Meeting in Madrid

by Jean S. MacLeod

  ‘Certainly not!’ Lucia straightened the silk knot at her throat. ‘I will ride back with you, Jaime. We have much to discuss.’

  The car drove into the tiny courtyard, its headlights already on. Catherine could see Ramon behind the steering-wheel with Manuel sitting beside him. Lucia flicked her riding-whip impatiently.

  ‘You had no need to return,’ she said as her servant came towards them. ‘Why did you disobey my instructions?’

  ‘I came to ride the senorita’s pony, senora,’ he explained, his dark eyes glowing with a reproachful flame. ‘You did not give me any special order when you sent me away.’

  ‘All right, Manuel,’ said Don Jaime. ‘You can ride back with us. No damage has been done.’

  Had it not? All Catherine could see in that moment was the anguish in Manuel’s eyes as he turned abruptly away to find the pony and lead it back to Soria.

  ‘I’m causing you a lot of trouble,’ she apologised as Don Jaime helped her into the car. ‘You were busy on the estate.’

  ‘Jaime is always busy,’ Ramon assured her, leaning on the steering-wheel, ‘but he will make up for it with an early start tomorrow. The light has now gone, so there is nothing we can do in the fields.’

  Lucia got into the saddle, reining in the big black horse. ‘Diablo will kill her one of these days if she isn’t careful,’ Ramon mused. ‘He’s far too powerful for her, but she prides herself on being the best horsewoman between here and Santiago del Teide. She has ridden since she was a child, but then you either are a horse-lover or you are not. We cannot all be budding champions. How are you coming on, by the way?’

  ‘Not very well, as you can see,’ Catherine grimaced. ‘My lack of ability was probably the cause of today’s little trouble when Teresa wished to gallop for a change.’

  ‘To get something out of her system, I expect.’ He put the car into second gear. ‘What was it this time?’

  ‘I’m not quite sure.’ Catherine was reluctant to discuss Teresa’s moods with Ramon, although he probably understood them better than anyone else. ‘We had been talking about her mother.’

  ‘Ah!’ said Ramon quietly. ‘That is a moot point. No one speaks about Carla nowadays.’

  Did you know her?’

  ‘Hardly. I was in Madrid being educated most of the time, and before that I suppose I accepted her as just the most beautiful person I had ever seen.’

  ‘Teresa said how beautiful she was.’

  ‘How can she remember? She was very young when Carla died.’

  They drove on in a lengthening silence, bumping over the hard dirt road in the peculiar pale grey light which was all that remained of the blazing day. The sun had gone down like an orange fire-ball, plunging behind the mountains into the sea, and the aftermath had been short and dramatic, a flare of vermilion spreading across the sky to trap the high pinnacles surrounding El Teide in brilliant flame for a moment before it faded as swiftly as it had come.

  Before it was dark enough for the first stars to show through they were above the barranco and turning along the main road, and Catherine allowed her thoughts to stray to the two figures on horseback they had last seen riding up from Las Rosas, one as tall as the other, both straight in the saddle, riding side by side, one on a white Arab horse, the other on the big black stallion Ramon had called Diablo. They were so much a part of the strange, wild land of deep ravines and rugged mountains that it seemed almost inevitable they should marry and continue to administer Soria together.

  ‘You look sad all of a sudden,’ Ramon remarked. ‘Do you still feel light-headed from riding too long in the sun?’

  ‘That must be it.’ She gave him a quick smile. ‘It was foolish of me to go out without a hat, but it didn’t seem important at the time. I love to feel the wind in my hair.’

  He took one hand from the wheel to place it over hers. ‘You are very sweet, chiquita,’ he said softly. ‘I hope you will stay at Soria for a long time.’

  ‘To amuse you, Ramon?’

  ‘To make my life worth living again!’

  ‘You’re absurd!’ She moved her hand away.

  ‘Why is it foolish to tell you how beautiful you are and how my heart beats twice as fast when I look at you?’

  ‘Because I think you’ve said that so often in the past.’

  ‘You are cruel,’ he declared, ‘and you do not understand me. Even when I play for you with all my heart, you laugh at me!’

  ‘Not at you, Ramon, with you! There’s a great difference.’

  ‘Yo comprendo! It is a good thing, is it not, to laugh together and be happy?’

  ‘Exactly!’ They had turned in at the open door in the hacienda wall. ‘Will you go to the fiesta with us? You seemed undecided.’

  ‘I was not sure about Orotava,’ he admitted, ‘but now I will go since Alex has asked me. A year ago we were very close friends, but it came unstuck,’ he added in the English idiom which always seemed so incongruous when he used it, with typical Spanish gusto. ‘We are no longer of one mind.’

  ‘Alex is a very understanding person, I should think.’

  ‘I agree.’ He thought for a moment. ‘But she is settled in her ways.’

  ‘Meaning that she doesn’t tilt at every windmill she comes across?’

  He laughed spontaneously.

  ‘Like Don Quixote! You think that is me? You think that I go out seeking adventure for adventure’s sake?’

  ‘Don’t you?’

  He shrugged.

  ‘Not always. I know what I really want to do, and when I am no longer needed at Soria I will do it.’

  ‘You will go to Madrid?’

  ‘Why not? You must see that there is nothing for me here.’

  ‘Even if Don Jaime still needed you?’

  ‘He will not need me so much when there is no debt to pay back to Lucia.’

  ‘You mean—when they are married?’

  ‘He will pay off the debt before then. He would not marry in order to cancel it, you understand?’

  ‘I think so.’ They had reached the house. ‘Teresa has not come home yet.’

  ‘She will come soon. We did not pass her on the road,’ Ramon explained, ‘because there is a shorter way through the plantations and she would take that.’

  The house seemed deserted, although lights were burning in the kitchen section overlooking the stable yard. Ramon pulled the car up at the end of the terrace, waiting in silence for her to get out.

  ‘Cathy,’ he said, bending over the steering-wheel to look at her, ‘whatever you think of the present situation—of Lucia and Jaime—stay at Soria for Teresa’s sake—and mine.’

  She stood for a moment without answering him.

  ‘It will not be my decision,’ she said, at last. ‘How can I stay if I’m finally asked to go?’

  Before he could answer Teresa made her appearance at the far end of the patio, followed by Alfredo.

  ‘You beat me to it!’ she exclaimed. ‘So much for my shortcut.’ She tossed her rein to the waiting Alfredo as she dismounted. ‘Lucia would ride back with Jaime, of course.’

  ‘They left Las Rosas as we drove away,’ Ramon told her. ‘Soon they will join us.’

  ‘Not me,’ said Teresa. ‘I’m tired and will go to bed.’

  ‘Without your dinner?’

  ‘I ate well at Las Rosas.’

  Ramon did not try to hide his amusement.

  ‘I can imagine!’ he said. ‘Do you wish me to convey your regrets to Lucia?’

  ‘If you wish, but it will be of no consequence either way. Buenas noches, Cathy. Lo siento mucho!’

  ‘Teresa apologises so prettily,’ said Ramon. ‘She could get away with murder if she felt like it.’

  ‘You’re ridiculous!’ Catherine smiled.

  ‘You know I speak the truth,’ Ramon protested. ‘Already you have forgiven her for causing such trouble this afternoon because she has made her pretty apologies.’ He got out of the car to stand beside her in the patio where the sh
adows were deep. ‘You would never hold a grudge, would you?’ he said, putting his arm about her. ‘You would always be generous.’

  He stooped to kiss her on the cheek, but she backed away.

  ‘No, Ramon,’ she said. ‘Not tonight! I’m in no mood for a serenade in any key.’

  He laughed softly in the darkness.

  ‘I will come and play for you later on,’ he promised. ‘Under your window.’

  ‘I’ll be sound asleep.’

  ‘I told you that you were cruel!’ He sighed heavily as the sound of horses’ hooves reached them from the approach to the stable yard. ‘It is Lucia, come home with Jaime.’

  He did not move away as the two figures came along the terrace and Catherine felt the deep colour of embarrassment staining her cheeks as Don Jaime recognised them. Lucia, in her turn, seemed faintly amused.

  ‘Where is Teresa?’ she asked. ‘I must go in search of her.’ Ramon moved from Catherine’s side as his brother switched on the wall sconces to flood the hall with revealing light.

  ‘You must be tired,’ Jaime said to Catherine. ‘Go to bed and some food will be sent up to your room. I will speak with you in the morning.’

  His voice had been cool with disapproval, although he had been solicitous for her wellbeing because she had felt so ill at Las Rosas, and to Catherine it seemed ominous that he should wish to speak with her privately in the morning. The prospect of instant dismissal was suddenly bleak.

  ‘If you will give me a few minutes to change,’ she offered proudly, ‘I’m quite well enough to listen to what you have to say.’

  Some of the anger had gone out of his eyes, but he said almost indifferently:

  ‘The morning will do, Cathy. I have a buyer coming at eleven o’clock. If you can come to the study at ten I will not keep you long.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  At ten o’clock the following morning Catherine went briskly across the hall and tapped on the study door.

  ‘Adelante!’

  She took a deep breath and went in.

  Don Jaime was seated at an enormous black desk in the centre of the room, but he rose to his feet as she entered, pulling forward a chair for her to sit down.

  ‘How do you feel?’ he asked.

  ‘Completely recovered.’ Should she apologise for the events of the day before or leave him to reprimand her in his own way? ‘I never thought I would sleep so soundly.’

  ‘You were exhausted. It was a long way for you to ride in the sun. Remember never to go out again without a hat. But I think you have learned your lesson in that respect,’ he added.

  ‘I’ll borrow one from Teresa.’

  They were speaking about the future, even though it was in an oblique sort of way, and Catherine had imagined that there was not going to be any future for her at Soria. Her heart lifted a little, although she had tried not to let him see how distressed she was.

  ‘Ah, Teresa!’ he said. ‘I want to talk to you about Teresa.’

  She waited for him to continue, her hands folded on her lap, her eyes clear on his.

  ‘You have already helped her in a good many ways,’ he said unexpectedly. ‘She is no longer as sullen as she was, although she will always be unpredictable. She is too much her mother’s daughter, I fear, to change completely, and I would not wish her to be entirely without spirit.’

  He looked above her head to where a life-sized portrait in oils hung on the wall above a sofa upholstered in ruby-red velvet.

  ‘You will see what I mean if you are any judge of a painted likeness,’ he suggested.

  Catherine turned in her chair to look at Carla de Berceo Madroza for the first time. What she saw was a young girl in her late teens with glossy black hair which cascaded over her shoulders to frame a face so hauntingly beautiful that she caught her breath in instant admiration. Carla’s skin was like alabaster and the blue eyes, half-hidden by a fringe of black lashes, were deep and intense as they gazed back into hers. Small, delicate-looking hands lay clasped in the folds of a voluminous skirt which spread in tier after tier around her, and close against her throat lay the blood-red ruby which Lucia now wore. Subconsciously she noticed that Carla had posed for her portrait on the velvet-covered sofa which now stood beneath her framed likeness, brought to the study, no doubt, by a man who still remained in love with her.

  Eduardo or Jaime? Was that why Don Jaime had never married? Could this be the tragedy which had led to the ugly local rumours on his brother’s death?

  Looking back at the dark, unfathomable face on the other side of the desk she could not bring herself to see the mark of Cain on Jaime de Berceo Madroza’s brow.

  ‘She was lovely!’ she heard herself say. ‘No wonder Teresa worships her.’

  He frowned.

  ‘Teresa didn’t really know her,’ he said abruptly. ‘That is what I want to tell you. She has built up an image of her mother which would be hard to dislodge, even if I wished to do so, but occasionally I am worried by the similarity of their natures. You see, Carla did not die here, at Soria. When her child was three years old she ran away. The quiet life we led on the hacienda was too dull for her and she went back to Rio de Janeiro to dance.’

  He sat gazing at the portrait which faced him across the room.

  ‘My brother met her in Santa Cruz. She was a dancer on the threshold of fame, but they fell in love and married within the month. Teresa was born a year later, small and dark, like her mother, and with much of Carla’s fiery intensity in her veins.’

  Lucia had been less generous when she had called it ‘gipsy blood’.

  ‘She came of gipsy stock,’ Jaime continued almost as if he had read her thoughts, ‘and perhaps that is why she danced so well and why she would never have settled at Soria or anywhere else. I dare say she was fond of my brother in her own way, but she loved dancing even more. She saw fame ahead of her and a different way of life, and she abandoned her child and her husband to go in search of it.’

  He did not sound like a man who had been deeply in love with his brother’s wife. He had been sorry for Carla and Eduardo and little, innocent Teresa at the time, and he had done his best to make amends to Teresa, at least. Only now it seemed that Teresa was prepared to run contrary to all her teaching and to the Marquesa’s undoubted love for her. Catherine watched his mouth firm into an implacable line.

  ‘I promised my brother to take care of her,’ he said firmly, ‘and I owe it to the family to see that no harm comes to her of her own making until she is really able to judge for herself. She will go to Madrid in a year’s time to the University to finish her education, and then, if she still wants to dance, she can do so.’

  ‘I think you’re being very fair,’ Catherine said, although Carla’s intense blue gaze seemed to register some sort of protest from the canvas hanging on the wall behind her, ‘and I believe in the end Teresa will respond.’

  He sat looking at her in silence for a moment.

  ‘I think, in an odd sort of way, that will be up to you,’ he said, at last. ‘She speaks highly of you, Cathy, even after so short a time, and you are young and progressive enough to understand her. I confess that I did not think you at all suitable when we first met in Madrid—I had quite the wrong idea of what a responsible teacher should look like—but now I am prepared to apologise. I see that what Teresa really needs is a companion, someone near her own age but more mature.’

  ‘I must try to fill the bill, Senor Don Jaime.’ She gave him his full title with an impish smile in her eyes because she was so relieved. ‘In the end I think Teresa may come to terms with her desire to dance and accept the fact that you are trying to give her the best sort of life possible. Sometimes I feel convinced that she already knows how lucky she is in that respect, but you can’t blame her for wanting to kick over the traces occasionally.’

  He smiled at that, and she rose, confronted by the litter of papers on the broad desk between them. ‘Teresa thought she might be allowed to help you,’ she suggested. ‘It wo
uld be something constructive for her to do.’

  Jaime looked at the accumulation of letters and business documents spread out before him.

  ‘She wouldn’t stay at it for five minutes,’ he predicted. ‘She is like Ramon in that respect, too erratic by far.’

  ‘Would you let me help?’ she asked impulsively. ‘I took a business course after I left school and I can type. When Teresa is at her music lessons I have very little to do.’

  He hesitated.

  ‘It wasn’t exactly in your contract,’ he pointed out.

  ‘Does that matter? I wouldn’t expect you to pay me.’

  ‘But that is very unbusinesslike of you,’ he said. ‘I will give you a salary for what you do. It would be a great help to me,’ he acknowledged, ‘since I’m not exactly cut out for office work. Being closed in, sitting behind a desk even for an hour or two, irks me.’

  ‘Then it’s settled.’ It was foolish to feel such childish elation over such a little thing, Catherine told herself. ‘Do you wish me to start this afternoon?’

  He cast his eyes over the piles of foolscap.

  ‘It’s a formidable task,’ he observed.

  ‘I’ll cope.’ She felt almost excited at the prospect. ‘I’ll deal with the letters first and try to pair them with the relevant documents, and when I’m really stuck I’ll come and say so.’

  ‘There’s a typewriter somewhere. Eduardo used to use it.’ He opened a cupboard door. ‘In here, I think. Yes, here we are! Will you be able to manipulate such an ancient machine?’

  ‘I can try.’

  ‘Lucia has used it once or twice, but she considered it inadequate.’

  For the first time Catherine thought of Lucia, realising that she had not won the day in her argument with her brother-in-law on the long ride back from Las Rosas.