empty for early afternoon was siesta time. He thought her extremely beautiful as she approached. Her legs were long, her shoulders wide, and she moved with a loose and natural carriage which displayed perfect self-assurance.

You have come far, Dr. Livingstone? she asked, obeying the identification code required by their employer. Her voice was soft but rippled with the muscular inflections of her native Spanish. Yes, it’s a long way from Babylon, Richard replied. He rose to his feet and pulled out a chair for her. The question typified, he thought, the childish absurdity of their employer’s instructions.

At close quarters her ravishing beauty was heart-stopping: like an actual physical blow to his chest. Eulalia had not exaggerated. This is one sexy chiquita. You’ll dig this cupcake, she had said. Red-gold hair hung to her shoulders and framed deep brown eyes, wide red lips, and a long delicate nose. The sheer impact of her physical presence was intoxicating. The empty cafe and a normal afternoon were transformed by her arrival and lit with unique excitement.

My God, he thought to himself, feeling the instant overwhelming sexual attraction, I’m having what the French, who have a word for everything, call a ‘coup de foudre’. I’m in deep trouble here. I’ve been Boom-barded.

Immediately terrified his over-eager susceptibility would blow the whole relationship before it even started, he polished his most charming smile, offered his hand which was ignored, and said, Would you like coffee or a cerveza perhaps?

She pushed her dark glasses up on her forehead and considered her watch carefully.

We’re in no hurry, are we? he asked again.

We have plenty of time, she said. She remained thoughtful and then added, almost reluctantly, Okay, thank you. I take a coffee. She sat down in the offered chair and smiled. His hopes rose in immediate response and began to grow unreasonably eager. When she lowered her dark glasses again it was as if the sun had gone behind a cloud.

The waiter, materializing from nowhere at his summons, stared open-mouthed at Boom and Boom while he took the order. Richard too found it hard to take his eyes from her figure. She seemed oblivious. A girl with her body has every right, he thought, to weary of male interest; but she seemed not so much to spurn as to be indifferent to his admiration. All the same he felt an obligation, almost a duty to himself, to roll out old techniques. The temptation to make a move on such a target was irresistible.

What a pity they didn’t send you to meet me in England. It was hellish dull on the ferry.

I do not like the sea.

It’s supposed to be very romantic. We could have held hands under the spell of the great moon riding above the waves and…

I am seasick, she interrupted with a practiced finality which put paid to his clumsy endeavor. Always. Very seasick. It is hateful.

It was impossible to read the expression behind her purple lenses, but her tone succeeded in giving him impression that she thought he had probably come from the Planet of the Apes. She looked out across the tree-lined esplanade to the harbor, pulling deeply on her cigarette until with a sudden gesture she stubbed it half-smoked in the ashtray. Her hair flashed bronze lights in the sunshine when she moved her head. Perhaps, he thought looking for faults, her nose is too long. All the same, he corrected quickly, she is without any doubt at all the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen. So, he told himself reluctantly, play it cool, lad. If that’s what she wants I can cool it as long as necessary, well, I hope I can.

I gave up smoking yesterday, she said suddenly as if she was under an obligation to explain herself. It is why I am nervous today.

Very smart. I gave up some time ago. It’s too darn dangerous. I was developing a bad cough. Giving up is difficult.

Si. Now I must tell you who I am. Everybody calls me Boom Boom. It is a stupid name, but I go along with it.

So I see.

I am personal assistant to Mr. Cohen at the vineyard. General manageress. Not for making the wine, of course, but for running the estate. I found the Domaine des Grenouilles for him when he looked for a vineyard.

She drank her coffee slowly and sat silent for a few more minutes. The drowsy somnolence of the afternoon was broken only by the sharp love-song of the cicadas in the plane trees. It would be easy he thought to let imagination lead to unambiguously blissful dreams.

We must go, she said suddenly.

She made no acknowledgement when he opened his car door for her. When he was ready she gave directions through the town to a small square, where she told him to park on the pavement. She did not move immediately but sat looking carefully all round, as if satisfying herself that the coast was clear.

Wait here, she said. I will fetch my bag.

He watched in the mirror as she walked away, shorts rolling rhythmically above her long, long legs until she disappeared round a corner. Half an hour passed. He began to grow anxious, wondering if something had gone wrong and asking himself what he was supposed to do next if she didn’t return.

His instructions had told him only to meet the girl in Santander, and let her be his guide. Cars and small trucks tore past occasionally, but there was little street life. A black cat patrolled the dirt center of the square proprietorially and drove off an intruder in a sudden flurry of screeches. All sensible local inhabitants slept at this hour. Black cats are lucky, he thought. He needed some of that for a change.

Eventually Boom Boom emerged from the same side street carrying a long green canvas hold-all. She opened the rear hatch door and slung the bag into the trunk using both hands to control its weight. It would not be cool, he decided, to offer help. She moved round to the passenger door and got in.

What kept you? I was beginning to worry.

I made some phone calls. Never worry for me, she said firmly. I can look after myself.

It seemed no further explanation was coming. I’m sure you can, he said.

No one watches us?

Not that I know of. I’ve hardly seen a soul. Are you expecting to be watched?

No. But it is possible. We go now, Doctor.

I’m not really… my name’s not Livingstone.

She interrupted his explanation bluntly. I do not care who you are. I do not need to know your name, she said.

He shrugged his shoulders. You’re the boss. Where to?

We go Bilbao. There we take the Auto to Zaragosa. After that I will drive. You can find Zaragosa? It is easy. You have pesetas for tolls? He nodded. I will sleep now.

I expect I’ll find it if you guide us out of here. Once I’m on the Auto I’ll be fine.

She gave him rapid directions until they had left the city, and then curled up and closed her eyes. Folding herself into a comfortable position involved some tantalizing arching and elevation of Boom and Boom, who were prominently divided by her seat belt. It won’t take a lot more, young lady, he thought, for you to get me hopelessly mind-boggled here. It’s one thing to discourage masculine interest, quite another to be hostile about it.

She was soon asleep, her head turned inward on the seatback. Her hair fell forward over her eyes. It was cut long enough to reach her shoulders and was the unusual red-blonde color which seems natural only to some Spanish women. The hazards of the road to Bilbao grew even more alarming when they reached the motorway, furious with heavy trucks and trailers which exchanged lanes at maximum legal speed. The road demanded as much of his attention as the racetrack once had, and he soon lost exclusive awareness of his voluptuous companion. The road climbed steadily to the central plateau, and the kilometers ticked by.

They had passed the off-ramp to Logrono before a voice beside him said, Where are we?

The last sign said Zaragosa 25.

That is good. She sounded markedly less hostile. Looking for the least indication of favor he took her new tone as a step forward. I did not sleep last night, she added. For no good reason her words inevitably suggested exotic pictures of nightlong sexual activity in his mind until she dispelled them as rapidly. On the bus from Madrid. It was dirty, hot, and noisy.

No wonder you were tired, he said, as pleasantly as he could.

She made no reply, and he wondered if his tone had been too friendly or whether the least indication of personal interest was unacceptable.

After a time she spoke again in a more relaxed her tone. From Zaragosa we take road to Lerida. After that we stop at first parking. Then I drive. Okay?

Okay. he replied. Who am I to argue?

*****

Ordinarily he disliked being driven by anyone else. He watched anxiously for a time but she drove with a fluent confidence which soon allowed him to relax. Beyond Lerida the landscape was dominated by the rising bluff of the Pyrenees ahead, although the coming darkness prevented a clear view of the mountains. The signs told him they were following the road to Andorra.

When Boom Boom took an unexpected turn off the main road he was quickly lost. The headlights picked their way through tight bends as they climbed through a scrubby maquis of broom and pine to a white village perched on a hilltop. Beyond the village she pulled into a complex where a square garage block with an old tin Yacco sign stood behind petrol pumps. A two story restaurant bore the legend Albergo de los Angeles. There were cars parked at the garage but none outside the restaurant.

The Albergo was a select hotel in a minute village in the foothills of the Pyrenees.

Tonight we stay here, announced Boom Boom. It was the first time she had spoken in half an hour. You go in, they will show you to your room. All is prepared. Shall we meet at nine o’clock? In the dining room?

You mean we get to eat together?

You do not like to eat with me? We can have separate tables.

Of course I like. I’m just surprised.

She turned to look at him directly. Without the anonymity of dark glasses her eyes were deep and darkly mysterious. Senor, she began, Understand please. Both of us work for Genghis? I am your guide. Claro?

Of course, he said. Why should I be silly enough to suppose anything else?

Is okay? We eat together?

Si si. Muy bien. Claro and so on. It’ll be a load of fun, I’m sure. Wrong-footed again, he thought crossly. I just can’t get it right.

Despite the apparent desertion of the inn his room was neat and clean as a new pin, although bare of everything but essentials. A small tiled area behind a curtain contained both shower and bath. There was plenty of hot water and he relaxed at leisure. The dining room was empty when he entered. A young maid wished him buenas tardes and indicated a table for two by the fireplace, the only one in the room which was laid. She brought bread in a basket and a bottle of wine, but otherwise made no move to show him a menu or serve his meal. The wine was blackly ruby, complex, oaky, and delicious. Labeled 1972 under an unfamiliar maker’s name, he knew it must be expensive.

It pleases you? asked Boom Boom.

Mucho delicioso, he said. Very complex. Old Grenache?

Is correct. From Priorat, muy buen. She actually smiled. She had changed into black woolen culottes and a cream silk blouse with sufficient frills to hide the fullness of its shapely contents, a transformation which provided more by way of relief, he decided, than it took away in disappointment. It had been difficult to concentrate on anything else while Boom and Boom were displayed prominently. Is favourite wine of Genghis Cohen. We drink often together.

You do that a lot?

Of course. In Spain, sometimes in London also.

His spirits plummeted at her words, just as he was beginning to think he had said something right. Boom Boom produced her remark lightly as if it were information which would provide positive interest, as news of a mutual acquaintance may be expected to do, and smiled again. He hoped the intention was casual - and not a deep thrust from the hand of a skilled torturer: but he was far from sure. The name of his odious employer hung menacingly in the empty room, and the idea of Cohen’s frequent intimacy with this beautiful girl who defined herself merely as his guide was deeply galling

The evening never recovered. The splendid meal was served without choices, but not even the minute chops of suckling pig grilled with rosemary, nor the sumptuous paella which followed could suppress his sulky resentment. The conversation, never generous on Boom Boom’s side, dwindled to sporadic comments on the excellence of the cuisine. He drank more Priorat than he intended and retired early to bed, angry with himself and his own stupid bad manners.

He had spoiled, he told himself, the opportunity to enjoy a pleasant evening in exceptional company by his own shallow ungraciousness. What possible blame fell on the girl who had made clear her desire to keep her distance, no doubt for her own good reasons? Why shouldn’t she drink with their mutual boss if she chose? Knowing his pettiness was absurd he had been unable to master it. Was he suffering simply from jealousy, which was both inappropriate and ridiculous? Disappointment that she made her personal disinterest so obvious? Or was the cause more fundamental?

He studied his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Was there obvious decline? At 32, were his dark good looks, his even smile, really less personable, less attractive, less devastating than before? No. The exterior was fine, wearing well. The change he felt was internal. The old confidence, the old self-certainty was no longer there. When rejection came before his accident in Lisbon - rarely enough - there was always another exotic bird down the line to assuage the sting. Now it hurt.

He looked into the mirror again and made himself grin. Don’t be a chump, he told his reflection. Opportunity knocks, seize it! You’re on an adventure with a gorgeous woman, you’re getting paid, the wine is wonderful and tomorrow is another day!

CHAPTER TWO

When the Audi was driven out of the Garage next morning it had changed color from off-white to Italian racing red. A mechanic tapped the bodywork gingerly with his finger to reassure himself again that his spray-job was dry. No comment was made. Richard decided to deny Boom-Boom the satisfaction of showing surprise and was consequently wrong-footed by the next de velopment.

I will drive to Andorran Border, she said. You will sit in the back. When we come to Customs you will pretend to be asleep. You will wear this.

She tossed him a polythene bag which contained a long blonde wig. Your passport is for Senorita Barges from Madrid. Try it on, please.

He looked her straight in the eye but she did not flinch. She was serious. He wanted to protest, but committed to demonstrating his cool he had no choice but to do as he was told. Boom Boom seemed close to a smile as she watched him struggle to straighten his ridiculous disguise in his reflection in the car window, but she suppressed the weakness. He needed strict self-control not to rebel and throw the stupid thing away. I did that all wrong, he thought. I should have laughed my way out in