by Lucy Gordon
Maggie felt her annoyance rising at the sight of him standing there, so assured, his face full of wry amusement at what he plainly considered female fancies. Yet even then she had to concede that his tall body and proud head had a magnificence that matched his surroundings.
‘He might want to keep her apart if he loved her very much,’ she observed. ‘You, of course, would find that incredible, Señor.’
‘Totally incredible,’ he agreed dryly.
‘Oh, you’re so unromantic!’ Catalina scolded. ‘I love to think of the Sultan standing at a window of the Alhambra, gazing up to where the favourite stood on this balcony, calling her name across the valley. Maggie, why do you laugh? It isn’t funny.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she choked. ‘But you said he wanted to keep her hidden from the world. She wouldn’t be much of a secret if he was bawling her name across fifteen miles.’
‘How unromantic you are!’ Sebastian chided her in Catalina’s words, but he was grinning. ‘And, for the record, Sultan Yusuf wasn’t murdered by a jealous lover. He was assassinated by a madman. And no ghost walks these rooms, Señora-don’t be alarmed.’
‘I wasn’t alarmed,’ Maggie told him crisply. ‘I don’t believe in ghosts. Not that kind, anyway.’
The last words were spoken half to herself and made him glance at her with a quick frown. But he said nothing.
‘You have no souls, either of you,’ Catalina said crossly.
Sebastian stood back, indicating for them to return inside. ‘Forgive my intrusion, ladies. Señora Cortez, welcome to my home. I hope the hospitality meets with your approval.’
‘It’s overwhelming,’ she said, indicating the splendid apartment. ‘Much too fine for me. I’ll get lost in all this.’
‘Be sure that I’ll send out a search party for you,’ he said. And he actually smiled right at her, almost inviting her to share a joke.
He shouldn’t do that too often, she thought. It was dangerous.
CHAPTER FOUR
A T THE centre of Sebastian’s home was the Patio de los Pájaros, the garden of birds, an enclosed garden, with a pool and a softly plashing fountain. Elaborately carved stone birds sat in silence beneath the trees and between the shrubs, and more birds hovered beside the pool.
Beyond the trees and shrubs were elaborately decorated arches whose twisted pillars seemed too frail for their burden. And yet the total impression was of perfection. Everything here was of peaceful symmetry, joyful harmony.
A moon was rising high in the dazzlingly clear sky as Maggie slipped outside and took a breath of the sweet night air. It was hard to recall that England was under snow. This far south the December nights were often pleasant, although here in the foothills it was cooler than in the city below, and she wore only a thin nightdress and robe. But even the chill was pleasant, and perhaps the harmony of the garden could restore the harmony of her mind.
The evening meal had been awesome. A pack of Sebastian’s relatives, living nearby, had flocked to see his bride’s return, and they had been joined by some distinguished names from the local government.
The only one who stood out in Maggie’s mind was Alfonso, a distant cousin in his twenties, who worked as Sebastian’s secretary. He was aloofly handsome, and at first glance he had the haughty demeanour of a de Santiago. But his smile was charming, and when he gazed at Catalina there was a kind of dumbfounded shock in his eyes that made Maggie pity him. He would have been a more suitable husband for her than Sebastian, yet even he, Maggie thought, was too grave and serious for such a flighty creature.
Catalina’s butterfly moods changed this way and that with dizzying speed. When they arrived she’d been a girl, so thrilled with her expensive new toys that she’d forgotten the price she must pay. But as the evening wore on the price became more obvious, until she was almost drooping. Both she and Maggie were relieved when they could retire to bed.
Poor Catalina, Maggie thought as she trailed her hand in the water. How right I was to oppose this marriage. It will be terrible for her.
She leaned over, watching her own moonlit reflection, scattering as she moved her fingers, but then becoming one again as the water stilled.
‘Like me,’ she said to the night. ‘All broken up one moment, peaceful the next. But the peace is an illusion; it can be shattered so easily. Why ever did I come here?’
‘Why, indeed?’ murmured a voice behind her.
In the same moment she saw him in the water, a man’s shape, turned to silhouette by the moon. ‘I didn’t know you were there,’ she said, turning.
‘I’m sorry I startled you,’ Sebastian said. ‘It was wrong of me.’
She nodded. ‘One should always wander in an enclosed garden alone. Thus you will find truth and paradise.’
He gave a small start of pleasure. ‘So you understand the symbolism?’
‘I know why so much Moorish architecture is built around places like this,’ she said. ‘But I’m not sure I agree with it. How can you achieve truth or heaven when the enclosure shuts so much out?’
‘But you forget, it also symbolises the whole cosmos, the world and infinity. Here, all beauty can be held in the palm of your hand.’
He dipped his hand and raised it, so that the water streamed down, leaving just a little cupped in his palm, until he opened his fingers, allowing it to trickle away. In the moonlight it glittered like magic, holding Maggie’s gaze, almost hypnotising her. ‘You can turn the symbolism any way you like,’ he said.
She could watch the water for ever, feeling the peace invade her bones. This was a magic place, and it would be fatally easy to surrender to that magic. She too slid her hand into the water and lifted it high, fascinated by the droplets. Sebastian took her fingers between his, holding them lightly.
‘Thank you for everything,’ he said. ‘For calming Isabella’s fears and befriending Catalina, for being wise and strong.’
Through the cold water she could feel the warmth of his hand, holding hers in a grip whose power was concealed but inescapable. She tried to speak, but couldn’t. Something was impeding her breathing.
‘I think you belong in an enclosed garden,’ he said.
‘Shut away from the world?’ she asked, struggling to escape the spell. ‘Not me.’
‘No, not shut away. You would bring the world inside with you, and contain it here in your hand, and the man who came seeking truth and wisdom would find it in you. Then he could truly shut out the rest of the world, having all he needed here.’
The words were ravishing, seductive, seeming to swim in the air. With an effort Maggie gave herself a little mental shake. ‘Is it wise to make so much of symbolism?’ she asked softly. ‘If we blind ourselves with symbols, where is the reality?’
‘I wonder which reality you are speaking of?’
‘Is there more than one?’
‘There are a million, and each man chooses his own.’
‘Each man, perhaps,’ she said wryly. ‘But how often can a woman choose? Mostly she has a man’s reality forced upon her.’
‘Was it forced on you? Or did you choose it freely-and then find that you had chosen in blindness?’
‘Aren’t all choices made in blindness? And we discover too late.’ She gave a little shiver.
‘You should have been more sensibly dressed to come out here,’ Sebastian told her. Swiftly he removed his jacket and draped it around her shoulders. Unconsciously she sighed at the warmth. ‘If you become ill I shall be in disfavour with my bride. She’s already angry with me for “brutally forcing” you-her words-to come here, where your heart will be broken by memories of your great lost love.’
‘Oh, dear! I’ve told her not to see me through a filter of tragic romance.’
‘You’re wasting your time. She loves seeing you that way. Next she’ll be wanting you to wander the streets of Granada, seeking out the places you knew with him.’
Suddenly she was aware of danger. It had been there all the time, but he’d managed to make
her ignore it until almost too late. She stepped back from him. ‘You are wasting your time, Don Sebastian. I don’t discuss my husband with Catalina, and I won’t discuss him with you.’
‘And yet you came to Andalucia to find him-or to be finally rid of him. I wonder which.’
‘You can go on wondering. It is none of your business.’
‘That was what you meant by ghosts, wasn’t it?’
‘Please drop this subject.’
‘How angry you become when he is mentioned!’
‘Neither is my anger any of your business!’
‘Then let me give you a word of advice. If you wish to keep your secrets, hide your anger. It reveals too much about you.’
The last of the spell vanished. How dare he think he could bemuse her with his pretty nonsense about gardens and truth!
‘You know nothing about me,’ she said firmly, ‘except that I can be useful to you. That’s all you need to know, and all you will ever know. My “secrets” don’t concern you, my private life doesn’t concern you, and if you ever mention this again I will walk out.’
She was dismayed to find herself trembling. To hide it from him she began to turn away, but he detained her with a hand on her arm.
‘I’m sorry. I hadn’t realised it was as painful as that.’
She took a deep breath. ‘Goodnight, Don Sebastian.’
‘Don’t go yet.’
‘I said goodnight.’
His fingers tightened on her arm. But he found himself holding nothing. Maggie had slipped away, leaving him holding the empty jacket.
The time before the wedding was short, and Catalina’s first priority was a visit to Señora Diego, a dressmaker in Granada, where she would find a selection of bridal gowns to choose from. The car was ready to take them early next day, and on the journey Maggie noted wryly that the girl’s mood had changed again. The gloom of the previous evening had vanished, replaced by excitement at the thought of an expensive shopping trip.
Catalina tried on dress after dress, until at last the three of them agreed on a garment of lace that enhanced her delicate attractions. It was a little too large, but the alterations could be made at once. Catalina flopped down, worn out by her exertions, and prepared to gorge herself on sticky cakes until she was needed for a fitting.
‘Would you mind if I left you for a moment?’ Maggie asked. ‘I’ll be back in an hour.’
Catalina, her mouth full, waved her off, and Maggie slipped away. She’d been taken aback to find that the gown shop was only a few streets from the place where Roderigo’s business had been located. Now it seemed an excellent chance to lay a ghost. Just two more streets, then one…
At the last moment she almost changed her mind, but something drove her on to turn the corner, and there it was, the building she had once viewed with such dread, wondering what lies it was sheltering, what bills it was generating for her to pay.
It was different now, neater, more prosperous looking. Whoever had taken it over had made a success. The name over the door was José Ruiz, which struck a chord.
Suddenly the door opened and an extremely handsome young man stepped out. As his eyes fell on her an expression of pure delight spread over his face.
‘Maggie!’ he cried, advancing on her with outstretched hands. He stopped before her. ‘Don’t you remember me?’
Then she recognised him as the young cousin who had been constantly in and out of her home with Roderigo. ‘José!’ she said, pleased. ‘For a moment I didn’t recognise you.’
‘I was a boy then, now I am a man,’ he said proudly.
The years from nineteen to twenty-three had been kind to José. He had filled out. His shoulders were broader, the set of his head more mature, but there was still laughter in his eyes.
‘I’m so glad to see you again,’ he told her. ‘I’ve always remembered how kind you were to me.’
Somebody jostled them on the pavement and he took her arm. ‘There’s a little place in the next street where we can have coffee.’
When they were seated he said, ‘I thought you would never come back here.’
‘I never meant to. It’s only chance that brought me.’
She explained about her employment and José’s eyes widened. ‘I have heard of Don Sebastian, of course. Who in these parts has not? He is a great man.’
‘Hm! That’s as may be. I could find other words. I don’t think you’d like him any more than I do.’
‘Like?’ José seemed mildly shocked. ‘But Maggie, he is a man of authority, of respect, of power. His land-holdings are vast, he has orange and lemon groves, vineyards. One does not dare to like or dislike such a man. One merely prays not to come under his disapproval.’
‘I’ve no patience with that kind of talk. He’s a man like any other. As a matter of fact I have come under his disapproval, but that’s fine, because he’s come under mine.’
José eyed her in fascination. ‘Have you told him so?’
‘Certainly.’
‘How brave you must be!’
‘Tell me about yourself. What are you doing in that place?’
‘I took over the remainder of Roderigo’s lease, and started my own little business. I export fruit from this region, and I import small luxury goods from all over the world.’
‘So did Roderigo, I recall, when he bothered to do anything.’
José looked uncomfortable. ‘We do not speak of him,’ he said. ‘Luckily my last name is Ruiz, not Alva, so I renamed the business, and I don’t run it the way he did.’
‘You’re wise. I too no longer bear his name.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I must be getting back. Catalina will be wondering where I am.’
‘She is Don Sebastian’s betrothed?’
‘Yes. I left her trying on wedding dresses.’
The light of commerce came into José’s eyes. ‘Let me escort you, Maggie.’
She smiled. ‘These luxury goods you import-they wouldn’t be suitable for weddings, would they?’
‘Many, yes. But I was thinking more of getting an introduction to Don Sebastian. He has influence in the government-not the Spanish government, but the Andalucian.’
Maggie nodded. She knew Andalucia was a self-governing region where contacts and influence were important. Roderigo had been constantly seeking to ‘meet a man who knows someone’.
‘If you could introduce me to the great man,’ José pleaded. ‘There are contracts I could tender for-he will know people-please, Maggie.’ He took her hand between his and implored, ‘In the name of our old friendship.’
‘All right,’ she said, unable not to smile, ‘I’ll do my best for you. But remember, to these people I am Señora Cortez. That happened by mistake, but it would take too long to put right.’
‘I won’t mention Roderigo,’ José swore. ‘I can’t thank you enough.’
‘One more thing,’ Maggie said firmly, getting to her feet. ‘If you ever again refer to Sebastian as “a great man”, you and I are no longer friends.’
‘Ai, ai, ai!’ he said, impressed.
He walked back to the bridal shop with her and they arrived just as Catalina was dancing about in a flurry of white lace.
‘Isn’t it perfect, Maggie?’ Catalina cried. ‘Aren’t I beautiful?’
‘Beautiful,’ she said indulgently. ‘Catalina, this is José, an old friend.’
The girl gave a theatrical curtsey, becoming a flower of white lace. José responded with a correct little bow.
‘José will be coming to see me after supper this evening,’ Maggie added.
‘Oh, no, you must come much earlier,’ Catalina pouted. ‘It’s going to be such a boring supper, full of elderly aunts. You must eat with us, and then it won’t be so dull.’
José accepted gratefully, and they parted on the promise that they would all see each other later. Maggie had qualms about whether she’d done the right thing, but the evening went off better than she had dared to hope.
As Catalina had said, t
he huge table was filled with elderly relatives. José’s behaviour was perfect. He was courteous to his elders, charming the old ladies and listening deferentially to advice from the men. Maggie introduced him to Sebastian, who nodded politely before turning away. José betrayed no impatience, and was finally rewarded with fifteen minutes in Sebastian’s study. Before leaving he pressed Maggie’s hands and said, ‘Thank you,’ so fervently that she knew the interview must have gone well.
That night she strolled in the garden again, choosing a different path from last time. She wandered slowly amongst the flowers, finding her way by the moonlight that lit up silver paths that twisted and curved and ended in shadows. Birds called softly in the night, and wherever she turned there was beauty too great to be true.
At last she told herself that she must go indoors in case Sebastian should appear. There mustn’t be another encounter like last night. But still she found herself lingering.
‘Does my home please you now that you know it better?’ came a voice from the darkness. He appeared from beneath the trees, a silvered outline in the moonlight. He was wearing the clothes in which he’d dined, but now the frilled evening shirt was torn open to the waist. His chest was thick with hair, rising and falling as though he had been running.
‘I think you live in the most beautiful place on earth,’ she agreed.
He was carrying two wine glasses, one of which he gave to her, almost as if he had known that she would be there. ‘How does Catalina seem to you?’ he asked. ‘Is she happy?’
‘She is now, because she’s surrounded by pretty things and she’s going to be the centre of attention on the big day. But after that?’
‘After that, I shall spoil her, like the child she is, and she will want for nothing. Of course, she may find life a little short of intellectual pursuits-’
‘We’ve already agreed that Catalina isn’t an intellectual,’ Maggie said wryly.
‘She’s a scatterbrain who’ll always be content as long as she has a large dress allowance and girlfriends to gossip with,’ he said indulgently.
