Meeting in Madrid

by Jean S. MacLeod

Catherine swung round, unable to control the swift rush of colour which rose to her cheeks.

  ‘He plays beautifully,’ she remarked lamely.

  ‘Too beautifully at times! Ramon could charm a heart of stone with his music, and he uses it shamelessly for his own ends. You must not take him too seriously,’ Teresa warned, ‘because Ramon is not serious all the time. Guitar music is meant for lovers,’ she added, ‘but only if they are truly in love.’

  ‘How worldly-wise we are tonight!’ Catherine pushed back the hair which had fallen over her eyes. ‘I like your evening skirt,’ she added. ‘Is it traditional?’

  Teresa pirouetted obligingly to show off the brightly-coloured flounced skirt she wore.

  ‘Traditionally Andalusian,’ she agreed. ‘Gipsies wear them when they dance flamenco round their camp-fires, and fine ladies put them on to ride in open carriages full of flowers at fiestas and ferias. We have them here, too, you know, though not as many as in Spain.’ She skipped towards the door. ‘If you are ready we will go down and join Ramon on the patio.’

  She never referred to Ramon as her uncle, probably because they were too near an age or because she had less respect for him than she had for Don Jaime. He was still playing his guitar when they walked across the polished floor of the hall to the long open windows leading to the patio, and he rose to bow mockingly as they approached.

  ‘At last!’ he said. ‘I have waited almost too long and nearly in despair! What shall I play for you, senoritas? A fandango or a gay sardana, or just another love song? There are so many of them to choose from, you know.’

  ‘Play for me to dance,’ Teresa commanded. ‘Get me into the mood!’

  Ramon hesitated.

  ‘Go on! I am waiting.’ She stamped an impatient foot.

  Ramon drew his fingers across the strings of his guitar in a preliminary chord.

  ‘What will you dance?’

  ‘The canto jondo,’ she decided after a moment’s consideration.

  He raised his eyebrows, but he did not hesitate, sitting down with his back against one of the pillars of the covered way to support the guitar on his knees, and soon the harshly-intense music with its sultry undertones was filling the patio and throbbing out into the night.

  Teresa backed slowly into the hall, circling it twice with her hands low on her hips, but she did not use them for the first few moments of the dance. All the emotion of the music was reflected on her face as the rhythmic stamping of her heels and the slow movements of her fingers and wrists began, giving vivid life to her performance, and suddenly it seemed as if the quiet hacienda had been transformed into a gipsy encampment or some obscure tasca where only the pulse of a Romany heartbeat could be heard.

  The music quickened as Ramon bent over his guitar and Teresa’s flying feet circled the polished floor. She was using her hands now to emphasis the swift progression of the dance, holding them high above her head and then low, bringing them slowly towards her and thrusting them away as her impatient heels took up the rhythm once more. It seemed as if she had completely forgotten time and place and even her audience in her total absorption with her art, and Catherine could only gaze at her enthralled until she realised that they were no longer alone.

  Lucia was watching from the shadows with a calculating look in her eyes.

  It was several minutes before Don Jaime came to stand by Catherine’s side,

  ‘Teresa feels that she could dance for a living,’ he observed, ‘but she must first finish her education. When she is older she will be allowed to make her choice.’

  ‘And by then you hope that she will have changed her mind,’ Catherine suggested. ‘But this may be something she really wants to do, and you could be standing in her way by being so—adamant.’

  ‘You think me lacking in understanding?’

  ‘In a way, yes,’ she was forced to admit. ‘I think you are judging Teresa by your own standards—a man’s standards —and they are not the same.’

  ‘That I do understand,’ he said. ‘Do you also think I treat my brother too harshly, senorita?’

  She looked up at him, dismayed.

  ‘I have no right to criticise you,’ she admitted, ‘but Ramon, too, might be less difficult to handle if you were willing to accept his point of view.’

  ‘For someone who has known us for so short a time, you have come to a great many conclusions,’ he said.

  Catherine bit her lip.

  ‘You are quite right,’ she acknowledged. ‘I was being presumptuous.’

  He laughed outright.

  ‘I think you might be good for Soria,’ he observed. ‘Certainly you seem to be good for Teresa. She has taken an interest in her schoolwork again.’

  He had dismissed his niece’s dancing skill with a shrug as the wild music came to an end and Ramon began to play a love song. The softly-persuasive music wrapped them round, drifting out into the night in a thin tremor of sound until Lucia switched on the wall sconces in the room behind them to flood the patio with artificial light.

  ‘If you are ready,’ she announced harshly, ‘we will take our meal.’

  They filed into the panelled dining-room, taking the places at the long table which they had occupied the evening before, Don Jaime at the head and Lucia at the foot, with Catherine and Ramon facing Teresa on either side.

  ‘Where did you really go this afternoon?’ Teresa asked, looking across the table at her uncle, who put down his soup-spoon to answer her.

  ‘To the puerto, as I have already explained,’ he said. ‘I went to look for a job.’

  The atmosphere became electric.

  ‘And did you get one?’ Teresa asked.

  ‘Unfortunately, no. It was already spoken for.’

  ‘If you are so anxious to find a job away from Soria,’ Don Jaime suggested, ‘we must discuss it.’

  Ramon glanced round at him.

  ‘Next time,’ he said, hiding his surprise as best he could. When they rose to take their coffee out on the patio he sat down on the low wall, reaching for his guitar again, but the music he played was no longer the music of love. It was quick and bright, a medley of tunes plucked from the strings at random, reflecting the mood which had overtaken him so swiftly. Teresa sat at his feet to listen. They shared the same disposition, Catherine thought; they were like quicksilver, one minute sad, the next delightfully blithe, and nothing Don Jaime or even Lucia could do would ever alter the fact.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  For the next few days Teresa seemed content to ride within the hacienda walls, as Lucia had decreed, and certainly there was plenty of room for exercise. The house itself had been built high on the south-facing side of the valley with the vine terraces stepping down from it in regular rows, and farther down, where the bananas grew in rich profusion, there were narrow roads separating the different years’ growth which were ideal for their purpose. Manuel accompanied them for another day, bringing round their ponies when he had unsaddled Lucia’s horse, but he had little to say for himself and on the third day Catherine felt that she was capable of riding alone.

  ‘All the same,’ Lucia said authoritatively, ‘Manuel will go with you. It is an order which I wish to be obeyed.’

  So Manuel rode beside them, greatly to Teresa’s annoyance, although this time she refrained from making a scene.

  Both Jaime and Ramon were too busy to ride for pleasure, but occasionally they came across them on the narrow estate roads or took coffee with them in one of the packing-sheds where the activity had risen to a crescendo of effort as the heat increased.

  ‘It will be almost too hot in the puerto now,’ Teresa observed on one of these occasions. ‘Nearly everyone we know has a house in the mountains to escape the heat, but perhaps we can go to San Juan de la Rambla or Realejo Bajo for the fiesta.’

  ‘I’d love that,’ Catherine said impulsively. ‘Will it be a— family occasion?’

  ‘Oh, dear me, no! Jaime will be far too busy and my stepmother scorns fiestas,’ Teresa decla
red. ‘We will have to go with Ramon and, perhaps, Manuel, since he appears to be our watchdog.’

  She scowled at the inoffensive young man for no very clear reason, but Manuel was either unconscious of her disapproval or determined to ignore it.

  They rode on through a grove of olive trees where the road became a mere track covered with stones, and once or twice Catherine was glad of Manuel’s assuring hand on the rein when the pony stumbled on the rough surface, shaking his head vigorously to register his protest. Even so, she was riding with more confidence now, conquering the instinctive fear which she had felt when she had first climbed into the saddle. It was really the most natural way of getting around, one that had been used for centuries in this perfect island setting where day followed day in increasing peace.

  It was only on very rare occasions that Don Jaime used the family car, and then Lucia drove him to La Laguna to catch a plane for Gran Canaria or one of the other islands where he did business. He was occupied at the moment on the estate itself, however, directing the clearing of the lower plantations, and they saw him in the distance riding his distinctive white Arab horse as they left the shade of the olives to climb back on to the main estate road.

  Catherine knew that he would not join them from such a distance when he was so busy, even if he had seen them riding between the rows of olives, and suddenly she felt disappointed.

  When they finally reached the house they saw that Lucia was entertaining a visitor. A small white car with an open top was standing at the end of the terrace and Alexandra Bonnington rose to meet them as they approached.

  ‘We saw you riding up through the olives,’ she greeted them. ‘How nice to meet you again, Miss Royce. But let me call you Cathy,’ she suggested with her disarming smile. ‘It’s so much easier!’

  ‘Of course,’ Catherine agreed. ‘How is the hand, by the way?’

  Alex held out her wrist for inspection.

  ‘Hardly a mark,’ she declared—untruthfully, because her skin was still deeply scarred. ‘I bleed well but I also heal well! Tell me what you’ve been doing since we met.’

  ‘Riding mostly, and falling off now and then!’ Catherine laughed as Lucia signalled to Manuel to lead away their mounts. ‘All the same, I really must persevere because it’s a most delightful way of getting about. But I see you prefer to drive.’

  ‘I have no option,’ Alex declared, moving her position on the cane settee to let her sit down. ‘I wouldn’t know what to do with a horse if I owned one, though I used to ride quite well.’

  ‘You can have one of Jaime’s horses any time you like,’ Teresa assured her, causing her stepmother to frown.

  ‘I may take up the offer one of these days,’ Alex decided without a great deal of enthusiasm. ‘I really came to ask you to the fiesta,’ she added. ‘You could spend the day with me at Orotava and go down to the coast in the evening when it’s not so warm.’

  ‘Cathy would love that,’ Teresa said quickly. ‘If we were coming to you it would be quite all right.’ She glanced sideways at her stepmother without actually asking her permission and Lucia rang for their tea with an angry spark in her eyes.

  ‘You will observe, Alex, that I am rarely consulted in these matters,’ she said, ‘but I will pass on your invitation to Jaime.’ She turned to Catherine for the first time. ‘By the way, Miss Royce,’ she said, ‘your parcel of books has arrived from England. They were sent on from Madrid, although I cannot understand why you should need so many for so short a stay.’

  Catherine looked taken aback.

  ‘I thought they might be of some help to Teresa,’ she explained. ‘They’re books I’ve treasured for a long time.’

  ‘All the more reason why they might have been safer in your own country,’ Lucia observed. ‘But no matter, they are here and you may wish to unpack them at once to make sure that none of them have been damaged.’

  Catherine rose to her feet, the bright colour of embarrassment staining her cheeks. She had been dismissed in the most summary manner, like any other servant. Lucia had used the tone of voice which she reserved for Manuel and Eugenie with the undisguised intention to hurt.

  ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ she said to Alex, ‘I really ought to change, anyway.’

  Teresa followed her through the hall.

  ‘I told you what Lucia was like,’ she said. ‘She really is a viper! She tried to humble you in front of Alex, but it won’t make a bit of difference. If Jaime had been there he would have put her in her place.’

  ‘But her “place” is the hacienda,’ Catherine said in a choked undertone, ‘and I have been hired to teach you English.’

  ‘It’s not the same,’ Teresa declared. ‘You are not a servant. I will speak to Jaime about this.’

  ‘Teresa—no!’ Catherine protested. ‘Please don’t create trouble on my behalf.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘After all, Lucia was quite right. I won’t be here for ever.’

  Teresa hesitated.

  ‘I want you to be here for a very long time,’ she said. ‘You are already my friend.’

  ‘Oh, Teresa—!’

  Catherine could find nothing more to say because there were sudden tears in her eyes.

  Teresa’s lips firmed in a determined line.

  ‘When we have washed and changed we will go down to the patio together,’ she said. ‘If we don’t, Alex is going to think it strange. I will help you to unpack your books in the morning.’

  It seemed the most sensible thing to do, but Catherine found herself lingering over her dressing until Teresa came knocking on her door.

  ‘Hurry!’ she admonished when she saw Catherine still in her petticoat. ‘Or we will miss Alex altogether.’

  There were other voices in the patio when they finally reached it; male voices. Don Jaime and Ramon had come in early from the plantations and had stopped to greet their unexpected visitor while Lucia had ordered fresh coffee to be made. She appeared to be in her element now, the gracious hostess of Soria entertaining on her brother-in-law’s behalf, and Catherine could not help noticing the change in her. Lucia was not beautiful in the strictest sense of the word, but her height gave her a presence which she was quick to use and now she was doing her best to be charming.

  ‘I mentioned to Jaime yesterday that it was at least a year since you were here,’ she said to Alex. ‘Too long a time, really, when we live so near. I know you are a busy person, of course, but you used to take such a delight in coming to the valley to paint.’

  Alex looked hastily in Ramon’s direction.

  ‘It was a long time ago,’ she said. ‘I’m on too many committees, that’s the trouble. When you’re a willing horse they clap a dozen saddles on your back before you realise what’s happening, and then you have to wriggle like mad to get them off! I must think of a really splendid excuse to be able to say “No” next time I’m asked!’

  ‘You won’t,’ Jaime predicted. ‘You’ll take it on and make a great success of it and all your friends will say “Alex Bonnington can tackle anything and she never makes a mistake!” ’

  Alex looked down at her slender, artist’s hands.

  ‘I’ve made many mistakes in my life,’ she answered quietly. ‘Haven’t we all?’

  Jaime turned abruptly to look down across the terracing. ‘That is true,’ he said harshly, ‘but they are mostly the mistakes of youth and love.’

  Alex got up to stand beside him.

  I’m sorry, Jaime,’ she apologised under her breath. ‘I didn’t mean to twist the knife in an old wound.’

  Catherine moved to the other side of the patio, collecting the used coffee-cups.

  ‘You have no need to do that.’ Lucia had come up behind her. ‘We have kitchen servants to clear the tables.’

  The stinging inference was too obvious to be ignored.

  ‘In my country we are taught to be helpful,’ Catherine returned, ‘without feeling that we are demeaning ourselves. I came down to say goodbye to Miss Bonnington and I would appreciate a c
up of coffee after my long ride.’

  Their eyes met, and for a fleeting second there was surprise in Lucia’s, followed by what could only be described as venom. Teresa, Catherine remembered, had called her a viper on more than one occasion.

  ‘The coffee is ready,’ she announced as Eugenie came in with a huge silver pot in her hand. ‘You can set it down here,’ she directed, ‘and I will pour out.’

  Eugenie collected the used cups, smiling as she passed Catherine, a smile of sympathy, perhaps, from one downtrodden employee to another.

  Wondering where her sense of humour had gone, Catherine watched as Lucia carried Don Jaime’s cup of coffee to the edge of the terrace for him where she set it down on the low stone wall.

  ‘Alex?’ she asked. ‘Another cup?’

  ‘No, thank you. I must be on my way. Jaime,’ Alex added, ‘you will bring everyone to the fiesta, I hope? You can’t pretend to be inundated with work, because all the valley will be on holiday.’

  Jaime glanced back to where Catherine was standing in the shadows.

  ‘I’m quite sure Cathy would like to go.’ It was the first time he had used her Christian name and Lucia glanced sharply in his direction. ‘I have no doubt about Teresa,’ he added drily.

  ‘Why can’t we all go?’ Teresa suggested. ‘We could ride over with Manuel in the morning and you and Ramon could bring the car down in the afternoon. That way you wouldn’t have to spend a whole day away from Soria,’ she added pointedly.