your brother agree to let you work in Spain?' he
asked.
'It isn't for Bob to give me permission,' she half-laughed. I am free to do as I wish. Naturally he has always kept a keen eye on me, but he must be shown that I'm now old enough to please myself. Move him very much, and I've always got on well with his wife, but it's time for me to cut free and make a life of my own.'
'And do you think you will like – working in Spain?'
'Yes. It's a warm, vivacious place. The people are so attractive —'
'Really?' he drawled, turning again to look at her, his wide shoulders against the black iron and tawny stone of the parapet. His skin, too, was tawny in the neck-opening of his white shirt, and he had that lean hardness of the man in perfect physical shape. 'It is known in Spain, señorita, that the English find us complex but colourful. They see our love of children, and remember our reputation for cruelty. They are astonished that we have so many saints, for they see the devil in our eyes.'
Lise gazed back at him and she felt the sudden quick beating of her heart as she saw the caress and the cruelty in his smile. She knew so little of him and still could not be sure what sort of a man he was, and as she stood there hesitant and unsure, the smile deepened on his lips.
`Don't let it worry you that Spain can cast a spell. The entrancement of a spell holds always an edge of fear. Don't you know that we are the only romantics left in a world of reality?'
`I would hardly call the bullfight a thing of romance,' she argued.
`Perhaps not.' His eyes swept up and down her slender figure. 'It is a duel, and in many respects it holds all the basic elements of what occurs between a man and a woman. The bull is the equivalent of male strength and virility. The cape is the grace and enticement of a woman The sword, the espada himself, is the thrust of sex. But perhaps I should not speak like this to an English girl? There is much talk of the advanced ideas of the English, yet we in Spain still find your people curiously puritan.'
`Spain condemns the bikini,' she scoffed. 'Or so I have heard.'
`Only because it prefers its eroticism to be less crude and more excitingly veiled. There is also the fact that young Spaniards are extremely passionate and it would not do for the nation to have on its hands too many maintenance orders from pretty young tourists. Spain prefers its young men to save themselves for their own girls.'
`Really!' Lise could not suppress a laugh. 'You are arrogant, Señor Conde. And it will appear to everyone that you aren't saving yourself for one of your own girls — though we know between us that you really are, of course.'
His eyes narrowed at her words, until the lashes made dangerous shadows around the glinting irises. 'What do you
mean by that remark? What do you think you know of my future plans?'
`I'm not a simpleton, señor. I know full well that you are using me to shield another woman . . . the woman you truly wish to marry. You fear your grandmother will disapprove of her—'
`So,' he broke in, 'you are the little witch that you look! You have struck to the root of my dilemma, and now what will you do? Toss back the ring, refuse me this breathing space, and perhaps make it necessary for me to argue with an elderly woman whose heart need not break, one way or the other, unless I have to be brutally honest with her? I think, Miss Harding, that you are too sensitive to risk harming an elderly, charming, if rather autocratic woman.'
`Y-you are not being fair.' Lise couldn't keep a slight stammer of distress out of her voice. 'This entire mix-up is your own fault, not mine. You should have told your grandmother the truth in the first place — she may not care too much that you are in love with a divorced woman—'
And there Lise broke off in horror as he drew in his breath with a slight hiss. She stared at him and fear of how he would react made her grey eyes look enormous.
For several seconds his face was a cold, frightening mask, and then with a shrug almost of irony he allowed it to be admitted that she had guessed his secret.
`She would never forgive me,' he said, in a cold, unemotional voice. 'And I should find it hard to forgive myself if I caused her to have another heart attack. It is natural that I hope she will live for another ten years . . . she is all the real family I have left, but I have been warned that a sudden shock could take her from me. And now, señorita, are you satisfied that my dilemma is a very real one? It was, you see, at the time of her heart attack that I invented a fiancée in order to ease her mind, and as you would no doubt remind
me, each lie that we tell has its backlash, but the truth in this case would not be possible.'
`I—I see that,' Lise admitted. 'But what if your — oh, you know! What if she should hear of my being here and acting the part of your bogus fiancée? Whatever will she say?'
And then he smiled in the most quizzical way. 'You will know the answer to that question when you are in love yourself. Have you ever seen the opera Carmen?'.
`Yes, once. Why do you ask?'
`Did it not explain the tragicomic elements often to be found in Latin love affairs? We can but hope, senorita, that neither you nor my Carmen will put a knife into me.'
It was said so casually, and at the same time there was a dark gravity to his eyes that gave away to Lise the unhappiness he felt at not being able to introduce to his grandmother the woman whom he really loved and wanted. However would the situation resolve itself? Did he and Franquista expect to wait years before it was possible for them to marry? Were they lovers already? Lise thought this most likely, and even as the thought filled her mind in all its vivid detail, she found she was clenching her hands behind her and digging that sapphire to the point of pain into her right palm. It was suddenly as if she were feeling a knife in her heart.
`When,' she murmured, 'shall I be expected to meet the Condesa?'
`Later today.' His dark eyes were fixed upon the paleness of Lise's face. 'She keeps to her apartment during the mornings, and sometimes she appears for lunch. But it is usually after four o'clock that she feels fit enough, and sociable enough, to meet people. You look pale and afraid, and that is foolish. She is not a dragon, unless you are judging her by her grandson?'
Lise smiled faintly. 'What will she think of me?'
'That you are young, charming, and with a certain shyness to you.'
'What if she wishes to see me — alone?'
'Don't worry.' He spoke decisively, and stood very tall and regally against the parapet, with the turrets and towers of the castillo rising above his dark head. 'There will be no question of that. I shall be with you and any awkward questions will be smoothed over by me. Are you reassured, Lise?'
Once again he mispronounced her name, but she didn't correct him.
'I — I wonder, senor, if I could take a walk in your garden? I'm restless and I need the exercise.'
'Of course,' he said. 'There is just one more thing; it would be better if you could bring yourself to call me Leandro. Madrecita will expect a few indications of a — loving relationship between us.'
Her heart seemed to turn right over when he said that, and she had a sudden tormenting vision of all that she had let herself in for. Not —— not kissing demonstrations, I hope?'
'Who can tell?' He shrugged in a very Latin way, and the quirking of a black eyebrow gave him a devilish look. 'From this moment on we are partners in a game neither of us has played before, and who can tell at this stage what gambits we shall be called upon to make?'
Lise bit her lip, and at once he came across to her and taking hold of her hands he unlocked them and held them. 'Whatever happens,' he drawled, 'the game will never go as far as marriage.'
CHAPTER THREE
IT was a water walk, with the sun-shot arch of water glittering against the green cypresses, the cascades of bougainvillea, and blossom trees scented like citrus and spice.
He walked beside her, the man she had now accepted as her supposed novio, very supple and upright, the sun gleaming on the boots that reached to his knees. He pointed
out the various flowers and plants to her and she couldn't help but feel a pang of delight at the wild and wonderful array, and at the thousand scents that seemed to go to her head and intoxicate her senses.
Her eyes shone; she was moved by the beauty of it all. Never in her life before had she seen honeysuckle climbing the branches of cypress trees, carnations of every imaginable hue, sheets of violets spreading down banks to the sparkle of a watercourse which fed the garden. Oh, it was much more than a garden! It rambled like a small park, where for years and years each succeeding mistress had added her own choice of plants, until they mingled and married and created a sheer vision of colour and enchantment.
The Conde came to a halt on one of the paths and pointed out a particularly intriguing plant to Lise; it was a coloured nettle called maja mujer and he warned her never to try and touch it. Appropriately named 'wicked woman', it would burn the hand and leave a sting.
`An ancestress of mine came from Brazil,' he said, 'and she brought the nettle with her. She was said to resemble it, being vivid and lovely to look at, but with a temper which poured like scalding water from her tongue. You see, not all the brides of the Marcos Reyes have been as gentle as my
own mother. Perhaps in some ways she was too gentle.'
`Do you take after your grandmother?' Lise asked dryly.
At once his eyes flashed down at her. She looked away from him, following the shimmering flight of a butterfly in among a great tangle of rose-red, perfect miniature roses. 'Oh dear!' Her hand flew to her lips. hope it won't tear itself on the thorns.'
I am afraid that is what sometimes happens in the garden of El Serafin,' he said, a note of meaning in his voice. 'A garden is like life itself, with thorns to tear, nettles to sting, stones to make a foot stumble just as one looks up at the sky and sees how blue it is. We each have to be mauled, some time or other, by the tiger of life.'
They left behind them the hedge of roses and came to a small patio set deep within the heart of the garden, its paving tiles glinting under the sun, with stone benches hot from the sun, and there at the centre of it not the usual fountain but a statue of the four seasons, the four female heads each looking in a different direction. One of the strange stone faces seemed to stare at Lise, and as she looked a spider crawled from the partly open lips and involuntarily she drew back and found herself bodily close to the Conde. She felt his hands close on her shoulders and the tremor that ran through her was not entirely caused by the dark, long-legged spider.
'You don't like this place?' He spoke above her head, holding her motionless with her shoulders against his chest. She could feel the hard strength of his body, and the warmth of his fingers, and as she looked about her she was glad that she had not come upon this patio on her own. It had an atmosphere of mystery, somehow, as if something lingered here. Some memory of despair, which only the four stone faces had witnessed.
`I thought you might be sensitive to atmosphere,' he went on. 'It was here that my Brazilian ancestress came to poison herself when her husband learned that she had been having an affair with his brother. In Spain in those days the chastity of a woman was of great importance to a man. His wife had to be an angel of purity and any man who found himself with an unfaithful wife was not condemned by law if he took her life. But Laurita was too proud, too passionate and wilful to submit to punishment and possible death at the hands of her husband, and so she came here and died alone in the dusk of a summer's night. She left a heritage of temper in the Marcos Reyes, and a rebellion against the arranged marriage. Perhaps, señorita, I take after her.'
Even as he spoke Lise, without looking at him, could imagine the twist of irony to his lips and the bronze chiselling of the face that held an element of a land even hotter, even more ruthless in its history than Spain itself.
`Laurita was reputed to be the descendant of an Inca princess and a conquistador, and I have in the castle a picture of her painted only a short while before she took her own life with all the barbaric courage of her race. Her skin was smooth as porcelain, there were deep blue lights in her hair, and long lashes curled away from her almond-shaped eyes. Her long hair Was arranged in shining loops and plaitings, so that her slender neck seemed as if it might break under the weight. She was beautiful, but because she never found real happiness she became bitter, and I believe she turned to another man out of a need for consolation rather than anything else. It is the anoranza of Laurita which lingers here. The longing for what she lost, the girlish dream of romance which never materialized because she was handed over to a man she had no time to know before it was time to become his wife. She became in all senses a maja mujer, a wicked woman, but I believe she was driven to it by her marriage.
How often must a dowry bride have rebelled in Spain? Often but a girl given to a man quite a few years older than herself; taken straight from convent or schoolroom, never courted by young men of her own age, but expected to be a devoted and loving wife to a stranger. I can imagine that Laurita came often to sit in this patio, but my own mother avoided it. La Soledad, she came to be called. So you see, señorita, the adventure of marriage has not been a very happy one for members of my family, and that is why I will not permit yet another young girl to become a bride unloved.'
As he spoke these words he swung Lise to face him. 'Do we now understand each other a little better, eh? Do you see why our meeting had to be put to advantage by me? I could not let you go, to be lost somewhere in Spain, when you had so much the look of this novia I had invented for my own sake, for Ana's sake, and the son I might have in the future. I don't wish him to have a mother with such sad eyes that she becomes known as the sad one. Perhaps were we in England such a situation as this would not arise, but we are in Spain, where the pride and the emotions run high. And have I not already said that in exchange for your co-operation I shall give you whatever you wish for most. A new car – a whole new wardrobe of clothes—'
There he paused and his eyes narrowed as he studied Lise. 'I seem always to be seeing you in trousers. Have you no dresses you can wear? Madrecita is old-fashioned and likes girls to look girlish.'
Lise flushed slightly at his criticism. 'I was on a driving holiday and suiting myself, señor. I am sorry if you consider I look like a boy, but trousers are comfortable for driving in.'
`Comforting, perhaps, but not so attractive as a display of the female legs. It is one great advantage of the female
species that she has beautiful limbs and such a pity that she feels the urge to cover them up as a man does his own. However, we can remedy this lack of feminine apparel, and if you will come with me I shall administer a remedy which should make your eyes shine always supposing that you are more of a girl than a boy!'
He hurried her back through the garden, around a projection of the castle, in under an archway and up a flight of twisting iron stairs set in one of the towers.
'Where are we going?' she gasped, as if she were being dragged off to Bluebeard's chamber. She heard him give a deep laugh, as if her image of him as Bluebeard transmitted itself to his mind.
'Wait and see and don't anticipate that I am about to ravish you in a lonely tower room of the castle. It is proof of your innocence that you should have such childish thoughts.'
'Not too much a child that I don't suit your purpose,' she gasped, for the stairs were twisting and turning in an endless spiral, and he had longer legs than hers and more lung power. 'Y-you found me handy and naive enough to help you play a game of make-believe!'
'Games are fascinating, are they not? That is how we must think of what is between us, and in that way we might find it amusing enough to banish the guilt. Let us try, anyway.' And so saying he brought her to a halt on a landing of the tower, with the shield glass of a leaded window showering its colours in a rainbow on his sardonic face, so that instantly he became Harlequin, lord of dangerous games.
A long, arching door confronted them, with a ringed handle, and giving it a turn he opened the door. Lise had somehow expected the
room to be unfurnished, but to her amazement it was filled with things. Tall old chairs, chests of drawers, piles of hatboxes, cane hampers, trunks made of
leather and looking rather like coffins, and several suits of armour that leered vacantly at Lise as she stood amazed in the doorway of the room.
`A castle has no attic,' said the Conde, looking sardonic and sweeping an arm round the room whose circular walls were timber, and whose windows were lanced with more of that mysterious shield glass that patterned the place with Harlequin colour. 'But a lumber room has to be found for those things that each family likes to hoard. Come!' He pulled Lise across the room towards one of the coffin-like trunks. 'You said you were a needlewoman — very well, senorita, see what you can make of this.'
He flung open the lid of the trunk, plunged his hands into it and lifted out for her inspection the most gorgeous array of silks, brocades and velvets Lise had ever seen. She worked for a fashion house and was accustomed to handling rich material, but when she touched the length of jade silk that hung from the Conde's lean hands, she felt within her a hungry longing to fashion and shape it, and feel it softly clinging against her skin. The sort of material she loved, but which as a working girl she could never afford to buy.
`These are sample lengths from our factory,' he explained. 'Whenever my production manager comes to El Serafin he brings these to show Madrecita, who remains interested in the business. Ana will sometimes have a length made into a dress, but she is a raven-haired Latin girl who favours the carmine colours, and so the other jewel colours are abandoned to this old trunk, to lie forgotten. But you are a blonde, señorita, and you have grey eyes which can reflect colour rather than clash with it.' He transferred the materials to her arms. 'Here you are! The companion of my grandmother, the Doña Manuela, will be happy to lend you her sewing machine and to assist you in the measuring and cutting of the dresses, and then you will have no excuse for
appearing at merienda and the late meal, both of which Madrecita attends, clad in a pair of trousers.'
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