Castle in Spain

by Margaret Rome

  When Vulcan led her, starry-eyed with wonder, to a table placed in the centre of a jutting balcony, its front wide open to the sea and with only a flimsy wooden handrail and the suck and hiss of sea around rocks hundreds of feet below to add an intrusive note of warning, she imagined she had been spirited into the realm of Neptune and would not have been in the least surprised to see an elderly, bearded man of stately mien approaching, astride a dolphin.

  A balmy breeze teased the chiffon collar of her dress, moon-silvered shadows lent a fey, haunting quality to her face as she gazed in wonder at a huge golden moon suspended from a black velvet sky casting a blanket of sparkling prisms over a heaving, slumberous sea.

  'Shall we dance, mi amor?' He tendered the suggestion softly, as if aware of her mood of enchantment and feeling loath to break the spell. Mutely she nodded, then with a sigh of pleasure rose to her feet and drifted light as a wraith into arms waiting to lift her inside a circle of bewitchment where they danced together in enraptured silence to music blending with the song of the sea, floating and gliding as on the smooth crest of a wave, their steps merging as one in a seductive rhythm that sent shivers of rapture through her body and set her spirit soaring as she revelled in a brief incursion into Paradise. She longed to stay for ever in his arms, dancing as she had never danced before, without the need to concentrate upon movement or direction, conscious only of the man whose lips were brushing her temple, whose deep, low voice was murmuring enticing Spanish endearments, in her ear, whose arms were a haven, promising the home she had never had, the love she had never known ...

  All spells must fade, yet some of the magic still lingered when he escorted her back to the table set secluded as an eyrie on a cliff top and discovered a smiling young flower seller waiting by their table. Blossoms were spilling from a basket hooked over her arm, velvet-petalled roses, a crush of clove-scented carnations, sprays of vivid golden-heart anemones and tight bunches of wild violets all vying in colourful, perfumed splendour.

  But without hesitation Vulcan chose a single exquisite madonna lily with which to pay tribute to her virginal young beauty. 'Simplicity adorned is simplicity destroyed, child's heart,' he explained his choice with a depth of sincerity that left her shaken. Then, taking her hand in his, he waited until they were alone before adding what she considered was an entirely appropriate ending to the magical love scene. 'There is no better partnership than a good marriage, querida, two lives joined without a scar, two hearts beating in agreeable unison, don't you agree?'

  'Yes, Vulcan,' she nodded, starry-eyed.

  'Good!' He glinted his approval. 'In which case I take it you will raise no objection if our betrothal is kept brief—just time enough to arrange a quiet, informal wedding?'

  CHAPTER NINE

  SLOWLY, early morning sunshine awakened Birdie from a sleep so calm and sweet she had to struggle back to reality, to convince herself that the events of the previous evening had really happened and were not part of an extravagant dream. But as she turned her head sideways a tender smile crossed her face at the sight of one pale madonna lily, poised graceful as a ballerina on pointe set in a vase at her bedside.

  So she hadn't been dreaming! A sigh almost of fear fluttered in her throat as she stretched out a hand to pluck the flower of enchantment from its resting place, to press her lips against its velvet petals and make a wish—a wish that soon she might be clasped once more in the arms of the impatient, masterful Conde who had decided to make her his wife, and be swept once more into Paradise.

  Reality intruded in the shape of Lucita, an early riser, who had formed the habit of catapulting her small, warm body into Birdie's bed as soon as she awoke each morning.

  'Senorita Birdie!' Bright, anxious eyes scoured her face. 'Why are you smiling?' Lucita sat back on her heels, cheeks pink as the ribbons threaded through the collar of her nightdress, and looked hesitant, conscious of some difference in the profile that looked sketched with a fine nib against the pristine pillow, yet unable to define it in words. But when in one relaxed, graceful movement Birdie raised herself upright so that her unpinned hair fell in a smoky brown mass around her shoulders Lucita immediately decided, 'You look exactly like the picture in my story book— the one of the Sleeping Princess awakening from her spell after being kissed by her prince. Have you been kissed by a prince?' She bounced upon the bed, clapping her hands with excitement, then stiffened as if struck by some unpleasant reminder.

  'What's wrong, Lucita?' Birdie slid an arm around the child's shoulders, alarmed by her expression of dismay.

  'The princess in my story book is carried off by her prince to a land far away,' she gulped, bottom lip trembling. 'Is that what will happen to you, senorita, even though you promised to stay with me always?'

  'Tonta!' Birdie scoffed, gently deriding, then, understanding the over-imaginative child's need to be convinced, she continued to tease, 'I'm human, remember, not a fictitious character in a fairy tale. You may pinch me if you need proof— but gently!' she cringed in mock-alarm from Lucita's mischievous fingers, then collapsed with her into a laughing heap.

  Lucita, however, was as tenacious as her guardian in the pursuit of personal satisfaction. After an interval of noisy play she returned to the subject that seemed to be always uppermost in her mind, the fear of losing her teacher, her playmate, the one person in her adult world whose background qualified her not only to recognise but to indentify with her childish fears.

  'When Tio marries,' she startled Birdie with a sudden return to solemnity, 'will you also come to wherever the new Condesa decides to send me?'

  Birdie's breath caught sharply at this insight into a young mind instilled with poison dropped from the tongue of a woman jealous of her privileged position, a woman who had not hesitated to twist an infant's fears into a weapon guaranteed to rout any would-be usurper. Suppressing a tremor of anger, she attempted to undo the harm inflicted by Dolores. Given a choice, she would have nurtured her secret a little longer; the knowledge of Vulcan's love was so new, so precious, she wanted it to remain locked in her heart, to be taken out and examined at leisure until she had grown accustomed to the riot of emotion that weakened her body whenever she thought of him. But Lucita's need was greater than her own; she could not nurture her own joy at the expense of the child's unhappiness.

  'The future Condesa has no intention of sending you away, nina. Indeed, although she and your guardian are very much in love their happiness would not be complete without you.'

  Instant fear flashed into Lucita's eyes, a look Birdie had no trouble interpreting as the fear of insecurity, the terrible loneliness of the unwanted that had plagued her for most of her life.

  'How can you possibly know, senorita Birdie?' she pleaded, white to the lips. 'Dolores says ‑'

  'Dolores knows nothing of your guardian's business,' Birdie forestalled firmly. Opening her arms wide to the trembling child she spelled out slowly, 'Believe me, chica, I am telling you the truth.' A pink blush unfurled in her cheeks when shyly she confessed. 'Subject to your approval, of course, I am to become the new Condesa.'

  The pandemonium that erupted gave proof of Lucita's joyous approval. With a scream that seemed destined to bounce for ever from walls and ceiling, she flung herself into Birdie's arms to babble, almost incoherent with excitement:

  'Will the wedding take place soon? Am I to be a bridesmaid—can I wear a long frilly dress and help to carry your train? Will there be a big party, and if I promise to be very good will Tio allow me to stay up late? Will you have babies—lots and lots of real live babies for me to play with?'

  At this, Birdie found breath to protest, 'Calm yourself, Lucita!' fighting to appear composed even though her pulses were racing, her mind jolted into realms which, as yet, had not even tentatively been explored. But Lucita's excitement was too great to be contained. With a whoop of delight she rolled out of reach to indulge in a frenzied orgy of bouncing at the foot of Birdie's bed.

  'Madre de Dios! Have you taken leave of
your senses, nina?'

  Dolores's eruption into the room caused a sudden dramatic silence. 'You may think yourself safe because El Conde's room is out of earshot,' she snapped at Birdie, 'but when he is told of this disgraceful exhibition I have no doubt that he will dismiss you instantly.'

  'No, he will not!' Lucita sprang back to life to taunt her tormentor. 'Tio wishes to marry the senorita and I am going now to give him my permission!'

  Dolores stood in aghast silence while a small tornado swept past her, then turned eyes mesmerised with shock upon the slender girl whose tilted chin was defying her to guess that her fists were clenched beneath the bedcovers.

  'So,' she hissed, her back ramrod stiff with rage, 'you have done what you no doubt set out to do— achieve the distinction of becoming the Condesa de Retz even though you can never be accorded the respect that accompanies such a title!'

  'What are you implying?' Birdie faltered, her courage cowed at the sight of thin lips stretched into a smile projecting more triumph than a grin, 'I love EI Conde and he loves me.'

  'Que impertinencia!' Dolores dismissed her claim. 'El Conde's heart is buried with the novia he adored, the mother of the child whose welfare is his main obsession. Ask yourself, senorita,' contemptuous eyes flickered over her shivering body, 'why he would contemplate marrying a nondescript English girl when he has a choice of girls from the best Menorquin families at his disposal? He does not need a wife in the physical sense, for over the years there have been many who have shown themselves willing to assuage his masculine appetite. All he seeks is a companion for the child, one who has attained the age of maturity yet retained the simplicity of an infant; one who is too self-effacing to demand attention and too lacking in feminine appeal to make any sort of impact upon his senses. You match up to those requirements exactly,' she sneered. 'El Conde will be well pleased with his choice once you have learned never to step out of place, to remember that he wants you not as a wife but merely as a playmate for his ward!'

  When the door banged behind her, Birdie dropped back against her pillows, shaken by the venom that had spurted from the tongue of the woman who had sized up her victim well enough to realise that she could mouth insults without fear of reprisal. Quivering from the hurtful barbs, she sought desperately to restore the torn fabric of her dream, searching the dim recesses of her mind in an effort to recall the exact words Vulcan had used when he had tendered his proposal. But though the impression of his hands was branded upon her body, though his low, impassioned voice echoed sweetly in her ears, though his hawkish features and eyes blue as a Moroccan sky were imprinted upon her heart for ever, she could not recall one word of love from a mind reduced to a bemused furore by intense looks and flattering piropos.

  Deciding that she had attached too much importance to the opinion of a jealous servant, she attempted to dismiss Dolores from her mind as she showered and then slipped into a sundress pale as cream, with a belt to match her flat-heeled tan leather sandals. As Lucita had not reappeared, she wandered downstairs, then out on to the terrace where a table was set for breakfast. The smell of freshly-roasted coffee beans and rolls hot from the oven enticed her footsteps to quicken, then jerk to a shy halt when she spotted Vulcan, dressed casually in tee-shirt and denims, seated at the table engrossed in his morning paper.

  He rose to his feet immediately he caught sight of her perched on one leg, employing the mannerism she had unconsciously adopted since her accident of massaging her injured ankle with an upraised foot.

  'Buenos dias, cara!' For some reason he looked amused. 'You look poised for flight, must I scatter a few crumbs to entice you nearer?'

  Birdie almost turned and ran, overwhelmed with shyness, but he grabbed her by the waist, as if guessing her intention. 'Did you sleep well, mi cara?

  My darling! The endearment cancelled out all Dolores's innuendoes and filled her with an exquisite sense of wellbeing. If he had intended her status to be that of a superior sort of servant he would not have addressed her so!

  'Yes, thank you, Vulcan.' His name tasted sweet on her lips. 'When I awoke I couldn't believe ... I thought I'd been dreaming,' she blushed painfully, 'until I sniffed the air in my room and discovered it was heavy with the scent of a flower which seemed to me to crystallise the very essence of our perfect evening.'

  She heard his quickly indrawn breath and dared to look up with the quick loveliness of a glance that could only be bestowed upon a lover, aware that she was leaving herself vulnerable, but too convinced of his love to care.

  'Last night was no dream, nina, dreams are limited, lacking in emotional sustenance; my proposal was reality and so too was your acceptance. I take it,' he sounded almost too casual, too suddenly still, 'that you have not come to tell me that you have changed your mind?'

  'I can't,' she admitted simply, 'Lucita has been told. Haven't you seen her ...?'

  'Unfortunately, yes,' he groaned, pulling her close so that his lips could trace the slender, graceful curve of her neck, turning her every bone to water, 'but I bribed her with a promise that she could be a bridesmaid at our wedding, provided she amused herself in the company of Juan's family for the rest of the day. Tomorrow, the world can intrude as much as it likes, but today I want to explore your mind, to delve your soul, and perhaps to make a little gentle love,' he husked, 'to entice you with kindness, a crumb at a time, until my timid English wren becomes tamed.' Sensing her confusion, he raised his head to examine fiery cheeks and agitated downcast lashes. 'Look at me, mi cara,' he demanded her complete attention, then when she met his eyes he bent his head to groan against her trembling mouth, 'Ah, querida, I want to share with you a delicious secret—the oldest, richest secret in the world, that love is sweet!'

  Breakfast, to Birdie, tasted of coffee and kisses, fresh rolls and warm, loving glances so that when they left the table, hand in hand, she was too bemused to ask why when Vulcan led her away from the terrace and inside the casa.

  Because nothing is more relaxing than the patio of a Spanish home, a courtyard open to the sky which, in the warm Menorquin climate, provides all that is needed for daily existence, she had rarely ventured into the downstair rooms and was therefore surprised when he ushered her inside a study, a book-lined room dominated by a huge desk and a high-backed chair upholstered in dark red leather with a headrest of heavily-carved wood.

  'Sit there,' he nodded towards the chair, 'there is something I want to show you.'

  She did as he had instructed and immediately felt lost, swamped by the ambience of magnificence into which he had been born but which made her feel an intruder, as uncomfortable as a beggermaid wearing shoes that did not fit.

  'One of my conquistador ancestors, together with two hundred others, made the perilous voyage to the South American continent in search of El Dorado, the legendary city,' he told her, placing a brass-bound box on the desk and inserting into the lock a heavy brass key that turned smoothly even though, to her uninitiated eye, the box appeared to be of great antiquity. 'Instead, they found the Inca civilisation in Peru, and it was from there that they returned with jewellery fashioned from pure gold, a metal worshipped by the Incas because they regarded it as an earthly manifestation of the sun. I should like you to choose a piece as a betrothal present. They are all much too heavy and ungainly to be worn in public,' he reassured her with a smile, 'but for my own personal pleasure I should enjoy seeing you wearing this piece, for instance ...'

  He lifted out of the box a broad gold anklet chased with a design of flowers and birds and knelt down beside her to withdraw the sandal from her uninjured foot. He must have noticed her recoil when he snapped the band of bondage around her ankle, yet he seemed pleased with the result, even tipped her foot higher, as if the golden shackle enclosing the slender, bird-boned limb excited his admiration.

  'Take it off, please, Vulcan,' she begged, chilled by a superstitious shiver.

  'Why, don't you like it?' His eyebrows met in a frown. '

  'It's beautiful ...' she hesitated
, 'but barbaric. Didn't primitive races hold a belief that all personal items should be buried with their dead owners?'

  'Perhaps,' he shrugged, 'but they also believed that jewellery possessed magical powers. They wore amulets as protection against misfortune and the displeasure of the gods, as well as to display status and wealth.'

  The coolness of his tone, his apparent indifference to her sensitivity shocked a resurgence of doubt and distrust of the man she knew she loved but whose mind she had never really plumbed.

  'Do you really love me, Vulcan?' she whispered shakily. 'Am I to be a wife* or are you merely using marriage as a means of securing a permanent companion for Lucita?'

  He straightened, and walked towards the window so that his expression was hidden and only his cold, emotionless tone registered on her mind.

  'Marriage presents a way of solving both problems at one and the same time,' he shocked her by saying. 'For both business and social reasons I need a hostess who can put my guests at ease and carry out all the social duties that are beyond the capabilities of a housekeeper. Lucita, as I have already pointed out, needs the sort of security that can only be gained from being part of a family, which is why, although our marriage will be one of convenience in the literal sense, it must also be physically consummated if the family of Retz is to be provided with an heir.'

  Numb with disbelief, Birdie stared with the eyes of a wounded animal at the implacable line of his shoulders, bewildered by the man who was a mixture of devil and saint, friend and foe, charmer and calculating schemer.