Castle in Spain

by Margaret Rome

  Not until they were both replete, toasting each other with their eyes across the rims of mugs brimming with wine, did he torment her with the lazy observation:

  'I wonder if you have any idea how sensational you look with a faded tee-shirt clinging damp around your nipples?'

  Shocked embarrassment jolted her erect, but beneath the table their legs collided and hers seemed struck lifeless, incapable of moving away. Slowly, her glance locked with his, she lowered her mug to the table, unaware that her mouth had fallen slightly open, that a sweet bottom lip, stained blood-red with wine, was projecting a quivering plea for kindness. The virility projected by a powerful, bared chest, by the contrasting slenderness of a fine gold chain slung around a bronzed neck, by the glint of a golden medallion struggling to escape a mesh of fine black hairs, stunned her senses, held her powerless in the grip of strong sexual attraction.

  'You look so innocent,' he continued musing, his eyes no longer lazy but keenly intent, 'and yet you manage to express sensuality with every feature—superb legs, beautifully soft skin, the way you unpin your hair so that it cascades down your back; supple grace, bashful eyes and a voice that echoes sweet as a cello even when you have been taunted into a small display of temper. Always you appear ladylike, yet never inaccessible, because something in your eyes, something about your tone of voice, suggests invitation. To put it bluntly, querida, the exciting message I receive is that though convention may force you to act like a lady in. public, inclination could transform you into a harlot in bed!'

  When lambent flame leapt to life in his eyes instinct told her that he was grappling with strong emotion, that the husky, pulsating tone of his voice was a passionate indication of violent masculine need. She saw him move swiftly towards her, guessed his intention, yet could not free her mind and limbs of paralysis in time to escape capture. His low, triumphant laughter echoed in her ears, a blurred kaleidoscope of earth, sea and sky flashed before her eyes when she was lifted from her seat, swung high into his arms, then lowered gently on to a mattress of soft seaweed.

  The ardent crush of his hands upon her body, the keen hunger of his searching lips, the pressure of limbs tense and unyielding as steel .unlocked within her a storm of pain and anger, the disillusionment of a woman searching for love and finding only lust.

  'No ... no!' she moaned, twisting out of his grasp, 'I won't let you treat me like a mistress of the day,' she sobbed wildly, 'one of the many who are no doubt accustomed to being entertained here before being returned to their haunts in the back streets of Mahon!'

  The line of his jaw tightened, betraying a whip-lashing pulse at the corner of his mouth. 'In a week we will be married,' he reminded her with angry frustration. 'In my country any wife who tries to deprive her husband of his rights is deservedly beaten!'

  'Then beat me!' she sobbed, lying crushed as a flower beneath a storm of hail. 'Broken bones heal faster than the scars of sham attachment! No woman could dislike a man for loving her, senor,' she indicted through a haze of tears, 'but she can hate him for pretending to!'

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  As the bridal car swept into the square late afternoon shadows were casting a black lacy mantle over the mellowed pink stonework of the cathedral. A small crowd milling at the bottom of the steps cried out, 'Que mona! Muy bonita! Preciosa!' when Birdie stepped out of the car with a grace of movement that set her satin dress shimmering from neck to hem, so that her trance-slow ascent of the cathedral steps could have been that of an apparition transported from another world, her beauty obscured by a mist of tulle.

  'Are you feeling all right, Birdie?' Tony's anxious eyes tried to probe behind the veil, suspicious of the misery of spirit that seemed reflected in pale, set features.

  'I am now that you're here,' she tried to smile but did not quite succeed. 'I can't tell you how relieved I felt when I was told that the Terre-a-terre had berthed in the harbour this morning. Every bride needs the support of loved ones on her wedding day, Tony, and you and the Company are all the family I can claim. I'm so grateful to you and Lady Daphne,' she whispered, hesitating to take a deep, bracing breath as they halted before massive, widely-flung doors.

  'As if anything could have kept us away once the news of your marriage reached us on the maritime grapevine,' he scolded gruffly. 'We must have broken all records getting here in time,' he assured her, then frowned, wondering if they had arrived in time or just too late to discuss thoroughly the important step she was about to take, to urge her to wait until she was certain she wanted to become the wife of a man who seemed to inspire her with fear rather than love. But when a great leather curtain was pushed aside to allow them entry into the solemn interior of the cathedral; when the muted, liquid flutings of an organ ceased as if at a given signal, then suddenly recommenced playing a triumphant tribute to the approaching bride, he conceded that it was too late to counsel caution and gave all his attention to supporting the trembling, nervous girl leaning on his arm.

  Concentrate hard! Birdie urged herself mentally, digging her fingers into Tony's arm. Pretend that this is a ballet in which you are performing a starring role!

  Suddenly, sunlight through stained glass projecting splashes of topaz, silver and crimson upon grey stone walls; the upward soaring of huge marble columns that branched into mysterious arches supporting the ceiling above; the rows of pews filled with relatives and friends of the Retz family—men of rigid military bearing and women who moved and talked with the ease and simplicity of gesture associated with the aristocracy— all had their menace reduced to the familiarity of a backdrop, props, and fellow artistes. Even the leading man, waiting tall and stern at the altar rail, held no fear for her. Confidently, she relinquished her hold upon Tony's arm, turned to hand a very subdued Lucita the ivory-backed prayer book and single perfect bud of magnolia she had chosen to carry instead of a bouquet, then stepped forward with a hand outstretched into the spotlight of the grim Conde.

  The performance continued without a hitch. The priest on his high altar looked magnificent in a short lace-edged surplice coloured the blue-red shade of bougainvillea flowers and a cloak of gold brocade lined with stiff green taffeta. Even the small altar boys in crimson cassocks who stepped forward on cue to hold back the corners of the priest's cloak bore without stumbling candles in silver sconces soaring two feet higher than their heads, and swung smoking censers until the smell of incense hung thick and heavy in the air.

  Birdie felt proud of the way her stiff lips mimed the responses and of Vulcan's dignified bearing when he slid a wide band of gold on to her finger. Only when the finale had been reached and they turned to leave the stage did she feel that something was wrong—for although their audience had risen to its feet there was not the slightest ripple of applause!

  'Suerte!' the crowd of wellwishers called out above the noise of traffic in the cathedral square, then waved until the car had swept El Conde and his bride away from the cathedral towards his town house where the reception was to be held.

  'What are they saying?' she faltered, shy of the distinguished stranger in formal attire whom she found so hard to associate with the bare-chested rake who had seemed so set upon pre-empting their physical union just a few short days ago.

  'They are wishing us luck in the game of marriage,' he told her dryly.

  Birdie had thrown back the veil from her face so that the crisp tulle had. formed into peaks, clustered like petals around the heart of a flower.

  'Isn't marriage rather a serious occupation to be classed as a game?' she asked him timidly, unnerved by his sarcasm and by a suspicion that he had viewed the arrival of the Terre-a-terre as an untimely intrusion.

  'You surprise me!' Black eyebrows arched, simulating astonishment. 'You appear to consider the whole of life a game and seem to be at ease only when you are playing the part of an image outside of reality. When you find sufficient courage to acknowledge your true personality, nina,' he leant forward to threaten, 'life will cease to be a game and you will no longer
feel content to play the discarded plaything, a toy with a broken spring!'

  Fortunately, as all the guests wanted to greet the new bride, she was expected to circulate through the magnificent rooms she had barely had time to glimpse during her previous visit. A buffet had been set out in a small side room and guests, chatting in sociable groups, were eating from plates containing selections .of local seafood in a savoury wine sauce; sole sautéed in butter; omelettes, salads, paella, and for the nibblers a selection of tapas—tiny bit-size morsels of deep-fried fish and chicken—meat pastries, and saucer-size casseroles designed to fill an empty corner of the stomach between meals, before meals, or even instead of meals should circumstances warrant such deprivation.

  Birdie had just slipped into a corner for a well-earned respite when Tony ran her to ground. He was holding two glasses of champagne, but though his elegant figure looked relaxed when he handed one over his eyes showed a trace of anxiety as they scoured her wan face.

  'Drink this, Aurora, you look as if you are in need of a lift!'

  She accepted the glass with a smile, but ignored his reference to the princess in the Sleeping Beauty ballet, the role that was acknowledged to be the supreme test of a ballerina in all the classical repertoire. Her own wedding was not to be celebrated with many dazzling dances, nor was there a Lilac Fairy lurking in the background, ready to cancel out the consequences of a wicked spell.

  Sensing the barrier of reserve that would not allow her to confide her troubles, Tony attempted to lighten her spirits by changing the subject.

  'Do you realise that I've not yet been allowed the privilege of kissing the bride?' he teased.

  Even as she lifted her face to accept his affectionate kiss she glimpsed Vulcan's head turning sharply in her direction, noted the grimness of his expression as he began advancing towards her through the crowd of guests.

  As if aware of scrutiny, Tony allowed his lips to linger and seemed reluctant to release her even when Vulcan's stiff presence became too obvious to be ignored. The thread of hostility that had always existed between the brilliant director and the Conde whose arrogance he abhorred became pronounced as the clashing of swords when Vulcan's icy comment cut through their intimacy.

  'An Englishman is never so natural as when he is looting—whether it be countries, cities or merely kisses!'

  Birdie drew back to stare, appalled, and for the first time that day a rich tide of colour flooded her cheeks—colour that might have been mistaken for guilt. But it was anger that caused her to champion Tony, together with a resentment of having been made to feel possessed.

  'A man cannot steal what is freely given,' she rebuked icily, then turned to bestow upon Tony a brilliant smile that misled him completely.

  Impervious to undercurrents, he lifted her hand to his lips and with his glance locked with hers breathed softly: 'If only I were an artist, a composer or a poet, so that I might express a more deserving tribute to your beauty!'

  'Where have you been hiding, Tony dear?' Lady Daphne descended as if on cue, just in time to defuse a potentially explosive situation. To onlookers they must have appeared an amicably chatting group, but after a quick appraisal of Vulcan's set features, Lady Daphne seemed to sense that she had barged into the midst of an area of conflict. She was carrying a plate containing a substance Birdie did not recognise, an opaque dessert that seemed to have the consistency of soft cheese, and she swiftly employed it as a form of diversion.

  'Have you tried the membrillo?' she enquired brightly. 'If not, you should, because it's absolutely delicious on first acquaintance, although it can become a little wearisome as time goes on.'

  Birdie was quick to seize the proffered lifeline. 'I haven't. What is it?'

  'Quince paste, darling, a favourite Spanish dessert. Come with me, I'll get you some.'

  Birdie knew she was being cowardly when she allowed Lady Daphne to lead her away, but the attitude of pretence that had bolstered her throughout the marriage ceremony was wearing very thin. Reality was beginning to loom, the realisation that her satin gown and pristine veil was no mere costume to be discarded at the end of a performance, that the lines she had delivered with such aloofness had not left her uncommitted as the reading of dialogue from a script; that tomorrow there would be no change of programme, no new scenario, no change of tempo, and that until death did them part she was to be billed with the same leading man—playing a slave cowed by her master, being forced to act as understudy to the legion of women begging to be allowed to play a starring role in his life.

  Gripped firmly by the hand, she stumbled in Lady Daphne's wake and stared with dazed incomprehension when she was pushed inside an empty ante-room and heard the door being closed firmly behind her. She swung round to confront a stern-faced Lady Daphne planted like a; barricade with her back against the door.

  'Now,' she charged Birdie, 'I want to know exactly what's been going on since I left you in Vulcan's care. I'll be honest and admit that when I coaxed him into offering you the position as Lucita's companion I saw myself as a benevolent matchmaker bringing together two people whose relationship had got off to a bad start, but who were obviously made for each other. When news reached me of your imminent marriage I was delighted, but from the moment I set foot in the Casa de Solitario it became obvious from Vulcan's attitude and your highly nervous state that something had gone wrong. What is it, Birdie, why are you unhappy, and what lies behind Vulcan's puzzling assurances that I have no further cause for worry, that every obstacle has been cleared out of my way?'

  'Is that how Vulcan sees me?' Birdie intoned stonily, her cheeks draining to the intense whiteness of her dress. 'It appears,' she choked, swinging away from Lady Daphne's too-perceptive eyes, 'that I am destined always to be treated like an unwanted parcel that keeps appearing on someone's doorstep. Vulcan coerced me into marriage because he wanted a permanent companion for Lucita, someone who could not leave at a moment's notice, and also because he saw my presence aboard your boat as a threat to your happiness. He believes, you see, that I'm in love with Tony,' she confessed simply, 'and read into your suggestion that he should offer me employment a plea for help to remove me from Tony's orbit.'

  She made no attempt to break the shocked silence that followed her explanation, knowing Lady Daphne needed time to assimilate the consequences of her well-meaning interference, to recall the persuasive remarks and hints she had employed, and to realise how easily they could have been misinterpreted. Birdie waited, prepared for an apology, for an impassioned declaration that she would seek out Vulcan immediately and attempt to sort matters out, but instead she was startled by one startled, determined word.

  'Impossible!'

  'Meaning you don't believe me?' Birdie jerked round to stare.

  'Meaning, my dear,' Lady Daphne countered with a conviction that was impressive, 'that you're endowing Vulcan with virtues he doesn't possess. Oh, I don't mean he's incapable of putting himself out for a friend,' she waved aside Birdie's protest, 'but not even he, chivalrous, protective, loyal though he is, would take the extreme step of sacrificing his entire future for the sake of a threatened love affair. Look at the situation from his point of view, my dear,' she urged. 'Vulcan is a virile, demanding male who works, lives and loves to a hard pattern—is such a man likely to even contemplate bondage with a wife he neither respects nor desires? Make no mistake, Birdie,' she concluded softly, 'to a Spaniard marriage is for life, so however puzzling his motives, you can be sure that from this day onwards you will rarely be allowed to stray from his side!'

  Attached as closely as a prisoner to a jailor! Birdie mentally conceded, too weary to argue with the woman who seemed determined to portray Vulcan as a loving husband as opposed to a Caliph making a fresh addition to his harem. She winced from the comparison, mentally conjuring a picture of herself in surroundings of luxurious subservience, waiting with head bowed for a visit from her lord and master.

  A wilful notion sprang to life, an impulse born of inherited pride, a de
sire to go down fighting. Years of training helped her to conceal an inner shaking, to look thoughtful as if half won round to Lady Daphne's way of thinking.

  'I wonder ...' she began, then hesitated, alarmed by her daring line of thought.

  'Yes, what are you wondering, my dear?' Lady Daphne looked hopeful. 'Have you thought of a way I might be able to help?'

  'Yes, perhaps,' Birdie gulped, then with rising colour admitted in a rush, 'I've always worn pyjamas ... there's been no opportunity to shop ... so I wondered, as you have so many glamorous negligees, if ...'

  Immediately Lady Daphne's face became wreathed in smiles. 'My dear!' she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling, 'I have the very thing! A delicious concoction of chiffon and lace purchased just a few days ago in Morocco—you can have it with pleasure!'

  Later that evening the promised parcel arrived, long after the last of the wedding guests had departed and Lucita had been despatched to the Case de Solitario in Dolores' charge, consoled with the promise of Birdie's undivided attention once their short honeymoon in Mahon was ended.

  She was enduring the intimacy of dining alone with Vulcan at a table bathed in the flickering light of tall red candles set into silver sconces when a soft-footed manservant entered the room carrying a light, beribboned package despatched from the Terre-a-terre.

  'What is it?' Vulcan queried, his glance lazy yet watchful as he prowled the blush that erupted into her cheeks.

  'Nothing of great importance,' she jerked guiltily, her nerves on edge, 'just a belated gift from Lady Daphne.'

  'As she and Tony have already presented us with a handsome wedding present,' he drawled, flicking a glance over the beribboned package, 'one must assume that this second gift is in the nature of a honeymoon present?' He half-smiled when his guess was confirmed by her start of surprise and with his hawk eyes hooded, continued to muse: 'Honeymoon ...! Are we to share the sweet, glowing uprisal that word implies, querida? Or is our marriage to be soured by regret, reduced to a battleground of animosity?' Birdie stiffened with fear, caught in the beam of a swift, bright blue stare. 'A bird soon adapts to being caged, mi cava, can even—once its panicking wings cease to flutter—begin to enjoy the advantages of captivity.'