His eyes ran swiftly over the women, endeavouring to identify La Torcera. Except that the colour of their costumes differed they were all dressed much alike—high combs and mantillas, puffed sleeves and voluminous skirts made in many layers over numerous frilly petticoats. But, after a brief scrutiny, he decided that she must be the woman seated at a table nearly opposite him with a heavy-jowled, middle-aged man wearing a grey suit and red cummerbund.
The guitarists began to strum, then moved into a swift rhythm. La Conchita excused herself and, with another girl, got up to dance partnered by the two men of the troupe. Both the latter were as slim as matadors and, like them, wore skin-tight trousers which showed the rippling muscles of their thighs and buttocks.
All four of them stamped their heels and made the traditional provocative gestures of advance and withdrawal originally inspired by the courting of birds. When the dance was well under way de Quesnoy beckoned the Maestro over to him and said:
‘The dancer opposite is La Torcera, is she not?’ and as the man nodded he went on, ‘I have been told that she is amusing to talk to. Please tell her that after she has danced I should like her to come to my table.’
The Maestro shook his head. ‘I regret, Señor; but for this evening, as you see, she is already engaged.’
‘For the whole evening?’ asked the Count.
‘Yes, Señor. The señor with whom she sits is a rich merchant from Alicante. He arrived early and asked for her; so it is certain that he intends to spend the whole night in her company.’
This was a most annoying development and one for which de Quesnoy had not bargained. But, now that he had shown himself among the gipsies, he was most averse to putting off his plan even for a night. To the Maestro he said, ‘I, too, am rich, and I am prepared to outbid him for her. Be good enough to arrange the matter.’
‘Excellency, I regret,’ the Maestro raised his broad shoulders and spread out his arms in a helpless gesture. ‘The señor who is with her has already made me a generous present with the request that tonight I should introduce no other admirers to her. How can I now make a deliberate attempt to rob him of his pleasure?’
As the Maestro moved away the dance was ending. La Conchita and the other girl were pirouetted by their partners, their skirts flairing waist high to tantalise the male onlookers with the sight of their white-stockinged legs, elaborate garters and, above them, a glimpse of naked thighs.
When La Conchita rejoined the Count, he summoned the hunchback to pour her more wine. Then, having given her time to get her breath back, he said softly, ‘My dear, you are certainly the prettiest woman in the troupe, and had I come here tonight for the purpose of enjoying myself I would ask nothing better than to remain with you. But I have a matter of business that it is imperative that I should discuss with La Torcera. As you see, she is not free, and the Maestro tells me that he has been well paid to refrain from disturbing the tête-à-tête she is engaged in. I want you to give me your help in getting her away from her companion. Now, put your hand under the table.’
When she did so he pressed two gold pieces into her palm. It was much more than she would ordinarily have earned in a night and, a swift glance down having shown her that the coins were gold, she said with an uneasy smile:
‘Mil gracias, Don Jaime. You are a true caballero. But I am much afraid that I shall be unable to earn this generous present. Since the Maestro has refused to present you to La Rocera, I dare not. And I see no other way in which I can help you.’
‘It is quite simple,’ he answered her. ‘All I wish you to do is to go over to her and make some excuse to get her to go outside with you for a moment. When you have her alone tell her that I will give her five hundred pesetas if she will get rid of her companion.’
‘Five hundred pesetas!’ repeated La Conchita, her dark eyes opening to their fullest extent. ‘Do you really mean that? If so, you must be a Prince travelling incognito.’
‘I am; my real name is Kropotkin. Please tell her that—Prince Peter Kropotkin.’ He told the glib lie because he thought it certain that the gipsies, being perpetually at war with the law, would be anarchist sympathisers, and that, while it was most unlikely that any of them had ever seen the Prince, Sanchez would most probably have spoken of the famous anarchist leader to La Torcera; so she would be all the more willing to get rid of the man she was with and, perhaps, even disclose Sanchez’ whereabouts without being bribed to do so.
La Conchita nodded and stood up. As she crossed the floor a little group came on to it. The fat middle-aged woman, carrying a rush-bottomed chair, placed it opposite the entrance and plumped herself down; the guitarists and three girls grouped themselves round her and, following her lead, they all began to clap in rhythm. A young man, scarcely more than a boy, then entered the circle and began to dance. As he did so, shouts of ‘Olé! Olé!’ came from several of the spectators and most of them joined in the clapping.
It was evident that the youth was a favourite and the Count soon saw that his popularity was justified. Holding himself as stiff as a ramrod, with one hand above his head and the other on his hip, he moved at a snail’s pace back and forth and round and round, but the whole time his feet tapped the floor at an incredible speed, changing their beat only for an occasional stamp at each sudden cessation of the clapping.
Meanwhile, with a little smile of satisfaction, de Quesnoy saw La Torcera and La Conchita leave the cave together. They were absent for about five minutes, then they both returned and the latter rejoined him. Leaning towards him, she said:
‘As I feared, the matter is not easy. It is against all custom for one of us to leave a patron with whom the Maestro has provided us. We may do so only if it transpires that he has no money or is so drunk that he becomes troublesome and insulting. She cannot therefore send him away or come over to you. But, of course, here as elsewhere there are times when disputes arise between two men, both of whom desire the company of one woman. If you decide to attempt to get rid of him yourself, she will not take his part but will remain passive; and she is naturally much flattered by your interest in her. It remains now for you to make up your mind whether your wish to get her to yourself is worth risking what may prove an unpleasant scene.’
De Quesnoy had already considered going over to La Torcera’s table and boldly asking her to leave it with him, but it was obvious that such a step would result in high words and probably a fracas. If that happened, he feared that the Maestro and other men of the troupe would join in and, as he would clearly be in the wrong, side with the merchant from Alicante. As he was carrying a revolver he had no doubts about his ability to protect himself and get out of the place unharmed, but having to do so would promptly terminate any chance of his achieving the object with which he had come there. Turning to the girl beside him, he said:
‘I had thought of doing what you suggest, but there would not be much point to it if it resulted in my being thrown out. From the way you speak, though, that does not always follow. Do you think the Maestro and the others would leave me a free field to get rid of the other fellow?’
She gave a quick nod. ‘Yes. What woman does not enjoy having two men fight over her? Torcera would see to it that you had fair play. All gipsies love watching a fight, too, so our men would not interfere—that is unless either of you drew a knife. They would then from fear of a killing, for we do not like to give the police an excuse to come nosing about up here.’
‘Thank you, my dear. In telling me that you really have been helpful.’ With a grim little smile, the Count made to stand up. But she quickly laid a hand on his arm, and said:
‘Not yet. La Rorcera is about to dance. You must wait now until her dance is over.’
La Torcera was partnered by the taller of the two men who had danced before. Now that she was standing up and the Count had a closer view of her, he saw that she was both a taller and bigger woman than he had so far judged her to be. She was handsome, but in a coarse way, and smallpox had left her with a slight pitti
ng on the lower part of her right cheek. Her features and her skin, which was a shade darker than that of the other women, suggested that she had a touch of Moorish blood. As a Flamenco dancer she was clearly in the front rank, clacking her castanets in perfect timing with the beat of the guitars, jerking back her head with admirably simulated violence, and swaying her big shapely hips in sensuous invitation. Twice as she came round to face de Quesnoy she gave him a smile and raised an interrogative eyebrow.
He did not wait until she had finished her dance, but after it had been going on for some while he bid a smiling adieu to La Conchita, then stood up and skirted the floor until he reached the table opposite. It had occurred to him that to get his way without a scene was at least worth trying, and this was the time to attempt it; so, with a bow to the merchant from Alicante, he addressed him with the utmost politeness.
‘Señor, allow me to introduce myself. I am Prince Peter Kropotkin. You may perhaps have heard of me. Most of my life has been spent championing the underdog, and I have a particular admiration for the gipsies. They show such a praiseworthy independence of spirit, and are a living example of my contention that life may be enjoyed without resorting to the law or owning personal property. No doubt it is a similar admiration for them that has brought you here tonight.’
The man gave him a puzzled look and replied, ‘Well, not exactly, Señor Prince. As a matter of fact I came here because I enjoy their Flamenco music and watching them dance.’
‘Ah!’ beamed the Count. ‘That is quite understandable; and I see that we shall soon be able to arrange matters.’ As he spoke he pulled out a chair, added ‘Permit me’ and, without waiting for the other’s consent, sat down.
‘Arrange matters,’ the merchant frowned. ‘I don’t understand what you are talking about, and this table …’
‘Exactly. It is about this table we have to arrange. As you have come here only to listen to the music and watch the dancing you will, I am sure, have no objection to moving to another.’
‘I’ll do nothing of the kind,’ came the angry retort. ‘This is La Torcera’s table, and I have booked her to spend the evening with me.’
‘That is unfortunate, because it so happens that I have matters to discuss with her that are of much more importance than any of the sweet nothings that you may have visualised yourself whispering in her ear. May I suggest that you should whisper them instead to the young woman I have just left. She is called La Conchita and …’
At that moment La Torcera was facing the table at which they sat. Taking a flower from behind her ear she threw it between them. No one could say that it had not been intended for her admirer from Alicante; but it was de Quesnoy who caught it and blew her a kiss.
The merchant had gone red in the face and burst out, ‘You may be a Prince, but I’ll see you damned before I’ll give way to you. My money is as good as yours, and …’
‘Forgive me,’ the Count interrupted. ‘You have, no doubt, made certain disbursements to the Maestro, and also perhaps to the lady. I should have mentioned that I will willingly refund them to you.’
‘That’s not the point,’ the other thrust out his chin aggressively. ‘You’ve no right to …’
‘No; there is only one point,’ de Quesnoy’s voice was silky as he came quickly to his feet and moved round the table. ‘It is whether you are prepared quietly to vacate the chair upon which you are sitting, or whether I must forcibly remove you from it.’
The merchant was a strongly-built, broad-shouldered man of about forty. Turning his face up with a sneer, he muttered, ‘You dare to lay a hand on me and I’ll break every bone in your body.’
‘I would regret to have to soil my fingers,’ retorted the Count, his grey eyes now hard and brilliant. Next second he had hooked his foot under the nearest back leg of the chair and give a violent jerk upon it. Had it stood the strain and lifted the merchant must have slid off its far side. As it was, the leg being of flimsy wood, it snapped and he was precipitated sideways towards de Quesnoy. The Count took a quick pace back and the unfortunate man hit the ground at his feet with a heavy thud.
Up to that moment no one else in the cave had noticed their quarrel, because attention had been concentreated on the dancers. But, at that moment, after a final spin by La Torcera with her skirts flaired out about her like a cartwheel, the dance ended. There came a burst of clapping and Olés! but they quickly subsided and all eyes were turned on her table, on the far side of which, now screaming curses, the merchant had just staggered to his feet.
De Quesnoy was not quarrelsome by nature, but in North Africa and elsewhere he had been involved in enough similar scenes to know that the art of getting onlookers on one’s side was to make one’s adversary look ridiculous. His arm shot out from beneath his cloak like a piston. With his forefinger and thumb he seized upon the merchant’s fleshy nose and proceeded to wring it.
The wretched man clawed frantically at the Count’s hand but could not break the grip. Suffering acute pain, blinded by tears and giving vent to a low wailing, he staggered from side to side with his head held down to the level of de Quesnoy’s chest, while the ring of spectators who had formed about them gave way to peals of laughter.
When at length the Count did let go, his victim staggered back, his hands to his bleeding nose and, turning, blundered away towards the entrance to the cave.
As the laughter subsided de Quesnoy bowed the smiling La Torcera to her chair, beckoned up the hunchback to give them wine, and called to him to fill the mugs of the whole company. This evoked a chorus of clapping and loud Olés! in appreciation of his generosity then the occupants of the cave who, since his arrival, had increased to about forty, settled down again.
For a while the Count kept his conversation with La Torcera to compliments and urbanities. He said that having heard a great deal about her he had been most eager to meet her, and that as he was staying only one night in Granada he had seen no other course but to take the steps that he had to become acquainted with her. She said how flattered she was by his attentions and congratulated him on the way in which he had so skilfully relieved her of the merchant’s company without resorting to an unseemly brawl. He paid her compliments on the finished artistry of her dancing. She replied that for anyone born with the gift it was then only a matter of hard training, and that with anyone as handsome as himself showing special interest in her performance, that had naturally encouraged her to put her heart into it.
He then declared that he was abysmally ignorant about Flamenco and asked her to enlighten him on some of the finer points of its technique. She willingly obliged and was still discoursing on the subject when another party of dancers arranged themselves. Now the whole troupe, except for herself and the girl who had danced at the same time, took the floor. The haunting music began and the four couples started to stamp their feet and gyrate.
For a few minutes de Quesnoy watched them, then he said, ‘I find it terribly hot in here. Let’s go outside and get a breath of air.’
‘But you will miss the dancing,’ she declared. ‘And you are wearing a heavy cloak. No wonder you are hot. Take it off.’
He shook his head. ‘No; I prefer to keep my cloak on. And it is not that which make me hot. It is the smoke and the closeness of the atmosphere. As for the dancing, I can watch it again later.’ Standing up, he took her gently by the arm and added, ‘Come! I pray you humour me. Let us go outside for a while and look at the stars.’
Assuming that he wanted to get over the first fences of making love to her, she gave him a roguish smile and let him lead her from the cave. Outside it was broad moonlight, and he saw with relief that no one was about. Still holding her arm he guided her over to one side where a great hump of rock threw a deep shadow. Halting there he turned, faced her, and said:
‘Señorita, I have greatly enjoyed meeting you; but I must now tell you the real purpose of my visit. I have come here to discuss an urgent matter with Sanchez Ferrer.’
For a moment she did not
reply; then she asked, ‘Are you then a friend of his?’
De Quesnoy nodded, and lied, ‘Yes; a most intimate friend. Please take me to him without delay.’
By way of answer she drew back her head, then like a striking cobra spat straight into his face.
13
A strange partnership
La Torcera’s spittle had barely landed on de Quesnoy’s chin when both his hands shot out. They seized her wrists and brought them together with a smack in front of her. A second later he had put into practice a trick that he had taught his troops in North Africa for use when alone with a prisoner whom they suspected had a knife concealed in his robes. With a swift move of his right hand, before she had a chance to pull her wrists apart, he had grasped them both, then with his left hand he imprisoned both her thumbs.
Too late she made a violent effort to pull away from him. She was now as much his prisoner as if with his left hand he had a firm grip on a chain by which she was handcuffed to him; and his right hand was free. His grey eyes were blazing. Lifting his hand, he snarled:
‘You bitch! Had you been a man I would have half-killed you for that.’
Pulling his revolver from under his cloak he jabbed it into her stomach, half-winding her. As she gave a gasp and almost doubled up, he drew it back, held it in front of her face, and snapped:
‘This is loaded. Give one cry and you will never dance again.’
Panting, and with the tears now streaming down her coffee-coloured cheeks, she straightened herself. For a moment they stared at one another in silence, then he said:
‘I came here to speak with Sanchez. Had you not behaved like a fool I would have paid you well for taking me to him. As things are you’ll get no reward but will take me to him just the same.’
Vendetta in Spain Page 22
