It Never Rains in Colombia (2 page)

             
There was a bright light ahead as they closed in on the domineering

wrought-iron gates that encircled the compound. The sun bounced off the gold and red coat of arms in the centre of the gates as they parted to let the cavalcade of limousines and motorcycles through.

              She stepped out of the car refreshed but groggy. When she looked at the grand estate before her, she rubbed her eyes wearily to clear the image of the massive red brick mansion ahead. She rubbed again and looked around her at the vast green lawn. It was the size of a football field. There was a long driveway leading from the house to the black iron front gate. She turned back to the house expecting it to have changed and stood amazed by its sheer size.

             
She was led in by Emma, fighting the urge to stand and gawk like a country bumpkin.

             
Inside, Harlow was ushered along the hallways by an entourage of people. She was at the centre of the bodyguards and maids like the nucleus of an atom. Emma walked briskly ahead of her, leading the way. The two bodyguards from her house on either side of her and two members of staff whose names she didn't know rushed behind her. They arrived at a set of double doors and Emma pushed them open, holding the door as Harlow entered. The suite was magnificent. It took up one whole wing of the mansion.

             
“This is your room,” Emma announced, closing the doors behind her. She left the security detail and the other staff outside, so that it was only herself and Harlow in the large lounge. She walked across the room and Harlow followed, not understanding. They passed through a door to a large bedroom. It was dominated by an antique four-poster bed in dark wood with intricate carvings on the posts and pretty white curtains. Beneath it, a large plush white rug. On the far wall, a large television. The room was enormous, but nobody had answered her questions in the car. She began to feel ill at ease with her new surroundings and the grandparents who had been dead to her for eleven years.

             
When Emma was gone, she sat in the lounge waiting to be called, fiddling with the various remote controls, pressing the button to turn on the TV. She jumped in surprise when the room went black. Curtains rolled closed. The light flicked off and the doors locked, leaving her in complete darkness. She wanted to laugh but there was no one to laugh with. Alice was back at home. The room was silent except for her breathing.

             
Fumbling with the remote control, she eventually pressed the button again, bringing the room back to life.

             
There was a loud knock at the door.   

             
Emma appeared, smiling softly. “It's time,” she said ominously.

             
Harlow was ushered down the hallway by Emma and one bodyguard. It reminded her of Princess Leia being marched down the hallways of the Death Star. She smiled, picturing the cheerful old woman as a Stormtrooper. After a trip in the gold elevator, they arrived at an imposing set of double doors. Two footmen held them open as she entered.

             
“Harlow!” a cheerful voice called. The woman smiled brightly, hugging her as she entered.

             
An old man rose from his seat at the far end of the room when she came in. He seemed amused. He was frail-looking, his face ravaged by time and the effects of a difficult life. His eyes were alert and bright. From time to time, the corners of his eyes would crease in a smile as if he were constantly amused by something she couldn't fathom. He came forward to give her a hug, and when he released her, he said, “I have waited a long time to see you.”

             
The woman sat down in a chair next to an ornate fireplace. Harlow sensed that the old man was on the verge of tears. His eyes were no longer smiling. When he didn't smile, his face was stern, authoritative, serious. He returned slowly to the chair that he had appeared from, leading her along to a seat beside him.

             
“Come, come have a seat.”

             
He sat down carefully as if seized with some pain when his joints creased to lower him into the plush brown armchair. With his bright, quick brown eyes he glanced at the butler who was hovering by the door. He tilted his head to one side thoughtfully before he began speaking.

             
“Harlow, thank you for coming. I'm sure you're wondering why we asked you here.”

             
She nodded shyly.

             
“I am Simon Beauvoir. This is my wife Julia. Our son Peter was your father. He was on his way home from a meeting in Moscow when his plane crashed.”

             
Simon paused, taking a deep breath in, as if the oxygen had been sucked from his lungs. His eyes grew misty.

             
“There were no survivors.” He muttered irreverently, looking intensely at the fire. “We had no idea how serious he was about your mother. We drifted apart,” he said sadly. “At the time, I didn't like the idea that my son was involved with that woman. I thought it would pass. When it didn't, I told him plainly that I didn't approve of her, of them together.”

             
“Simon,” the woman reproached him.

             
He paused. “I was out of my depth. At my age... I grew up in a different time. The person he fell in love with was not what I had envisioned for
my
son. Looking back now, I can see it was silly of me. I had no right to tell Peter how to live or who to love. I shouldn't have argued with him. If I had know that that was the last time we would see each other, I would have behaved differently. He married her anyway. Shortly after the wedding, he passed away. I didn't know. I didn't know about you.” He shook his head as if to disperse the memories. He trained his bright eyes on Harlow. “You are my last hope, the last of the Beauvoirs. Everything you see here will be yours one day, if you want it. We, no, I called you here because I want to apologise. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I wish I could have said the same to your father.”

  
              There was a long silence that Harlow didn't dare to break. Her grandfather sobbed quietly, covering his face as silent tears slid down from his dark eyes. “I'm so sorry,” he broke down.

             
“I'm happy I found you. I'm glad your mother wrote to us to tell us about you. It was big of her, after the things I said.” He handed Harlow a letter that he'd retrieved from the coffee table.

             
Harlow read through the letter. It had last months date on it. She recognised her mother's neat, almost artistic-looking handwriting.

             
“I'd like to make up for all these lost years,” Simon explained.

             
“We were hoping you would stay here with us?” Julia asked gently. “So we can get to know each other.”

             
“For how long?” Harlow asked, feeling that she'd rather be at home.

             
The butler cleared his throat.

             
The old man struggled to get to his feet, “Just for the summer. You can go home anytime you like. Shall we go for a walk?” he asked.

             
“It's a bit stuffy in here,” Julia agreed, following him to the door. When they stepped out of the large glass doors leading to the garden the butler stayed behind.

             
Harlow followed her grandfather through the Rose Garden, her grandmother walking by her side. It was a bright day, frosty and dry as they ambled down the smooth concrete path.

             
“Your father was a keen painter; he would have loved this place. I remember when he was little, he would sit by the window and paint our garden,” Julia said.

             
  Simon laughed. “He was quite the artist.”

             
They walked for a time among the flowers until the path led them past a well-kept lawn that stretched out as far as she could see, until finally its neat green edges were cut short by a cobbled road leading to a bridge. She could hear the sound of water gushing past beneath it.

             
The cold air stung her nose and she made an effort not to sneeze. Her face warmed in response to the harangue of the chill wind sweeping through the blades of grass.              

             
Her grandmother looked at her with concern, “shall we head back?” She turned every phrase so that it was more a gentle command than a question. Simon nodded. Harlow, now reluctant to leave, protested until she was defeated by a sneeze. When she turned to leave she glimpsed the dark woods beyond the bridge and the river rushing underneath the stone arches.

             
In the warmth of her new room, Harlow flicked idly between the TV channels and thought about what she'd heard. Many hours later, a knock came at the door. She jumped, almost dropping the remote. “Come in,” she called. Then, realising the futility of shouting in the cavernous room, she went to the lounge to answer. The butler she had seen in the drawing room that morning smiled cordially.

             
“It's time for dinner, Miss.”

             
She descended in the lift. The hallway was busy with staff. Two maids hurried past, greeting her vaguely. The hallway stretched before her like a fun-house illusion, a never-ending corridor. Finally, they reached the end. The butler opened the doors, revealing a large antique dining table with high-backed chairs, lined with green silk, filled with dignified strangers. Harlow felt very alone when she entered, ushered to her seat by John the butler. Smiling stiffly, aware of her own uneasiness, she took a seat next to her grandfather. She was the only child at the table.

             
“Sorry,” she whispered to her grandfather conspiratorially. “I didn't know we had to dress up.”

             
Her grandfather looked at her jeans and T-shirt, then patted her hand, smiling, “You look fine as you are.”

Chapter 2  -  A Warm Welcome

Six Years later

             
The Turrets of the old stone castle against the blue sky took Harlow's breath away. She locked the bike chain and walked up to the college entrance, adjusting her shirt collar and brown leather satchel. The headmaster was waiting at the entrance of the school dressed like an eighteenth-century gentleman, in a white shirt and white bow tie. An antiquated black cape rested around his shoulders hanging a few centimetres above the floor. “Ah, Ms. Beauvoir, it's good to finally meet you,” the old man said with a dignified air. He continued blithely as they made their way through the empty hallways, “I'm sure you've heard all about Rutherfords.”

             
Harlow nodded, “Yes, quite a bit. Grandfather was very fond of the place.”

              “He will be sorely missed,” the headmaster said as they entered the main office. “He was one of our most celebrated alumni. The college has been here since 1634,” he explained, “The Mahraja of Sinhat was the first foreign king to send his children here. Lucy, hold all my calls.”

             
The middle-aged secretary nodded. She was perched behind a large oak desk. She was so petite that she looked like a shipwrecked traveler clinging on for dear life. He escorted Harlow into his plush office—brown leather sofa, large desk, and a floor-to-ceiling bookcase, stuffed with leather tomes, that lined the wall across from his desk.

             
“Please take a seat.”

             
Behind the headmaster's chair there were two paintings, one of the Queen and another of a person she didn't recognize, a man with gray hair and bushy eyebrows, a monocle, and an odd squint.

             
“You have been assigned a guide to show you around the college. Think of her as a mentor. She is one of our most promising students and I have no doubt that you'll learn a lot from her. After the tour, you will be taken to the morning class.” He handed her a schedule. “I believe you have Personal Fitness first. Of course you won't be obliged to take part,” he chuckled, “We couldn't do that to you on your first day. I'm sure you'll like it here.”

             
She smiled, “I'm sure I will. Rutherfords comes highly recommended.”  

             
“Do you have any questions?” he asked.

             
“No, I just can't wait to get started.”

             
He walked her out of the office.

             
A tall girl with a pretty face, deep blue eyes, and black hair was waiting on the sofa in the main office. The girl stood up. The headmaster nodded to her, “Harlow this is the girl I was telling you about. Sophia is our newest prefect.”

             
“It's nice to meet you,” Sophia said, shaking Harlow's hand.

 
              “You too,” Harlow replied with a smile.

             
“You'll be in good hands,” the headmaster said, “now, do give my regards to Julia.”

             
“I will,” Harlow said, and they left the office.

  
              “Don't you know?” the prefect asked her, and Harlow felt perfectly clueless. “This school has been here since 1634, even then, the Maharaja of Sinhat sent his two youngest sons to study here.”

 
              The girl had raven black hair down to her back and seemed to glide down the hallways, with Harlow stomping hurriedly behind her.

             
“It's really a privilege,” Sophia said, “You must have scored very well on the entrance exam,” she muttered, “they only let one in a year.”

             
“One?” Harlow queried.

             
“Scholarship student,” she explained.

 
              “Oh, yes.”

 
              “Well, Christian is this year’s, so you must have really impressed the board. It's never happened before, not in four hundred years.”

              They turned a corner and entered the gymnasium. A person in full fencing gear stumbled into Harlow, muttering a quick apology through his fencing mask, his intense green eyes looking her over with concern before he hurried away.

 
              “Are you okay?” Sophia asked, watching as she brushed her navy blazer off.

 
              “I'm fine,” Harlow replied. Sophia directed her to a free seat on the bleachers and they watched as the rest of the class fenced. The teacher blew her whistle at the end of the class and came over to introduce herself once the students had begun packing away their swords and fencing gear.

              In the next class, the teacher walked briskly into the room. He was the no-nonsense type. An elderly man with balding hair that should have been grey but was unnaturally black. He had a hawk like look about him; his whole face seemed to be gathered around his nose, which was so large that it could have been a beak. He was a man of diminutive stature. The new girl followed him awkwardly, not knowing where to go. He stopped just short of his desk and she almost tumbled over him.

 
              “Sorry,” Harlow apologised quietly.

The teacher turned around. He was disgruntled but he managed to summon up a look of understanding, distracted by one of the students walking past. “Claire, as it's your first week here, I will allow the hair.”

              Harlow watched the girl eyeing her electric green hair tied up in a bun.

 
              “But from today, please keep in mind that hair dye is against the college rules.” The teacher turned to Harlow, “You're a few days late, so I've assigned one of the prefects to you, to help get you up to speed with the class.”

              The whole class was quiet as Harlow looked idly around for a place to sit. Her eyes swept the room and she saw his face at once. Strange, he had that kind of beauty that made her think she had seen him before. She walked toward him automatically, looking for a vacant desk nearby. When she unpacked her bag, placing the pencil case on the desk, she looked back at him, wanting to see the beautiful symmetry of his handsome face once more. His green eyes, the way his nose rested comfortably above perfectly, formed, full lips. The brown curls in his short hair, his crisp white shirt collar, she noticed everything, the deep black of his trousers, the watch on his right wrist, the way he doodled carefully and slowly in his notebook. He looked at her. Harlow couldn't believe her eyes, then; she was sure she had never seen such a face. Harlow turned back to face the front of the class as Mr Hughes began speaking.

             
A few days later, the novelty of Harlow's arrival at Rutherfords had worn off and she sank quickly into obscurity. Nobody took much notice of her, and when the class was over she saw Amy, the prefect who had been assigned to show her around, march past. Harlow began packing away, putting her pens in her bag and hurriedly stuffing her notebook on top of the cluttered stack of items in the bag. Amy gave her a tight smile and walked Claire out of the classroom. The students from Mr Holden's next class drifted in one by one. Sophia came in as Claire and Amy rushed out with the stream of students pouring out of the class. By the time Harlow got to the door, she heard Amy saying, “By the way, your hair isn't the regulation colour. If you want to get on here, you'll have to change. This isn't a circus,” Amy muttered as she went off to join her friends.

 
              Harlow spotted the girl, her brightly coloured neon green hair bobbing away ahead, she had it down today, releasing a torrent of wild green. The strands fell over her shoulders framing her delicate face. Harlow stopped a few yards away from the classroom door, being bumped aside by some of the other students as she examined the map.

  
              “Do you need some help?”

             
Harlow looked up, “Yes.”

             
The boy with the green eyes smiled, “Where do you need to go?”

             
“Room 345,” Harlow couldn't believe her luck.

              “Aaah, Maths?” He asked.

             
“Yes,” she checked the timetable surreptitiously to make sure, “that's the one.”

             
“It's in the East Wing. Come, I'll show you.”

             
“Thank you,” she said as they walked down the corridor, “this place is massive.”

  
              “It can be overwhelming,” he replied, “it's always hard being the new person. I'm Roberto,” he smiled, putting out his hand to shake hers awkwardly as they walked.

             
She slapped it away, saying, “I prefer to high five.”               “Okay,” he gave her a strange look and she knew she'd made a fool out of herself. Then Roberto laughed and all the tension in her muscles disappeared as he said, “Technically, that's a low five.”

             
They talked and walked. The more they talked, the more they were both amazed at how much they had in common. Roberto was intrigued by the new girl and made it his mission to entertain her, make her laugh and show her around. With Harlow, he was all smiles, and for the first time in a long while, he felt at ease. They had the same classes that morning and at lunch he left to go to football practice, inviting Harlow to come and watch. He was the captain of the team and he was proud of his position. Roberto was convinced that once Harlow watched him play, showcasing his prowess on the pitch, scoring goal after goal to cheering, adoring, fans, she'd adore him too. Harlow was embarrassed; when he asked, she gave him a vague reply and promised to come another time. The thought of just standing there awkwardly watching him, no matter how beautiful he was, playing a game that she had no interest in, was somehow not appealing. Roberto shrugged off the slight rebuff and countered by asking for Harlow's telephone number.

             
This time when Harlow's face flushed, it was because she was excited. She felt like he'd seen right into her mind, and she illogically tried to push aside the other thoughts about him. She felt as though Roberto could see through her like a window and view all of her inner thoughts and feelings as easily as you could watch the sunset over a quiet street, when you paused to look.

             
Harlow felt giddy but remained calm and fought the urge to do a backflip and a series of poorly executed cartwheels. “Sure.”

             
That was her answer, “Sure.” Harlow went away grinning saying, “see you later, buddy.” She could have slapped herself just then,
buddy! Really, how cheesy, eughhh.
She walked away before she had time to say anything more silly.

             
Roberto leaned against the wall watching her walk away, wondering why he didn't affect her as much as he affected the other girls at school. This was the first time one of his invitations had been turned down by any girl he liked. He wondered about Harlow,
if she doesn't want to watch me play football, what does she want? Buddy?
he thought,
Maybe she's not into me.
He wasn't even sure if he liked her; he just knew he had to chase her.
She's pretty.
He thought about the way Harlow coiled her hair around her finger when she was thinking, the deep brown of her eyes that seemed to spark and grow brighter every time she laughed, and her quirky aloofness. That feeling, that she stood apart from everyone else, pulled Roberto to her magnetically.

             
As Roberto played that afternoon, celebrating his first goal, all he could think about was Harlow. Kissing Harlow, holding her hand, seeing her smile. He wanted to see her and was distracted by the idea that he might like her and she might not care.

             
In the Cafeteria, Harlow was sitting quietly in a corner thinking about her little triumph when a dark shadow was cast across her table.

             
“Do you mind if we join you?”

             
Harlow looked up at Sophia holding her tray and another girl who had big brown eyes that seemed to her like a deep coffee whirlpool. Harlow's lips moved making her mouth twitch then finally she smiled, “Sure.” It seemed like the only word she could think of that afternoon, but it was working well.

 
              “I'm Claire,” the green-haired girl said quietly.

             
Harlow introduced herself as Claire and Sophia took a seat.

             
“How are you finding Rutherfords?” Claire asked in an accent that she couldn't place.