She crossed the road, then turned to get a last glimpse of the flaming sunset. The sea was turning gold, the sky streaked with rose and orange and angry red; a canvas where the supreme artist used colours unknown to any earthly palette. Wanting to imprint this painting on her soul to use it as the opening of the first chapter to her new book, Alexandra stood there breathless and, lifting her face to the sky, she stepped back, inadvertently bumping into someone. Jerked out of her contemplation, she turned apologetically.
‘Lo siento…’ she breathed as she looked straight into the striking grey-blue eyes of a man, a man very different to those she had glimpsed since she had arrived in Spain.
Tall, slim and well built, he was gazing at her intently, the greyness of his wintry eyes emphasized by a tanned complexion. Alexandra felt the rush of heat burn her cheeks and gave him an embarrassed smile. ‘I was admiring your dazzling sunset, I’ve never seen such amazing colours.’
‘One can just as much be dazzled by a lovely sunset as by the unexpected encounter of a stunningly beautiful woman,’ the stranger murmured almost imperceptibly.
Alexandra knew that these words, spoken by a Spaniard, were just an ordinary compliment that one should not take seriously, a compulsory courtesy that was part of the Latin charm. Besides, as he pronounced them, the stranger’s face had kept its inscrutability and she had seen nothing she could easily interpret in his pale eyes. So why did she feel a secret stirring inside her?
She had no time to answer him. The dark hidalgo had taken Alexandra’s hand and, bringing it to his lips, brushed it with the whisper of a kiss.
‘Adios, señorita,’ she heard him say softly. Turning, he disappeared into the crowd still milling about on the pavement, leaving the young woman in a daze.
Alexandra began to walk and then almost immediately stopped to ask the way. Going back through the same crowded streets did not seem a pleasant option and she was relieved to learn there was a shortcut to the station.
Turning into the Calle de la Iglesia, she was immediately struck by the contrast between the quarter she had just walked through and this one. Here, the street was immersed in the shade of giant flame trees and life suddenly slowed to a more leisurely pace. She passed white houses tucked away between clumps of pomegranate trees; orchards hemmed in by dry stone walls; hedges of aloe; secret, leafy patios, the domain of women and their families, where the warbling of birds and the smothered laughter of young girls mingled with the soft murmur of fountains.
She had almost reached the end of the street when bells began ringing the Angelus, calling worshippers to Evensong. To her right was a small chapel. It seemed so welcoming, the garden planted out with roses and mimosas, front doors open, inviting passersby to enter.
On impulse, she went in. Inside, it was dark, quiet and cool. The organ was playing softly and the scent of orange blossom and roses filled the place. Alexandra was overcome by a feeling of great serenity and slowly moved towards the altar.
Her eyes took a few minutes to grow accustomed to the relative gloom. On each side of the main aisle, ten or so rows of oak benches stood in perfect orderly fashion. There were flowers everywhere: in garlands, in dainty crystal vases on the altar, in bunches of various sizes, placed as offerings at the feet of the statues of saints that filled the church. Several candles burned in thanks for prayers that had been answered; all were witness to the faith and gratitude of the devout worshipers who had carefully placed them there.
At first, Alexandra thought she was alone but she soon noticed a man, a few paces away, kneeling on a prayer stool at the foot of Saint Mary of Mercy’s statue. His broad shoulders were hunched beneath a shock of jet-black hair, his face hidden in slender, suntanned hands. It was dark, so why she should think that this was the stranger she had already encountered on the seafront and why her heart was beating so hard against her ribs, she couldn’t say, but she had no doubt at all that it was the same man.
Footsteps and whispering made her turn around. A man began to speak in a nasal singsong voice that echoed strangely from the walls of the little church, disturbing the peace and tranquillity: ‘This is the Church of Santa María. As in most of our Spanish towns, Our Lady of Mercy is its all-powerful and well-loved patron saint, a friend who protects all, be they lords or paupers.’ It was a tour guide who had appeared in the doorway, ushering his party of tourists into the church.
‘Our land is rich in legends about the Virgin Mary. The most moving is the one about the young Jewish girl who fell in love with a Christian knight. Despairing of ever attracting his attention, the beautiful maiden turned to our Virgin here, on whom everyone called. Humbly, she gave all she possessed: a pin decorated with a tiny glass bead. The miracle happened: the knight passed by at that very moment, saw her, and his heart was forever linked to hers by the pin she had given as an offering.’ The group of sightseers passed Alexandra and disappeared through a low door at the back of the church leading to the crypt. Peace returned.
All the while, the man on the prayer stool had not moved. Alexandra went up to the statue of Our Lady of Mercy to light a candle but a priest had just gone by to clear up the melted wax from the previous batch of devotees’ offerings, and she neither had matches nor a lighter handy. A faint tch of annoyance escaped her lips.
‘Permita me señorita.’
Alexandra had scarcely time to register the quiet words spoken unexpectedly, close to her ear, before the stranger’s brown hand had f licked a gold lighter in front of her, bringing to life a tiny blue flame and at the same time brushing against her arm.
The spark that went through her at the Spaniard’s touch made Alexandra shudder and, emitting a slight gasp, she instinctively drew back in the first instance. But then, as she realized he was only trying to be helpful, she raised her face, smiling as readily and uninhibitedly as she always did.
‘Gracias, muchas gracias.’
There was utter silence in the church. The man did not smile but merely inclined his head, leaving Alexandra, as he had earlier on, with the impression that inbred courtesy had prompted him to lend his assistance, rather than the more usual reasons men found for helping her. Still, her green gaze met his. She was struck by the expression of sadness reflected in his arresting grey irises and the sternness of his hard, regular features. An almost visible current leapt between them. For a split second, the determined line of his jaw stiffened, his well-defined lips parted and she thought he might speak. Her heart missed a beat, but someone was coming. The interlude was over; the spell had been broken.
A beautiful young woman with a mane of flame-red hair cascading down her back was making her way towards him, holding two large candles. With a tightening in her heart that she couldn’t explain Alexandra nodded her thanks again and withdrew to take a seat in one of the pews at the back of the church.
The Spanish lady smiled at the stranger as she came up to him, lit her candles from the ones that Alexandra had just placed in front of the altar and, taking the man’s arm in a proprietorial way, walked with him out of the church.
While his companion had been lighting her candles, Alexandra had had plenty of time to scrutinize the man. He wasn’t particularly young – in his early to mid-thirties, she guessed – but he had an aggressively male attractiveness to him. He was tall – very tall by Spanish standards, definitely over six foot, she judged – with a powerful, broad-shouldered frame, honed to hard-muscled perfection. This, together with his copper-brown face, suggested someone who was used to an active outdoor life, although the immaculate white shirt he wore, the well-cut dark suit that moulded itself to his form, and the gold watch that she had noticed he sported on his wrist all made it clear that he was a man of standing.
Speculating on his relationship with the stunning redhead was difficult, for Alexandra hadn’t noticed any rings on either of his hands, and yet the way they had walked out of the church suggested an intimate involvement.
Having ended their visit, the small party of tourists now ret
urned to the nave and moved towards the exit. Alexandra’s gaze followed them. She hung back a few more minutes in the chapel, prey to a curious inner turmoil. There was an unknown danger about the stranger that she felt keenly, yet could not define. Who was he, and why had she been troubled so by their brief exchange?
Alexandra glanced at her watch: the bus would soon be leaving. How had she lost track of the time so easily? Already the evening congregation was crowding into the church. The garden, earlier deserted, was now brought to life by clusters of people, talking and laughing. Suddenly, Alexandra noticed the stranger’s tall, distinguished figure among the chattering groups. He was standing beside the gate, still in the company of the beautiful woman. In the daylight, Alexandra noticed that she wore a pale green frilled muslin dress, a velvet cape of a deeper green, and white kid gloves. The woman laughed noisily, tossing back her graceful tresses of flame-coloured hair, on which was placed the most exquisite black lace mantilla.
The stranger turned his head and directed his steely gaze through the crowd towards Alexandra. For an instant she was transfixed. A sudden surge of inexplicable panic rose inside her. She lowered her glance, squeezed her way through the gathering and hurried towards the gate.
Arriving level with the young man, his intense scrutiny hit her again like lightning and a swift wave of colour invaded her face. He whispered something she could not hear and his companion’s voluptuous laughter erupted once more, filling the space about her.
As though pursued by a pack of hounds, Alexandra darted through the gate and began to run towards the station. She had to get away, catch the bus and leave town as quickly as she could. But she arrived at the station in time to witness the seven o’clock bus leaving. Her blouse was half-hanging out of her suit, her hair coming down, cheeks burning, and she was quite out of breath.
She clenched her fists furiously, and then, with her hands planted on her hips like a fishwife, she watched the bus drive off in the direction of Jerez.
Also by Hannah Fielding
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Haunted by this forbidden love, she meets her new employer, the sophisticated Andrés de Calderón. Reserved yet darkly compelling, he is totally different to Leandro – but almost the gypsy’s double. Both men stir unfamiliar and exciting feelings in Luz, although mystery and danger surround them in ways she has still to discover.
Luz must decide what she truly desires as glistening Cádiz, with its enigmatic moon and whispering turquoise shores, seeps back into her blood. Why is she so drawn to the wild and magical sea gypsies? What is behind the old fortune-teller’s sinister warnings about ‘Gemini’? Through this maze of secrets and lies, will Luz finally find her happiness … or her ruin?
Paperback ISBN 978-0-9929943-6-5
EBook ISBN 978-0-9929943-7-2
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Paperback ISBN 978-0-9926718-1-5
EBook ISBN 978-0-9926718-2-2
Burning Embers
Hannah’s mesmerizing debut novel.
Set in the heart of Africa, Burning Embers is a tale of unforgettable passion and fragile love tormented by secrets and betrayal.
On the news of her estranged father’s death, beautiful young photographer Coral Sinclair is forced to return to the family plantation in Kenya to claim her inheritance.
But the peace of her homecoming is disrupted when she encounters the mysterious yet fearsomely attractive Rafe de Montfort – owner of the neighbouring plantation and a reputed womanizer, who had an affair with her own stepmother. Despite this, a mystifying attraction ignites between them and shakes Coral to the core as circumstances conspire to bring them together.
It is when Coral delves into Rafe’s past and discovers the truth about him that she questions his real motives. Does Rafe really care for her or is he hiding darker intentions? Should she listen to the warnings of those around her or should she trust her own instincts about this man with a secret past?
Paperback ISBN 978-1-7853816-7-6
Ebook ISBN 978-0-9929943-1-0
First published in paperback in the UK in 2016
by London Wall Publishing Ltd (LWP)
24 Chiswell Street, London EC1Y 4YX
Digital edition converted in 2016 by Riverside Publishing Solutions and distributed in 2016 by FaberFactory
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to any real person, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a database or retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Copyright © Hannah Fielding 2016
Excerpt from Indiscretion copyright © Hannah Fielding 2015
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
EB ISBN 978-0-9932917-6-0
Legacy Page 52
