Dearest Demon

by Violet Winspear

  The doors into this room were impressively carved and standing open to frame the interior, with chandeliers as chiselled as jewels in their beauty, hung from a mudejar ceiling of interlaced sections of cedarwood, varying in colour from near black to honey-gold. The ruby damask of the carved sofas glowed against the panelled walls, and lovely green Mallorca decanters shone on an antique side-table. Across the floor lay carpets in dusky oriental colours, and altogether the effect was one of great charm, softening for Destine the mood she had drifted into, alone with the Don in the shadows of the hall… alone with a man whose scars were more than skin deep.

  She caught her breath, for this was the first time she had entered the salita. 'How charming!' She couldn't help saying it, and the Marquesa caught her words and turned from the man to whom she was talking and smiled at Destine.

  'Ah, this is our Señora Chard who is nurse and compañera to Cosima. Come and be introduced to a friend of ours who comes to Spain to buy seed bulls for his farm in Wales.'

  Destine approached at the invitation and found herself facing a muscular man who was almost as dark-haired as the Don. His name was Lugh Davidson and he looked at her with a gleam of surprise in his dark grey eyes. Swiftly he looked her up and down, and smile lines appeared beside his eyes.

  'Why did I not have a nurse like you when I had my appendix out?' he asked. 'I am most pleased to meet you, Miss Chard.'

  'It's Mrs. Chard,' she said at once. 'And do the Spanish really allow their famous bulls to go out of the country? I thought they were mostly used in the arenas for stickpins.'

  His lips twitched, and he cast a quizzical look at the tall figure who appeared with a glass of sherry for Destine. 'Did you catch that one, amigo?' he asked. 'I would say that this young lady is an opponent of the corrida rather than a supporter, unlike some of those other female visitors to Spain who sit in the best seats yelling for the poor brute's ears.'

  The Don's dark eyes flicked Destine's face as she accepted from him the flute of tawny sherry.—Nurse Chard is quite convinced,' he said, in his most sardonic tone of voice, 'that the men of Spain are still like they were in the days of the conquistadores. Ruthless, you know, and rather sinister.'

  With these words he moved away again, to play courtier to Cosima on one of the ruby-brocaded sofas, delicately dis­tracting in honey-brown silk, her only adornment a heavy gold Spanish cross on a gold chain.

  'A pity about that lovely creature,' said Lugh Davidson. 'Will she ever walk again, Nurse Chard?'

  Destine shook her head. 'The greatest pity is that her husband didn't stand by her. Loyalty and love are the best medicine in the world and she could have been made to feel—well, a woman. As it is she feels that she is no more use to a man and she broods about it.'

  'Artez is fond of her.' Lugh twirled his sherry glass in his hard-looking fingers. 'He's a strange fellow in some respects, but he might have made her a good husband. At least he wouldn't have left her when she lost the use of her legs. Life takes odd twists and turns, don't you think?'

  'Indeed it does, Mr. Davidson.' Destine cast a brief look at the Don, who was leaning down protectively to catch what his cousin was saying to him, and there flashed through her mind remembrance of what he had said about feeling noth­ing protective with regard to her. She could stand up for herself, and any encounter between them would be pidiendo guerra—asking for war!

  It surprised Destine that there were several other guests for dinner, for she hadn't thought that the Obregons were all that sociable. The high white walls of the casa, and the wrought-iron grilles at its windows, seemed to shut people out and made it seem that the family kept much to themselves.

  She learned, however, that Lugh Davidson was staying in the neighbourhood with these Spanish people, who were the owners of the finca which had for sale the pair of seed bulls in which he was interested. Destine could only surmise that such bulls were enormously expensive, which gave her a clue as to the wealth of the Welshman. Her companion at the dinner table, he talked about his big stone farm in the hills of Brecon, and because he was not a flirtatious man Destine enjoyed his company, and had no idea that they seemed to be isolated in a pool of candlelight from the tall, gold-wrought candelabrum on the table.

  Beside his darkness she looked inordinately fair, and her eyes were very blue and intent as he described the beauty of those Welsh hills.

  'You must find southern Spain a great contrast,' she said, smiling as she ate the delicious dessert of sliced tropical fruits with cream.

  'It's the climate which is the greatest contrast,' he said. 'Don't you find the sun rather overpowering yourself, being so fair-skinned?'

  'I've not yet been out in the full sun—' Suddenly Destine glanced across the table at Cosima, the massive carving of the chair in which she sat making her seem extra fragile. In that moment it struck Destine that she had promised to stay only a week at the casa, and that week was now over and she had to decide about tomorrow. She could leave, or she could stay, and either decision could bring regret with it.

  She knew that forcibly as she sat there at the Marquesa's table, and her hand shook slightly as she lifted her wineglass and put her lips to the rim.

  Inadvertently, and yet perhaps driven to it by toe trend of her thoughts, her eyes slid to the figure seated beside her patient… her nerves jolted, for his eyes locked with hers across the candlelit table, above the tawny gilt of the wine in the glass she was holding. She almost dropped it, and that would have been awful, the wine spilling over the lace cloth and staining it.

  'Don't look at me like that!' she wanted to cry out. 'If you're reading my thoughts… you know that it's you… you who makes my decision such a hard one!'

  His brow arched and his eyes mocked what he had seen, that she had almost spilled her wine because their eyes inter­locked and a dramatic fusion of thought had set them apart for a few wild seconds from everyone else at the table.

  She glanced away from him and she knew, now, that if she left Xanas it would be an act of flight from Don Cica­trice. He would know it, too, that she was running away from the disturbing effect that he had on her, and it would seem like a victory for him that he had made her run away.

  Her chin tilted. To the devil with him! Cosima needed someone who could deal with her moods of depression, for if they weren't dealt with, then the Marquesa would have more heartache to hide behind a graciously brave smile.

  At the conclusion of the long Spanish meal, Destine quietly approached Cosima and murmured that it really was time that she went to bed. 'You'll feel so wrung out in the morning if you overdo things, señora'

  'Yes,' said a decisive voice above Destine's head. 'Your nurse is right, car a. Time for bed!' Long arms reached down and gathered Cosima easily into their embrace. There in his strong arms Cosima smiled good-night at the guests of her mother, and without protest she allowed him to carry her to the chapel rooms that were now her ground-floor apartment.

  Destine followed them and noticed that Cosima's weight had no more effect on the Don than if she had been an infant. He strode effortlessly beneath the archways of the hall in the direction of Cosima's rooms, pausing so that Destine might open the doors. Then he carried his cousin through the sitting-room archway into the luxurious bed­room, where he placed her on the bed so that she fell back with a slight smile against the pillows.

  'How strong you are, mio,' she said, gazing up at him with the lamplight on her dark shining hair. Each night that lovely head of hair was brushed fifty times by Anaya, and as Destine stood quietly by she saw the eyes of Don Cicatrice steal over his cousin's raven hair.

  'I only seem so in comparison to you, cara' he rejoined. 'You must strive to get really well—tonight you had a nice time, eh? It was good to see our friends, was it not?'

  'Not forgetting Señor Davidson.' Cosima glanced lazily at Destine. 'My dear, you appeared to like his company and his conversation. We all noticed how absorbed you were in each other, did we not, cousin?'

  'I
t was a nice surprise to meet someone from my side of the ocean.' Destine strove not to look at the Don, for her thoughts about him had put her nerves on edge and she wanted him to be gone from the room, taking his disturbing aura with him. He was too mocking, shrewd, and faintly cruel for her to be able to cope with him tonight.

  'You must get your rest, señora,' she said. 'It is very late.'

  Cosima glanced at the little Limoges clock on her bedside table, and pulled a faintly sulky mouth. 'Oh, what a bore it is to be in the hands of a nurse, especially when there used to be a time when I could dance till three in the morning. Now I can't walk to my own bed and have to be carried to it, like a baby.'

  'Stop the fussing and have a good night.' Don Cicatrice took his cousin's hands into his own and bending his tall head he kissed each hand on the back of the wrist. 'Behave and I may take you for a drive to the Castros finca this coming Sunday. You would like that?'

  'Indeed I would, mio.' Cosima's fingers clung eagerly to his. 'Make it a promise and don't suddenly find some task in the fields or the office that must be done. You have your foreman Pascual and have no real need to be always so busy. Promise!'

  'If it will make you happy.' A smile flickered on his lips. Tonight you looked very lovely, cara'

  At this compliment a flush of pleasure came into Cosima's cheeks. 'You are gallant to say so, cousin. It's been a long time since a man noticed that I am not quite hideous.'

  'Little foolish one.' He brushed a hand across her hair. 'You were always a lovely Latin girl, and now you must obey orders and get your beauty sleep—'

  'Artez—!'

  He quirked an eyebrow. 'It isn't often that you call me that, Cosima. I begin to forget the name, I am referred to so often as the scarred one.'

  'Artez,' she softened her voice, 'may Destine come with us on Sunday? It would be nice for her to see Señor Davidson once again, and I am sure she would enjoy the drive after being cooped up in my rooms for the past week. She isn't so bad, you know, for a nurse.'

  He swung a look at Destine, so swiftly that she was unable to avoid his eyes and the way they had of stabbing into her thoughts. Instantly she had rejected the idea of intruding upon him and Cosima and was about to make an excuse when he smoothly disposed of it.

  'Yes, Cosima should have her nurse in attendance. You will like the finca, señora, and the sleek bulls that go to the breeding farms instead of the arenas. As it happens we are not all keen on the butchery of fine animals, or the soulless slaughter of aged horses, and you must blame the tourist trade for some of the bloodier sides of the sport. The blood on the sand seems to send some of them into ecstasies, especially the women, who have doubtless never experienced an ecstasy in the bedroom.'

  'Artez!' The shocked exclamation came from Cosima. 'Don't turn on Destine as if she were a tourist in search of thrills.'

  'Oh, don't mind me, señora.' Destine gave Cosima a don't-care smile. 'I learned as quite a young nurse that men can be bullies, and the señor made it plain from the start that he regarded me as a dyed blonde who came to Spain in search of a Latin lover. He's so awfully Spanish that he's prejudiced against anyone who isn't a Latin born and bred. He just doesn't like me, and I return the compliment.'

  'Be that as it may,' he drawled, 'Nurse Chard will come with us on Sunday. That is what she is paid for, to be in attendance upon you, Cosima.'

  And having spoken, and with the adamant look that warned he was not to be argued with, he strode to the arch­way that led from the room. Destine glared after him and she almost committed herself to saying that she wouldn't be here on Sunday, that she intended to leave this household that was so much under his dominance. The words were actually trembling on her lips when he paused beneath the archway and shot a look straight into her eyes.

  'Contrary to what I expected, you are doing a good job, nurse. One has only to look at Cosima to see that you are weaning her off so many sleeping pills.' His glance moved to his cousin. 'Buenos noches, guapa. Sleep well!'

  He stepped beyond the archway and the door of the apart­ment closed decisively. Cosima drew her underlip between her teeth as she looked at Destine, and her eyes were amused. 'I know what you are thinking,' she said.

  'You Latin people seem adept at reading the thoughts of others.' Destine drew the shoes off the helpless feet that felt cold to her touch. She began to massage them for her pat­ient. 'And what am I thinking, señora?'

  'That my cousin is an arrogant devil, and a moment ago you would have liked to have flung the words back in his teeth.'

  'It was a great temptation,' Destine admitted. 'I—I can honestly say that I've never met anyone quite like him. He presumes to make judgments about other people, but he's no angel himself. He's impatient, intolerant and insular. Unless a woman is Latin, then lord help her!'

  'He may have his reasons for being that way—as we all have reasons for being happy or sad.' Cosima drew off the clear sapphire ring that she always wore during the daytime, and Destine fetched the captivating antique box in which Cosima kept her jewellery. A small fortune in gems glittered and gleamed in the trays of the box, but they couldn't buy back for Cosima the freedom of movement and the caresses of Miguel Arandas for which she pined.

  She lay back against her pillows with a sigh, and regarded Destine in the lamplight, her face pensive against the dark spread of her hair. 'If only I might change places with you,' she said. 'You aren't at all rich, are you, nurse? You have only your salary, and I pay more for my shoes than you can afford to pay for an evening dress. You are poor in every­thing but your health and freedom, and because you have those you are better off than I am.'

  'It may seem so, señora, but you must take into account the fact that I have no family to care about me. I have no one, apart from my godmother, and back in England I have 'often felt intolerably lonely.'

  'Then why do you insist that you won't marry again? The way out of loneliness for most women is to get into a man's arms, and you are good-looking enough to attract a man of means. There's Señor Davidson—he's a bachelor, and tonight he obviously found your company to his liking.'

  Destine tightened her lips as she assisted Cosima out of her dress, and then pressed the bell beside the bed so that Anaya would come from the servants' sitting-room to prepare her mistress for bed. Destine was always careful not to offend the Spanish maid by taking over any of her personal duties, such as Cosima's beauty rituals, and the care of her clothes.

  Miguel Arandas never seemed to be far out of Cosima's thoughts, and the reason she cared for her skin and her person was that she hoped against hope that her errant husband would come back to her. It seemed to Destine a forlorn hope, for had he loved Cosima he would never have left her when she so needed him.

  'There aren't all that many good men in the world,' Destine said, a slight edge to her voice. 'I'd never find an­other man like Matt—like my husband. I'd sooner stay alone than risk being unhappy with someone less kind, less good and clever than the man I lost.'

  'If I could have Miguel,' Cosima said fiercely, 'then I wouldn't care if he beat me, so long as he was there, to be touched, to be seen, to be heard. To be hurt by him is not the hell—the hell is being without him.'

  Anaya arrived just then, and Destine was relieved to see her. Cosima didn't talk so personally in front of her maid, and when Destine left the bedroom, Cosima was talking about sending for a new skin preparation which she had seen advertised in a magazine. She rarely opened a book and was an avid reader of magazines, unlike Destine who much preferred a good novel to the reams of advertising and life­less fiction contained in the glossies.

  Destine paused in the hall, where the wall lamps cast those curious, almost oriental shadows on to the pale walls. She supposed that it would be only courteous to go back into the salita to say goodnight to the company there, and yet she hesitated. She was, after all, only a nurse employed by the family… very likely she had not even been missed.

  On impulse she turned in the opposite directio
n and made for the tall, wrought-iron gate that led outdoors, giving access to one of the side patios. The opening of the gate made no sound, as it was well oiled, and she stepped out into the night that was still and lovely and scented by bitter-orange blossoms and the breath of heaven that hung upon the walls of the patio. Petals and leaves rustled in a soft breeze, and fireflies darted among the trees. Overhead in the velvety denseness of the sky the stars were points of pale flame, quivering with a beauty far out of reach as Destine wandered to a low stone wall and sat there, alone and wrapped in a transitory sense of peace.

  Her conversation with Cosima drifted back and forth across her mind. It was a blessing to have good health and be able to walk in a garden and know that you were not dependent upon the tolerance and patience of other people. Poor Cosima, lying there in her elegantly draped fourposter with her jewels in a box beside her. Depending on Destine and unaware that her brother had been responsible for the death of Destine's bridegroom.

  There had been no time for any loving… no memories of a real marriage, only a few lines on a document to ever show that she had been a wife at all.

  Her fingers played with some orange blossom which had fallen from the boughs on which the fruit was also growing. Nurses from the hospital had thrown paper blossom over Matt and herself; there had been laughter and the usual jests when they had driven away from their wedding break­fast, heading for their honeymoon in Cornwall… heading for grief instead of joy.

  Tragedy struck so swiftly, and yet ever afterwards it had an effect on your life. It was like a note of sad music that never quite died away; it was a small blank space in the heart that nothing could fill. It was an anger and a pain, and here at the House of the Grilles she was close to all the forces which had led so inevitably to that fatal car crash.

  Here had Manolito been born… here in this very patio he must have played as a child, and perhaps later on kissed the women in his restless life.