The conversation, during dinner, almost inevitably came around to horses, and, while Holly admired the beautiful Arab thoroughbreds that Marcos and his father bred, she knew nothing about them. Consequently, as always happened, she was excluded from the conversation, for even her aunt knew enough, after ten years, to talk fairly easily on the subject.
Helena often came to the stables and rode with Marcos, so it was obvious that she must have known that Holly either did not ride or was not prepared to risk handling one of those mettlesome thoroughbreds. But the temptation to point out Holly's exclusion from such matters was bound to prove too much for Helena before long, and her sharp, dark eyes looked across the table at Holly suddenly, her wide, thin-lipped mouth formed into a brief smile.
"You do not know anything of horses, senorita?' she asked, and her tone implied that she knew the answer well enough but wanted to hear her admit it.
'No, I'm afraid I don't,' Holly agreed, refusing to be any more than formally polite.
Helena's thin lips curled derisively. 'And of course you do not ride!'
'Oh, I have ridden,' Holly told her quietly. 'But not lately.'
'Really?' Helena's fine brows expressed polite surprise. 'I had not supposed that—' An eloquent shrug lent meaning to her words. 'One does not think of people who earn their living, as you do, senorita, as having the means to indulge in such activities.' She smiled down the table at her hostess. 'You must enlighten me further on the customs of your country, Senora Delgaro!'
'I'll do so with pleasure, Helena,' Aunt Nan told her, gently polite and catching her niece's eye as she spoke. Trying to be reassuring, Holly realized. 'I think you're probably labouring under a lot of delusions about England and the English, my dear.'
Helena's elegant shoulders shrugged carelessly. 'It is possible,' she said offhandedly. 'I have been to London once only, and then only for a very brief time. I was not very much impressed.'
'Oh, but you wouldn't be impressed by the horses you saw in London,' Aunt Nan said mildly, deliberately misunderstanding. 'Unless of course you happened to see the Household Cavalry. You should have gone further afield, Helena - you'd probably have been surprised.'
Aunt Nan had every appearance of being serious, and Holly, glancing up at him, saw Marcos's wide mouth twitch betrayingly at one corner, while Don Josh's white head nodded briefly in approval. He would defend his wife to his last breath, but at the moment she needed no champion, and Holly wished she had as much aplomb when she was faced with Helena's malice.
'Possibly.' Elegant shoulders shrugged carelessly, but Helena was already giving her attention to Holly again, possibly seeing her as a less able opponent than her aunt, and she raked her dark gaze over her in a brief, swift, unflattering appraisal. 'Do you get your clothes in London, senorita?' she asked. 'I know that London is supposed to be one of the world's fashion centres.'
'I believe so,' Holly agreed, steeling herself for the inevitable onslaught.
'Of course—' another shrug dismissed the idea as unlikely, 'I have always considered Paris to be the only place for clothes that have real chic. Do you not agree?*
Holly swallowed hard on the temper that sat like a tight little ball in her throat and threatened to break out at any moment, but she managed to smile, a somewhat strained effort, as her antagonist probably recognized. Yet again it seemed she was to be subjected to Helena's malicious snobbery, and she renewed her vow to leave the castle at the earliest opportunity.
'I suppose it all depends on what one is looking for,' Holly said quietly at last, aware that Marcos was watching her with more than a little interest. Her blue eyes shone deeply blue in the yellow light from the lamps and they challenged Helena across the table.
They studied the sleekly cut black silk dress the other girl wore. It was long and clinging, but it had a cowled neckline, almost like a nun's habit, and it took a woman like Helena to make it look anything but hideously unflattering. 'Personally I find the Paris houses are inclined to produce some rather outlandish styles at times,' Holly said quietly at last. 'But it's all a matter of taste, of course.'
Helena's dark eyes glowed maliciously. 'Of course,' she echoed. 'And your own tastes so obviously are for the plain and simple, senorita. Also, of course,' she added with a faint smile, 'Paris is rather expensive.'
It was the coup de grace, Holly recognized, and felt the sympathy of at least two of the listeners, although she did not look up at any of them. She had tried playing Helena at her own game and, inevitably, lost, for she stood no chance against the other girl's long practice.
'It's very expensive,' Holly admitted. 'Far more than I can afford, Senorita Mendez '
'Naturally!' Again those dark, malicious eyes raked over Holly's pretty jade dress that she had felt so good in until now, and a small, tight smile condemned its simple flattery. 'Such a pity,' she murmured with pseudo sympathy, and Holly curled her fingers round the handle of her fork to control her temper.
From the corner of her eye she saw one of Marcos's long brown hands go out and touch his father's arm, as if the old man had been going to say something and he stopped him. 'You should have a dress the colour of deep jade, Helena,' Marcos said softly. 'It is much more becoming than black, is it not, Dona Ana?'
Whatever Aunt Nan replied, or even if she answered him at all, Holly did not know, for her head was spinning wildly with the realization that Marcos had put his fiancee firmly in her place in Holly's defence. And without a doubt, it would do nothing to endear her to Helena, but it gave Holly herself a sudden feeling of elation that she strove hard to quell. Nothing, but nothing, must be allowed to change her mind about leaving.
It was only two days later that Aunt Nan broke the news that Helena would be coming to lunch again, and Holly made no pretence of being glad about the news. She had no real right to express such a forcible opinion about one of her aunt's guests, she supposed, but in this case she felt pretty sure that, given a choice, Aunt Nan would never have had Helena Mendez in her home. In the circumstances, she had no option.
'You really don't like Helena, do you, baby?' she asked, and Holly smiled ruefully.
'It isn't for me to express an opinion one way or the other,' she said. 'And it isn't me that has to like her,
Aunt Nan. You're the one who'll have her for a daughter-in-law.'
'Yes, I suppose I shall, shan't I? Her aunt smiled and patted her hands. 'Oh well, I've learned to adapt to a lot of things since I came here, darling, and Helena's one of them. I know she doesn't like me, in fact,' she added with a rueful smile, 'I think she rather despises me! Poor Helena!' She sighed, apparently in sympathy with her future stepdaughter-in-law. 'She's never lived in close proximity with the lower orders before, and I rather think I - we make her uneasy.'
'If she was a little more friendly to the lower orders,' Holly said shortly, 'she wouldn't have to be uneasy.'
Aunt Nan shrugged, in that so typically Spanish way again. 'Ah well,' she said, 'with Jose to take the sting out of anything Helena can do or say, I don't worry too much about her.'
'Neither do I, I suppose,' Holly said thoughtfully, and wondered if this was as good a time as any to make known her decision to leave. 'I - I thought of going on, Aunt Nan. Visiting another part of Spain for the rest of my holiday.'
Her aunt looked taken aback for a moment, then she frowned anxiously. 'Is it because of Helena?' she asked. 'But, Holly dear—'
'Not especially because of Helena,' Holly interrupted. She took her aunt's hands, anxious to reassure her, but wondering if she could do so without revealing the true reason for her decision. 'I love it here, Aunt Nan, and I love being with you and Don Jose, you've made me marvellously welcome, it's just that—'
one broke off there, shaking her head, not quite sure how to put into words some reasonable excuse for leaving, and Aunt Nan looked at her with gentle understanding. 'I think perhaps I understand, darling,' she told her softly.
'Do you?' Holly looked at her anxiously, wondering how mu
ch to take her aunt into her confidence. After all, Marcos was her aunt's close family now. The man in both their minds was not a stranger to her aunt, he was her stepson and had been closer to her than Holly herself had been for the past ten years.
'When you spoke about it before, I should have realized. It is because of Marcos, isn't it?' Aunt Nan asked gently, and Holly hesitated before she nodded. It was discomfiting to realize how close to tears she felt.
'Yes,' she said resignedly. 'I suppose you could say it was because of Marcos.'
'Oh, baby, I'm so sorry!' Her aunt's blue eyes looked at her anxiously, torn between the devil and the deep, Holly thought, and sympathized with her predicament.
Holly shrugged, smiling to dispel any notion that she was leaving as a heartbroken innocent. That was the last impression she wanted to give. 'It's not as bad as all that, Aunt Nan,' she told her. 'But - well, your gallant stepson is rather heady wine for a poor working girl, and I think it would be better if I left before I really am swept off my feet in the proverbial manner.'
'Is it likely to happen, darling?' her aunt asked, and
Holly pulled a wry face.
'It's possible, if I stay on,' she admitted frankly. 'And in the circumstances I'm not prepared to take any chances, Aunt Nan. It isn't as if it would do any good to make an all-out fight of it with Helena,' she added with a short laugh. 'I'd only be fighting Marcos as well, he's very firmly set on the course mapped out for him!'
'I'm afraid so, darling.' Aunt Nan looked very thoughtful for a moment or two. 'I only wish there was some way of - changing things,' she said with a small sigh. 'I'd encourage you to stay on, you know that, dear, don't you? But—' again that Latin shrug of resignation, 'it was all cut and dried, long before either of us came on the scene, and there's nothing we can do about it.'
'Oh no, of course there isn't,' Holly agreed hastily. 'Except the obvious, and I intend doing that without delay!' It appalled her to discover herself on the brink of crying again, but she could not imagine anything worse for creating the wrong impression, so she shook her head and smiled determinedly. 'I shall just put it down to one more holiday romance,' she said brightly. 'I'll arrange to go as soon as I can. Aunt Nan.'
Her aunt sighed deeply. 'Yes, all right, baby.'
For a moment Holly looked at her thoughtfully, then she put a tentative hand on her arm, hesitating to put into words what was in her mind. 'But - please, Aunt Nan, don't say anything to anyone about my going, will you?'
Her aunt looked at her curiously for a moment, frowning. 'Not if you'd rather I didn't, Holly, but - well, wouldn't it be more polite, more kind, if you let Jose know at least a day or so before you leave?'
'Oh yes, of course,' Holly conceded, anxious not to be misunderstood. 'But please, don't let Marcos know!'
'I won't, since you seem so adamant about it, dear.' She studied Holly's face for a moment in silence, then gently squeezed her fingers. 'You surely don't think he'll—'
'Try to persuade me to stay on?' Holly asked, and laughed, a little unsteadily. 'I don't know, Aunt Nan. Maybe I'm being - conceited and he won't even bother if I'm here or not, but - well, he might just try, for the sheer pleasure of proving to himself that he could do it!' Her blue eyes were huge and shiny and she somehow looked very young and vulnerable suddenly as she shook her head slowly. 'And I'm afraid I'm all too easily persuadable by your stepson, Aunt Nan!'
When Don Jose was told about her decision to leave, he was flatteringly unenthusiastic about the idea, and sought to make her change her mind, but when he realized how firmly decided she was, he smiled resignedly.
'It is our loss, mi cara,' he told her quietly. 'But young ladies these days know their own minds well enough not to be persuaded, hmm?' He took one of her hands and held it for a moment in one of his long, thin ones, his almost blind eyes looking at her anxiously. 'But you have been happy here with us, Holly mi cara, si?' he asked. 'I would not like to think that something here had — disturbed you enough to drive you away from us.'
It was going to be even harder than she had anticipated, Holly realized, but she resolutely hardened her heart against weakening. 'I've been wonderfully happy here, Don Jose,' she said softly. 'You've been wonderful to me, and I appreciate it more than I can say.' Impulsively she bent forward and planted a gentle kiss on his drawn face, with its features a mere ghost of the hawklike arrogance of his son. 'Thank you, Tio Jose.'
She had learned the Spanish for uncle from Aunt Nan, and she saw that he was touched by the gesture as well as by the gentle kiss. 'I shall miss you, pequena,' he said gently. 'Please do not wait ten yeans again before you visit us, hmm?'
'I won't,' Holly promised, but wondered if it was a promise she would be able to keep. So much depended on circumstances.
CHAPTER SIX
Holly contacted a branch of the same travel firm that had arranged her passage out, and booked a flight to Barcelona leaving in four days' time. If she was going away, she meant to go far enough for there to be no chance of her running into Marcos at any time, and Barcelona was just about as far as she could get and still be in Spain.
She could, of course, have taken an earlier flight out, but she did not want to make her departure too abrupt and appear discourteous to her host. Four days would give her long enough to make the most of her castle-in- Spain dream and enjoy the company of her aunt for a few days longer.
The trouble with anticipating the end of something pleasurable was that the time went so quickly, and she had never known three days go by so fast. Before she knew where she was she was spending what was to be her last day at the Castillo de la Valeroso, and she was feeling more low-spirited than she had ever done in her life before.
The fact that she felt so low had nothing to do with the thought of never seeing Marcos again either, she told herself, but the prospect of another meeting being unlikely was what was foremost in her mind, for all that.
It had been in her mind when she saw Marcos ride off this morning, just before she left the castle herself to go for a last walk, and it was now as she watched him, quite clearly visible despite the distance between them. He was riding up into the hills on one of those beautiful, temperamental Arab horses he bred, and she thought how absolutely right he looked in this setting.
The hills, with their lower reaches clothed in green vines and the verdant multi-colours of other growing crops, while the higher slopes were stark and arid, where there was no irrigation. The hot sun blazed out of a coppery blue sky, harsh and relentless as the man who rode with his black head bared to its scorching heat, his dark, hawklike profile arrogant as the unyielding rock of the hills.
Man and horse were such a perfect combination of grace and strength that the sight of them made her catch her breath as she watched them from the shadow of the trees along the approach road. It was amazing how clearly she could see, and what she could not actually see, she could visualize easily enough.
She knew the way Marcos's strong hands would be keeping the mettlesome Arab in check, and yet appear relaxed and easy, and his posture in the saddle, straight and proud as he always was, and somehow ageless, against the hot, primitive background. He looked every inch a conqueror and she felt the blood racing through her body like fire as she watched him, understanding properly for the first time why it was that Helena
Mendez was prepared to go to any lengths to keep him for her own.
It was only reluctantly that she turned away at last, and began to walk down the twisting, dusty road from the castle, her mind still busy with the last sight she had had of Marcos riding towards the high cool of the hills. Already, she realized with dismay, she was ready to abandon her plans to fly off somewhere else tomorrow, although she knew it was useless to stay on.
Holly had not meant to walk so far, but her preoccupation had made her blind to her surroundings, even to the relentless heat of the sun, and she suddenly realized that she was walking down the hot, narrow road to the village. The castle and its concealing screen of t
rees looked far away, up there on the sweeping green hillside, and she was already nearing the first of the big cortijas, its white walls tall and dazzling in the hot sun.
The big communal farmhouses always looked to Holly much more oriental than European and she was always reminded, at first sight, of the Arabian Nights. It was an illusion that was quickly shattered, however, by closer acquaintance. There was nothing fairytale about the cortijas.
The noise of its inhabitants, both human and animal, assailed her ears from behind the walls, with their protective wrought iron grilles, and her initial impression of the Orient was fostered by the dusky- faced children who peered at her through the grilles and became suddenly quiet when she smiled at them.
The Moorish influence was stronger in these swarthy-skinned people and their white houses, with shaded courtyards, cool with palm and orange trees, than anywhere else in Spain, and Holly felt as if she had stepped back into another age.
She was strongly tempted to stop and speak to the children, perhaps even the adults too, if they showed any inclination, but the babble of noise and the distinct farmyard odour that lay heavy on the air deterred her from going any closer than the edge of the road. The faces she saw behind the iron grilles looked friendly enough and they would probably have greeted her with the grave courtesy which was a feature of the Spanish character, but her senses rebelled at the overpowering primitiveness of their living conditions.
Passing the cortija served to remind her that it was high time she turned back, for the walk back was all uphill and practically without shade. She had remembered to wear the big shady hat that Marcos had bought for her, but she was already feeling limp with the heat and rather tired.
Rebecca Stratton - Castles in Spain Page 8
