Indiscretion

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Indiscretion Page 29

by Hannah Fielding


  There was electricity in the air; Alexandra could sense its undercurrents quivering in the atmosphere. Conversation was stilted. Doña María Dolores was courteously reserved, particularly with Don Felipe, in keeping to general topics, but Alexandra, who by now knew her well, was aware of a certain impatience in her manner. Doña Eugenia, her features fixed in a permanent artificial smile, unobtrusively observed her daughter and seemed rather worried. Mercedes had indeed lost her usual vivacity and was eating her paella in silence like a sulky child. Now and again, she would cast a stormy glance at the Marquesa, who, unconcerned, could not keep her eyes off Salvador. Her cascading laugh erupted every time the young man gave her the opportunity, filling the room with its characteristic tremolo, the inevitable effect of which was the irritation of most of those present. Don Alonso and Esmeralda hardly spoke and when they did it was fleeting. Only Ramón seemed completely at ease. As usual on such occasions, he had difficulty in keeping a straight face, and more than once tried to lighten the atmosphere by telling a joke that invariably fell on deaf ears.

  Alexandra could not say whether Salvador was aware of the awkwardness his guests had caused. He appeared uninterested in her, detached, exercising his duty as host. Or was it more than that? Not once did he look across the table at Alexandra; not once did their eyes meet. Could he not have spared her just one telling glance to show that he had been as moved as she by their passionate embrace that morning? She knew he was deliberately avoiding her again. Was he already regretting it?

  A tremor ran through her body as the memory of his touch suffused her mind. Alexandra ached for him, despite the coiled and remote air he was displaying tonight; but she was upset by his repeated determination to hurt her. She knew the powerful pain gnawing at her insides was jealousy and she was deeply ashamed of it. Still, she could not help herself.

  Looking at him now, sitting next to Doña Isabel, she had to admit they formed a very handsome couple and the Marquesa was certainly well-suited to him. They’d had a whirlwind romance and Alexandra reflected achingly that first love is often the strongest. Perhaps, in toying with Alexandra, Salvador had been merely salving an old wound, channelling his broken feelings for Doña Isabel into his purely physical attraction for Alexandra — or even Marujita, for that matter; playing with them both in an ultimately meaningless dalliance. Her heart gave a painful squeeze as she watched Doña Isabel murmur something to him and smile. There was an undeniable intimacy between the pair and it hurt to watch.

  The Marquesa was beautiful, rich and titled; above all, she belonged to his world, initiated to the ways and traditions of this exotic and flamboyant land. How could Alexandra possibly compete? That morning, she had been aware of a deep synchronized tuning between herself and Salvador, and she had thought she could make him happy; now she was not so sure. She was weary of this inscrutable dance, for which she didn’t know the steps, and in which she so often stumbled and fell.

  ‘Doña Alexandra, would you like to visit our bodegas in Puerto de Santa María next week?’ Don Felipe’s question reached her through the fog of her thoughts.

  ‘Er … yes, yes, of course,’ she heard herself answer absentmindedly.

  After having exchanged small talk with his hostess for decorum’s sake, the young torero had given his full attention to Alexandra. Unaware that her mind was elsewhere, he had set about telling her the history of the sherry industry in Spain, and particularly the role his family had played in developing it in this part of Andalucía, hence his invitation to Puerto de Santa María. But she had not been listening, absorbed as she was in her obsession.

  And now, suddenly, Alexandra was angry: angry with Salvador for ignoring her, with Doña Isabel for making her feel so ordinary and inadequate but, most of all, angry with herself for being such a fool. She was behaving like a mixed-up, gauche adolescent and she despised her own weakness in allowing the pair of them to sap her self-confidence in this way. Being in control of her thoughts and feelings had never been a problem in the past and yet, suddenly, she was assailed by all sorts of emotions that made her feel small and cheap. She would prove to Salvador he was not the only attractive man in the world and that it was so easy for her to do without his attentions.

  Turning to Don Felipe, she began to encourage his assiduity with renewed enthusiasm. She couldn’t be certain but she fancied she saw Salvador’s jaw tighten; she began to feel slightly better.

  After dinner they went into the drawing room to have coffee. The Duquesa had found the meal trying so she excused herself and retired for the evening. The older members of the family followed suit, while the others remained.

  Conversation centred on trivialities. Old José came in somewhat unsteadily, holding a heavy salver laden with cups of fine china and baroque silverware. Esmeralda rose to pour the coffee. Mercedes suggested a game of charades.

  ‘Charades, when we have a virtuoso among us?’ Ramón cried out, putting his hands to his chest in a dramatic gesture, pretending to be horrified. He turned to his cousin. ‘Alexandra, would you play the piano for us?’ Mischief danced in his eyes as he watched Doña Isabel stir uncomfortably in her seat, looking daggers at him.

  ‘I haven’t played seriously in years,’ Alexandra protested, feeling the colour in her cheeks.

  ‘Nonsense,’ Ramón went on. ‘I’ve heard you play several times in the afternoon when you thought no one was listening.’ Then, turning to the others, he added, ‘She’s a very talented young lady, you know.’

  ‘What a marvellous idea!’ Don Felipe said emphatically, crossing the room and holding out his hand to Alexandra with a flourish. ‘Please,’ he whispered huskily, ‘it would give me such pleasure to hear you play.’ She put her hand in his, rather embarrassed by this public display of effusive chivalry. He pressed it to his lips before leading her to the piano. She couldn’t help giving an inward smile at the thought of Salvador’s reaction.

  Don Felipe ran his fingers over the richly varnished surface and, before lifting the lid, turned to his host. ‘Will you permit me, Don Salvador?’ he asked in a sugary tone.

  Salvador, aloof and impassive as ever, nodded. ‘Go ahead, please,’ he said coolly, his eyes narrowing only slightly.

  The torero raised the lid slowly and lightly touched one of the ivory keys, then another and another. ‘It would give me much pleasure to hear you play,’ he repeated, turning to Alexandra, his velvety-black eyes caressing behind their curtain of dark lashes.

  ‘We would all love you to play for us,’ Esmeralda assured her, leaving no alternative to the others but to join in.

  ‘I’m really a mediocre musician,’ Alexandra told them with an apologetic little shrug as she seated herself on the satin-upholstered stool. However, she quickly set about sorting through the pile of music lying on top of the piano, picked out a sheet and placed it in front of her.

  She chose a familiar piece by Chopin. The rhythmic and somewhat rousing melody brought back childhood memories of when she was a young girl in long plaits with red ribbons, scampering happily over the wide expanses of Hyde Park, or through the dark woods of Kent where she sometimes went with her Aunt Geraldine to gather wild mushrooms and strawberries.

  As the first notes of the mazurka flooded the room, Alexandra noticed, out of the corner of her eye, that Salvador had left his armchair and moved across to lean against the mantelpiece, from where he had a perfect view of her. She could feel the intensity of his enigmatic gaze resting on her and was aware that it was the first time that evening he had so much as acknowledged her presence. Every now and again she allowed herself to glance up. His eyes held a silent hunger, his lovemaking unspoken in his every look.

  Alexandra congratulated herself on having chosen such a light piece. She had played it so often to entertain Aunt Geraldine during the long wintry evenings that her fingers now ran effortlessly over the keys. Otherwise, she would have faltered under Salvador’s powerful stare. Why did he have to make things so difficult? He was at it again, blowing hot and
cold, engaging in his fickle game of read-me-if-you-can.

  As Alexandra struck the last notes of the finale, her audience applauded enthusiastically.

  ‘Magnificent!’ Don Felipe exclaimed warmly. ‘Absolutely magnificent! Would you do us the honour of playing for us some more, Doña Alexandra, and will you permit me to choose something a little soulful this time?’ he asked as he flicked through the pile of music.

  ‘My dear Felipe, I’m sorry to drag you away from your entertainment,’ said Doña Isabel as she rose from the sofa, giving Alexandra no time to reply. ‘It’s been a long day. We mustn’t abuse our host’s hospitality.’ Her brother glared petulantly at her but she clearly wasn’t concerned, wanting to end the evening as quickly as possible. Tense and irritable-looking, her demeanour looked very different from the relaxed and laughing self she had displayed over dinner. The Marquesa bade her hosts goodnight, thanking them for their friendly and generous reception. She expressed her gratitude especially to Esmeralda for calling a doctor so promptly after she had injured herself that afternoon and for providing emergency supplies but her smile changed to one of contempt as she came up to Alexandra.

  ‘Thank you, my dear, it was kind of you to amuse us.’ Her condescension was horribly blatant. ‘Although, I always think those lightweight, easy pieces are perhaps best kept for the schoolroom.’

  ‘You mustn’t take any notice of my sister when she’s in this mood,’ the torero interjected hurriedly, casting a glare at Isabel. He took Alexandra’s hand and brushed her fingers lightly against his lips. ‘You played magically,’ he declared fervently, ‘truly magically! I hope you’ll do me the honour of playing for me again soon.’

  ‘It’s very kind of you to say so.’ Alexandra endeavoured to give a gracious smile, determined not to allow Doña Isabel the satisfaction of thinking that her spiteful words had hit home.

  ‘I will be in touch soon about the visit to our bodegas.’ Felipe dropped his voice a little and fixed her with one of his salacious looks, before turning to Salvador. ‘I have spent a most enjoyable evening, señor. You’re very lucky to have such talent in your family,’ he stated emphatically. Salvador acknowledged his comment with a nod and the shadow of a smile. His eyes flicked across to Alexandra but the expression in them was unreadable. ‘I’ll walk you to your car,’ he offered, giving Doña Isabel his arm. Together they strolled into the garden and Alexandra hurried up to her room without a word.

  * * *

  Alexandra woke up with a start, shuddering from an incoherent and confused nightmare in which gypsies were guests at a masked ball in a strange castle and a torero was chasing her into the dungeons. Her chest felt constricted. Panting, she reached for the lamp on the bedside table and turned it on. A pale shaft of light flooded the room. Dazed and half-asleep, her screams still echoing inside her head, she slid out of bed and staggered to the window. Outside, a crescent moon was faint in the half-light of morning and the first sounds of the dawn chorus had begun.

  Alexandra stepped out on to the small balcony. The distant accents of a string adagio trembled in the air. She strained her ears; the music was barely audible, its sad melody a sultry whisper in the silence. As she leaned over the balustrade, she saw light spilling out on to the terrace from the drawing room below. Who could be playing the violin at this hour?

  Alexandra went back into her room and glanced at the clock. Half past four. She wouldn’t get back to sleep now: the fresh early-morning air had caused her to feel wide awake. On impulse, she slipped on her dressing gown and crept down the staircase. By the time she reached the bottom, the music had stopped. Though the drawing-room door was shut, a weak bar of light shone underneath it. Alexandra moved forward and paused, her hand resting on the doorknob, uncertain whether or not to breach the privacy of the person on the other side. She opened the door but didn’t walk in.

  Straight away she saw Salvador. His back was to her and he was leaning against the frame of the open window, smoking quietly, gazing into space. His head shifted a little as the door creaked, but he didn’t turn.

  Alexandra stood on the threshold staring at him. He obviously hadn’t been to bed as he was still wearing the same clothes he’d worn at dinner, though he had shed his suit jacket and tie. She couldn’t help but admire the strong lines of his profile, his long, straight, masculine back and broad shoulders clearly visible beneath the white shirt. Suddenly she felt at a loss, not knowing whether to leave or what to say if she stayed.

  Salvador remained motionless for a few moments more, looking out into the budding morning. The cigarette in his hand was no more than a stub. After tossing it brusquely on to the grass outside, he turned at last.

  He was pale, his features drawn and his brow furrowed with fine horizontal lines that she didn’t remember noticing before. His eyes had the same glazed, desperate look they’d had on the night of the wake and his mouth was set in a thin, hard line. If there had been any residue of anger in her, it melted when she saw his expression. She ached to run to him, to take him in her arms and relieve him of his demons. But just as suddenly as she had felt that urge, she felt helpless again. Salvador, with his baffling silences and offhand behaviour, had built such high walls and barriers between them, so many insurmountable obstacles, that she stood there, paralysed. Once more, her own pride, and the fear of rebuff, left her tongue-tied.

  They stared at each other across the room. Salvador didn’t seem surprised by her presence. Nor did he seem to feel the awkwardness hanging so palpably in the room. Finally she found the courage to speak.

  ‘You never told me you played the violin,’ she said, unsteadily. ‘What a beautiful melody, I don’t think I’ve heard it before. Who’s the composer?’

  ‘He’s unknown,’ Salvador answered flatly, shutting the window and placing the violin in its case.

  What should she do? Standing there alone with him in the small hours, she had to find something to say, some way to ford this chasm, she told herself. But what was the use? The dark, impervious look on his face suggested that he was far from approachable.

  ‘Speak to me, Salvador,’ she said softly, instantly regretting those words the moment they left her lips.

  But he shook his head obstinately. ‘It will do no good,’ he sighed, without looking at her. ‘I’ve endlessly repeated all there is to say. I have nothing more to add.’ His tone was final, his eyes shuttered. Alexandra moved tentatively across the room and stood next to him as he put the violin case in a cupboard.

  ‘So we’re back to where we were … again?’ She took a deep breath. ‘But why then, all those times … what about the night at Ronda and this morning?’ she whispered, trying to get him to look at her, once more her deep-green irises searching his face for some clue.

  ‘They meant nothing.’ Salvador leant an arm on the cupboard door and ran the other hand through his unruly hair.

  ‘Nothing?’ Alexandra stared in disbelief.

  ‘Why must you always challenge me, Alexandra?’ He spoke without looking at her. ‘You’re a very beautiful woman. No hot-blooded man would be able to resist you. Can’t you see that?’

  He turned on her, his eyes blazing, and with his free hand pushed her firmly by the waist against the cupboard. She gasped, her pulse leaping. Their bodies were so close now that she could feel the heat radiating off him, his warm breath against her mouth, his eyes searing her own. It brought back to life all the yearning she had strived to keep under control. Her breasts were rising and falling unsteadily against his chest as his gaze travelled over her lips.

  ‘Don’t pretend you’re not aware of how provocative you are,’ he growled, his hold tightening on her waist. Alexandra’s pupils widened and he gave a bitter laugh. ‘Don Felipe could hardly keep his hands off you tonight.’ Scorn twisted his mouth but the look he gave her was sharp with tormented desire and some kind of deeper pain. He looked down at her flimsy dressing gown and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, his expression had become cold and aloof. He stepp
ed away from her. ‘The flesh is weak, Alexandra. Forgive me if I gave you the wrong impression.’

  His answer was so brusque and unexpected that Alexandra looked at him blankly, her heart slowly breaking. She shook her head. ‘You’re lying,’ she muttered, forcing back a sob.

  ‘Perhaps I am.’ Salvador met her accusing gaze impassively. ‘But that is my prerogative.’ His voice roughened. ‘You don’t look well. You should go to bed, get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.’ He crossed in front of her and briskly left the room.

  Trembling, her back still against the cupboard, she finally caved in and began to cry.

  CHAPTER 10

  Once in her room, Alexandra knew it was pointless to go back to bed. A soft, luminous brightness bathed the garden. Dawn burned through the trees at the edge of the hacienda and over the orange and lemon groves. The happy choir of birdsong had given way to the incessant hum of cicadas, heralding a scorching day. At this hour, the garden glowed with timeless enchantment. Alexandra wondered how many generations had stood at the same window, year after year, enjoying the tranquil view at daybreak, and would continue to do so for aeons to come. People would come and go but nature’s meticulous clock ticked on eternally, unchanging and immutable. She sighed. Much good it did her to philosophize.

  He can’t treat you like this, she thought. Where is your pride? The encounter with Salvador the previous night had wounded her in ways she could not begin to understand. Angry, but most of all hurt, she gave in to the wave of self-pity that swept over her. A bleak sense of desperation filled her heart; the memory of her mother’s abandonment surfaced with the pain of a wound being reopened. Desertion seemed fated to be her lot in life: first her mother, then her father, and now Salvador.

  Still, with Salvador she felt trapped in a hopeless situation and she was beginning to believe it was of her own making. Tears of humiliation welled in her eyes. She had been wrong, utterly wrong from the start. Salvador didn’t need her, let alone love her. He was physically attracted to her; that she could see. However, she had mistaken the drive of his libido for deeper feelings, conjured by her own fertile and romantic imagination. After all, it was common knowledge that sex drives were totally different, she told herself. A man’s was not only stronger but much more straightforward; certainly this was so with Salvador. Alexandra, like most young women of her age, had always been led to believe that sexual desire in a woman was mostly emotional, rather than physical; though if this were true, the frightening power of her own newly discovered needs and desires caused her even more confusion and guilt.

 

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