On top of this, Salvador had now made it perfectly clear that he considered her an argumentative and immature female who had obsessively thrown herself at him, and he would be much relieved if she kept out of his way, and yet …
There were times when she had been aware of a harmonious bond between them, as well as moments when he had vibrated with an intensity of feeling that equalled her own. Only yesterday he had displayed an ardour that belied his indifference. Still, she had to admit that, right from the start, her spells of happiness with Salvador had been made up of fleeting moments and were always punctuated by far longer bouts of aloofness or outbursts of anger on his part; and always by regret.
He had made it quite clear the first time they’d met, on the night of the masked ball, that she had no place in Spain. She should have taken his advice then and fled; but already she’d fallen under his spell, even back there on the terrace; she knew it now. The setting, the scenery, the atmosphere, the ambiguous personality of the man had all conspired to create a situation that appealed to the passionate and adventurous side of her nature.
She had blinkered herself, clutched at every cliché, wanting to believe in the big romance. Now she herself was captive of those same circumstances in which the heroines of her novels had so often found themselves, with all the pitfalls and dramas that made her own books bestsellers. How ironic … What a fool she’d been. Her anger rose again, and with it new resolve. I am a woman, not a child. I won’t run away. Besides, a deeper feeling had been triggered inside her and she could not ignore it now; it kept her here, waiting for something to happen that she could not understand yet. Time passed as she sat there in the sanctuary of her bedroom, lost in introspection, musing on how the events of the past few months had changed her.
The sun was up, a swollen golden globe above the treetops. Gradually, its warm rays crept into the room, banishing the purple hues of night and with them Alexandra’s sombre thoughts. She breathed in the morning air, trying to absorb some of its tranquillity. How invigorating it felt.
Alexandra shrugged; it was pointless to brood, she would dress and go for a walk. No doubt that would help untangle her emotions and clarify her confused thoughts. Perhaps there was a way for her and Salvador to be friends, if she could only set aside her romantic notions and become less sensitive to his mercurial ways. Besides, he’d always indulged in these childish moods so what was different this time?
She put on a pair of jeans and a white cotton blouse and slipped her book into her bag. Almost used to the Spanish sun by now, Alexandra decided against a hat. Missing breakfast was a good idea too, even if that meant breaking the sacrosanct ‘meals rule’. For once, she would be the elusive, moody one; it would teach Salvador a lesson. Then, perhaps, he would be loath to play silly games in the future.
There were charming corners of the hacienda Alexandra had not yet explored so she drifted down to the east side of the grounds. She turned into a pathway shaded by jacarandas and planes, where orchards and gardens extended on either side as far as the eye could see. Roses, wild jasmine and sweet-smelling herbs filled the morning with their aromatic scent.
The day was heating up; it was still quite early, but already the sun was blazing down, like most mornings in the south of Spain in late spring. There wasn’t a ghost of a breeze. Alexandra took her time winding her way through the exquisite gardens, edged with elegant cypress trees, often stopping to sit and read her book or scribble down a few notes in her notepad. After that, beyond the borders of the gardens, she walked for more than an hour, meandering back and forth across acres of fruit trees, soaking in the beauty of the light and heady fragrance of orange blossom in the air.
But she was becoming hot and weary. Maybe leaving her hat behind was not such a good idea after all, she thought, as she crossed an unshaded path and walked down the side of one of the apple orchards. She paused just long enough to catch her breath. This was a place to laze and abandon all idea of exercise. The air itself was persuasive, and it took an immeasurable amount of effort not to surrender to its wiles; but the walk was doing her good, clearing her mind of the shadows that often accumulate in the silent darkness of night. Indulging in a short siesta this afternoon would be just the thing to recuperate.
Soon, a little ahead on the right, the ground dropped slightly into a small grove. Through the foliage Alexandra noticed a tool shed, its walls covered in a huge crimson rambling rose, dazzling under the beating sun. Carefully, she made her way down the steep slope of red soil. The floor of the glade was covered in white blossoms that exhaled a tart fragrance as she walked. Spying an old bucket at the foot of a tree in a patch of shade, she sat down on it and leant against the tree trunk, watching a solitary puffy white cloud drift slowly into the distance. Except for the rasp of the cicadas, it was totally silent. A hawk, his wings spread wide, hung in the blue sky, gliding smoothly round and round until he too disappeared out of sight.
Alexandra was about to get up and resume her walk when she heard a rustling of leaves and the faint sound of muffled voices coming from the other side of the tool shed. She looked around in a panic, not knowing what to do. Eavesdropping was not a habit she wanted to acquire, but she was trapped. To get back on to the pathway or go deeper into the grove meant that she would have to come out into the open. Either way she would be seen and intuition told her that wasn’t a good idea.
‘This time there should be no accidents,’ said a woman’s voice. ‘The aim is to make her life unpleasant and force her to go back to England, not kill the girl.’
‘Leave it to me,’ snorted her partner.
Although they spoke in whispers, Alexandra could easily hear what was being said. Furthermore, she was in no doubt as to the identity of the pair. Clearly she had come upon a conversation not meant for her ears.
‘The last time you told me to leave it to you, a disaster almost happened. Don Salvador got involved and it was only by sheer luck you weren’t discovered,’ retorted Doña Eugenia icily.
‘Bah!’ the man’s laugh jarred against Alexandra’s ear. ‘That was all exaggerated. The young lady came to no harm, as far as I know.’
‘None of this concerns me,’ hissed her stepmother. ‘I am only warning you that should anything unfortunate happen, should somebody get hurt for any reason, you, and you alone, will suffer the consequences. This conversation never took place.’
‘Of course it didn’t,’ sneered the steward. ‘Perish the thought that the aristocracy should be seen to get their hands dirty!’ ‘Spare me your impertinent comments. If it wasn’t for me, you’d have been sent packing years ago. And I’ve made sure you’re well paid.’
‘Not that well,’ he retorted derisively. ‘But I’m not a greedy man. Perhaps you could let me have a little payment on account, to help me overcome any scruples I might have.’
‘Here, this is the last you’ll receive before the job’s done. Don’t waste it and, remember, be careful this time!’
After this, Alexandra heard Doña Eugenia hurrying off into the grove. Seconds later, Lopez appeared from behind the tool shed, making his way nonchalantly towards the pathway she had earlier ventured along. He stopped and pulled a wad of banknotes from his pocket. Breathless, she was suddenly aware that she was in full view; if he turned, she would be discovered. Lopez counted the money avidly before replacing it in his pocket. ‘Las brujas, bitches,’ he muttered under his breath but loud enough for her to hear. ‘Young, old, rich, poor … they’re bitches, the lot of ’em.’ Then he took a packet of cigarettes from the top pocket of his shirt. Lighting one, he drew a few puffs and then, to Alexandra’s relief, strolled off.
Still shaken, Alexandra pressed her fingers to her throbbing temples. Her head ached and she felt sick at heart. What was she to do now? Would anybody believe her story? Without proof that Lopez and Doña Eugenia were behind the arrow incident, it would be her word against her stepmother’s. It was obvious she didn’t stand a chance. If she said anything, the family would put it down
to her overactive imagination. Worse still, they might accuse her of maliciously trying to drive a wedge between her father and stepmother. Still, Alexandra refused to be beaten and had no intention of running. Had she been tempted to leave Spain after the previous evening’s episode with Salvador, now, more than ever, she was determined to stay.
Nevertheless, she knew she needed an ally at El Pavón, if only to have someone she could trust to watch her back. But for that she must tell her story, which meant making accusations. She would need to tread lightly.
Alexandra made her way back to the hacienda, mulling over the various members of the family. The first person to eliminate was Doña María Dolores. Strangely enough, she thought her grandmother would be the most likely person to lend a sympathetic ear without accusing her of spinning a tale, but she was loath to burden the old lady. She considered telling Salvador but instantly dismissed the idea. In taking him into her confidence, she would only be giving him proof that his fears for her safety had been well-founded all along, even if he’d been mistaken about those threatening her. It wasn’t la veganza de Calés of which she should be wary but her father’s second wife. Either way, Salvador would be perfectly within his rights to put her on the first plane to England and then he would have won. It was no use speaking to Esmeralda either. Alexandra was sure that, on this occasion, the young woman would have no qualms about going straight to her brother. Then there was Ramón. Of all the family, he had been by far the nicest but, in such a serious situation, she very much doubted he would be reliable.
So it would have to be Don Alonso. After all, it was his own wife hatching plots, his own daughter in peril. Wasn’t a father the most natural and obvious protector? Hadn’t Alexandra every right to call on his support? She didn’t believe he could have been involved in the shenanigans, even slightly. In fact, she was convinced he had not the barest inkling of what was going on. It was true, since her arrival in Spain, that he had not given her much of his time or attention; he had so often been away and, whenever he was present at mealtimes, he spoke little and usually took the first opportunity to hole himself up in another part of the house. He was weak, and for a quiet life would let his wife have her own way more often than not. Nevertheless, Alexandra was convinced that he loved her deeply and was incapable of being party to such malevolent games.
Alexandra reached the house just in time to change for lunch. Everyone was present at the dining table except for Salvador, which didn’t surprise her. She managed to get through the meal without manifesting any change in her behaviour and avoided looking at her stepmother in case her eyes gave her away.
Immediately afterwards, when everyone had retired for their siesta, Alexandra went looking for Don Alonso. During the afternoon usually he shut himself away, either in his office when he had letters to write, or in the library, where he most of the time remained until dinner, reading enormous old history books. She found him there, sitting in one of the large wing-backed chairs, engrossed in a great leatherbound volume. His face lit up. ‘Ah, Alexandra!’ He seemed truly happy to see her. ‘Are you looking for a book?’
‘No, Papá, it’s you I was looking for,’ she said, coming straight to the point.
‘I see.’ He smiled and then peered more closely at her. ‘You seem upset,’ he remarked. ‘What can I do for my little girl?’
Encouraged by his tone, Alexandra relaxed.
‘Papá,’ she said, seating herself on a leather pouffe at his feet, ‘there’s something unpleasant I need to tell you but I don’t know quite where to start.’
‘You must start at the beginning,’ he told her gently, taking off his spectacles and shutting the tome on his lap.
Alexandra hesitated a few moments more. Then, choosing her words with care, she told her father what she had heard. She related the incident of the arrow and described how since her arrival she had felt on several occasions that she was being watched.
Don Alonso listened silently, his elbows on the arm of the chair. A look of shock gradually gave way to confusion and concern. When she had finished, he passed a hand over his face.
‘Are you sure you didn’t misunderstand what you overheard?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘Absolutely not. I could hear every word they said.’
Alonso frowned and for a moment said nothing. Then he let out a deep sigh and gazed bleakly at his daughter. ‘Eugenia has always been jealous of Vanessa, even the memory of her. She knew how much your mother meant to me, I think it was always plain to see. And because of that, she was always going to be threatened by you too … my pretty eldest daughter, Vanessa’s daughter, stealing the show from Mercedes. I suspected she was up to something but didn’t think she would go to these lengths.’
‘I felt her animosity from the first moment she laid eyes on me. I showed respect and courtesy towards her when I arrived but she seemed determined to provoke me from the start.’ Alexandra drew her feet up on the edge of the pouffe and hugged her knees tightly. ‘I don’t know if there’s any other way I could have behaved with her, played it differently …’
‘Dear child, you must understand that my wife decided long ago that Mercedes would marry Salvador. Your sister is in love with him and, as far as I can see, he isn’t entirely indifferent to her. But my mother, who has always taken it upon herself to organize our lives as she sees fit, has decided otherwise. You must have realized she has taken a great liking to you. In her opinion, you’re the only member of the family suitable to support the heir of El Pavón in the running of the estate. Mother is a strong and wilful woman, and has always had her own way … and that, I’m afraid, is at the root of all the trouble. You’ve been caught up in family politics but I never thought—’
‘Family politics… is that all it is to you?’ Alexandra said vehemently, cutting him off, ‘All this because “the heir of El Pavón” needs a suitable wife? I suppose, in your despotic and reactionary world, this behaviour seems quite normal to you.’
Her anger had been building gradually and now was ready to burst. On what grounds did these people imagine they could scheme, plot and meddle in her private affairs? What gave them the supreme right to manipulate her life, just as Salvador was always doing, pulling strings as though she were a puppet with no say in the matter?
Don Alonso sighed again. ‘No, no, you misunderstand me, querida. Though I know Eugenia can be difficult and fiercely protective of Mercedes, I didn’t imagine she would try to scare you like this …’ Once more he looked pensive. ‘It seems more likely that the plan was Lopez’s.’
Alexandra was nearly bursting with exasperation at her father’s refusal to grasp the situation. He was clearly so under his wife’s thumb that he was incapable of admitting that Eugenia would go to any lengths to scare her, and certainly not on her own. She shook her head incredulously. ‘Papá, can’t you see what’s going on under your nose?’
The emotion in her voice made him look up. ‘I can understand your anger,’ he said, his gaze resting on her face. ‘Eugenia and my mother have always fought a silent battle for supremacy as far as El Pavón is concerned, and Salvador being its heir …’ He paused, fumbling for the explanation that seemed to be eluding him. ‘I know that our ways are often strange …’
‘Strange?’ she retorted, jumping from her seat. ‘I can see why Mamá couldn’t bear to live like this. Is it also part of your “ways” to indulge in ridiculously underhand and threatening behaviour to get what you want? All this has nothing to do with the traditions of your country but with the dictatorial and downright ruthless nature of certain members of this family.’
She was shaking now, mutiny etched on every feature. ‘I don’t know what folly made me come here in the first place,’ she cried out, her hands clenched. ‘But I won’t be threatened and manipulated into leaving until I’m ready to go. And I will certainly not play into the hands of my stepmother, my grandmother, or anyone else for that matter. I’ll …’
‘Gently does it, my child, gently does
it,’ whispered Don Alonso, raising his hands, whether in an attempt to pacify his daughter or to fend her off, she didn’t know. ‘This is a delicate matter that needs much thought and tact,’ he added calmly, though his brow was now furrowed. ‘Leave it to me, I’ll deal with it. From now on you’ll have nothing more to fear from your stepmother, I promise, and even less from that scoundrel, Lopez. I know that life has been difficult for you at El Pavón … we’re not an easy family to live with.’ He paused. ‘Perhaps it would be worth your while considering a return to England if being here is making you unhappy. Let things blow over a bit.’
Alexandra felt as though she’d received a cold shower. Biting back the retort that quivered on the tip of her tongue, she shook her head mutely. She should have known this would be his reaction. Her father had always been weak and, in this instance, she had no doubt, the tide would be too strong for him to fight. The only time he made a stand for himself had been when he’d married her mother, and look how that ended. Alexandra had to face up to it; she was on her own. She managed a pale smile but couldn’t hide the sadness in her eyes.
Her father’s expression held sadness too, she noticed. Did he realize he had hurt her? Maybe, but it would make no difference in the end. She had no doubt he had difficulty imagining his daughter settling in Spain; after all, Vanessa hadn’t managed to do so and he’d repeatedly told Alexandra she reminded him of her mother, the only woman he’d ever loved. It was plain that her father thought it best if she left and that Mercedes, despite her immaturity, would make a perfectly good wife for Salvador.
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