From time to time, Alexandra would pause to watch the blacksmiths at work, or to admire the weavers as they dextrously spun their gaudy but nonetheless spectacular shawls. She would stop at a stall to buy a few olives, nuts or the long sausages stuffed with peppers of which Doña Inés was so fond. It was a poetic setting, one that was always changing. Sometimes it seemed romantic and reflective, other times demanding and provocative, but always satisfying. Then, after her long walk, she would come back exhausted but fulfilled to the peace of the hacienda at the top of the hill, feeling as if she were cocooned from the rest of the world.
In spite of all this, Alexandra was conscious that she had acted rashly and unreasonably in accepting Don Felipe’s invitation. As the days went by, she was increasingly aware of her compromising situation, an unforgivable indiscretion in the eyes of Spanish society. Certainly no unmarried young lady, aristocrat or not, would think of embarking on such an adventure. She knew that she enjoyed unusual latitude as a foreigner, and perhaps that was why the more cosmopolitan Doña Inés and Don Felipe encouraged her to stay, but there were certainly limits to the tolerance of most of the traditional people here, and she suspected she was coming close to crossing that boundary.
Several times during the course of the month she had thought about going back to England, though the prospect of taking up her old life — and of facing Ashley again — became less and less appealing as time went by. But her sojourn had lasted longer than she’d thought, and she didn’t want to overstay her welcome at the Hacienda Hernandez.
When, on one occasion, she had voiced her thoughts about leaving, Don Felipe had assumed an injured expression. ‘Has anyone harmed you? Have I offended you in some way?’
She had retracted her proposal laughingly. Of course, nothing the torero had done had caused the slightest offence. Never during her stay had he been anything other than courteous and respectful, avoiding the slightest word or gesture that might have made her uneasy or tarnished her reputation in any way and, for that, Alexandra was grateful. Now and again, when Doña Inés was out of earshot, he would try tactfully to steer the conversation towards more intimate subjects, but she had always managed to evade them astutely without hurting him and Don Felipe, with his customary consideration and tact, had never persisted.
Every time the subject of her departure had arisen, Doña Inés too had found convincing words that took away her qualms. ‘Really, Doña Alexandra, you’re simply doing necessary research for your novel. Plus, you’re my companion, and a wonderful one at that. What could anyone object to?’ Finally, with Don Felipe’s help, she had managed to persuade Alexandra to postpone her travelling, at least until after the Whit Sunday bullfight.
So Alexandra stayed on. She loved this sun-baked country and its talkative people and had even begun to understand something of its strange traditions, which previously she had found distasteful and sometimes barbaric. Above all, though, if she were honest with herself, it was the thought of Salvador not being far away that had led her to stay so long in Granada. She knew he often came down to the city for his work. Despite the fact that she had left El Pavón largely to escape her feelings for him, deep down she hoped that by some fortuitous twist of fate she would bump into him at a bend in a narrow street during one of her frequent strolls. So she dreamed.
She dreamed and wrote, wrote and dreamed. Because she had now experienced for herself each word of love, each moment of fear, each sigh she described, with Salvador the hero and she the heroine, Alexandra’s characters came to life. They throbbed with a new vitality and her novel was redolent with the flavour of authenticity — something she had never quite achieved before.
But now today, suddenly, events had taken an unexpected and complicated turn. That morning, Don Felipe had proposed. It came out of the blue, while they were walking in the garden. Unprepared for such a bombshell, Alexandra had been at a loss for words. He had assumed her silence signified consent.
‘I’ve known that I wanted you for my wife since the first time I saw you. You’re exquisite, querida, and no man can look at you without wanting to make you his. My life without you by my side is impossible to imagine. You’ve been happy here too, I’m sure. I will make you the envied head of a new dynasty. Come with me tomorrow, we’ll take a trip to my ganaderia. What plans we shall make!’
Regaining her self-control, Alexandra had protested, trying to clarify the misunderstanding, but he had not wanted to hear.
‘Shush, querida,’ he’d whispered, placing his fingers lightly on her lips, his black, fiery eyes boring into hers insistently, ‘not a word until after the corrida. They always say, never put a matador off his stride or he may be gored in the next. You only have forty-eight hours until the corrida, mi princesa. We will announce our happy news at the party I’ll be giving in your honour, Alexandra.’
Now, a few hours later, Alexandra was standing at the window of her bedroom, studying the distant outline of the Sierras, lost in thought, as if those silent titans held the answer to her predicament. She sighed and turned away, moving to the table, where she began distractedly to tidy her papers. Why had she not managed to make her feelings clear to Don Felipe? In saying nothing, she had only managed to complicate matters. She felt ensnared in a sticky web and slightly ashamed at her part in the weaving of it. How on earth could she extricate herself?
Calm sense prevailed. Whatever she decided to do, it would have to wait until after Don Felipe’s performance in the arena. She would never forgive herself if something untoward were to happen on the day of the bullfight. One painful thought to distract him, or a feeling of devil-may-care recklessness, brought on by her refusal, could make all the difference between life and death, and she didn’t want that on her conscience. She dropped her pen on to the stack of neatened pages and gazed back at the far-off, enigmatic mountains. If the Devil was involved at all, she mused, he was still playing his pipe and laughing at how she was caught up in his tune.
She told herself that once the corrida was over, and she had cleared up the misunderstanding, she would go back to England and that would be an end to it.
* * *
That night, having pleaded a headache so that she didn’t have to face Don Felipe at dinner, Alexandra couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned in the big four-poster, a hundred disturbing thoughts milling about in her head. Finally, she gave up and climbed out of bed.
Putting on her dressing gown, she went downstairs. It would soon be dawn but perhaps some hot milk would help her sleep for a few hours. When she stepped into the kitchen, she saw Doña Inés standing by the open door to the terrace, sipping from a steaming glass. She turned her head and smiled from the doorway.
‘Alexandra. Can’t sleep, my dear?’
‘No, not really. You look like you’re having the same problem.’
‘I suffer from insomnia quite a bit these days and often come down to make myself some hot milk. Ignacio used to sweeten his with honey whenever he couldn’t sleep, but I prefer mine plain.’ She cast a look of gentle enquiry at Alexandra. ‘You missed dinner, querida, which won’t have helped. Here, let me make you some.’
‘Thank you, I was hoping it would do the trick too.’ Alexandra sat at the table and watched Doña Inés as she began heating milk on the stove.
‘Shall we move to the terrace?’ Doña Inés suggested when she’d finished. ‘The kitchen’s a little stuffy.’
Alexandra took the glass of frothy milk from her hand. ‘I’d love that, thank you.’
It was a smaller terrace than the one they usually used when they sat together in the evening after dinner. During the afternoon this was always a shady spot, a refuge from the heat of the kitchen. They sat down in a couple of easy chairs and put their glasses on the small, marble-topped table. Tired and overwrought, Alexandra was grateful for the softness of the light gleaming from a couple of wall-mounted, conch-shaped amber lamps.
The night was full of subtle enchantment, the air warm and sweet, throbbing with the s
ounds of insects and amphibians, and fragranced by spicy breezes wafting up from the flowers and shrubberies.
‘You really miss your husband, don’t you?’ Alexandra asked, as they settled back in their chairs.
Doña Inés smiled sadly. ‘Yes, I do. Ignacio and I had a wonderful marriage. I was devastated when he died.’ She paused, looking at Alexandra. ‘He was completely bankrupt, you know. I didn’t care, of course, being so consumed by grief. But I had nothing, no money to look after myself. If it hadn’t been for Felipe, I don’t know what I’d have done.’ She waved a hand at her surroundings. ‘He paid for all of this, and the house in Gibraltar too.’
‘He’s obviously a wonderful godson and cares about you a great deal.’
‘I’ll always be grateful to him,’ Doña Inés paused. ‘A lot of people don’t understand him, but he’s very loyal. Felipe is an intense young man and — how can I say it? — doesn’t always have control over his passions. He’s been like that since he was a boy.’
Alexandra met her direct gaze. ‘Yes, I can see that.’ She was tempted by the kindness in Doña Inés’ expression to tell her about Don Felipe’s proposal. Could she take the risk of confiding in his godmother? She seemed so wise and grounded. But what if she insisted on talking to him, or worse still, if she thought that Alexandra and her godson would make the perfect match? So far, confessing her troubles to other people had not brought Alexandra much luck, and had only made her feel more vulnerable. No, it would be better to handle this alone for now.
‘My godson was always an affectionate child … but complicated,’ Doña Inés went on, looking out over the garden. ‘Funnily enough, it was to me he often came when he was upset or angry, not his mother. Perhaps that’s why we have something of a special bond. He still values my advice, you know, even though he’s a grown man … charming, popular, courageous.’
‘The people’s hero,’ said Alexandra pensively, sipping her drink.
‘Yes, the people’s hero, but a hero with few real friends. I’m glad he’s found a friend in you, Alexandra.’ Doña Inés patted her arm gently, in a maternal way. It made her yearn to reach out to the older woman for comfort but she merely gave a wan smile.
The velvet sky was alive with stars and the moon’s milk-white sheen. Where its beams fell, the garden was almost as bright as day, although the shadows were blacker. Alexandra shivered in spite of the balmy air: the idea of light and dark had brought to mind the two facets of Don Felipe’s personality, an unsettling association. Feeling suddenly lost and lonely, she hugged herself.
‘Are you cold?’
Alexandra shook her head.
‘I’ll fetch you a shawl.’
‘No, really, I’m not cold. I think tiredness is finally catching up with me.’
The older woman nodded at Alexandra’s glass. ‘Why don’t you take that to bed with you while it’s still warm? I’ll stay here on the terrace for a bit.’
‘Yes, I think I’ll do that. Goodnight, Doña Inés.’
‘Goodnight, my child.’
As Alexandra padded back to the kitchen she glanced over her shoulder. There was a shadow of sadness on Doña Inés’ face as she continued to gaze into the night.
Once in her room, Alexandra stood on her balcony and drained the last drops of milk from her glass. If only things weren’t so complicated, she thought. If only she could untangle the knots inside her. Sighing, she breathed in the night air. She longed for a storm, with its cool rains to wash away this muggy night and, with it, the claustrophic feeling that everything was closing in on her. Finally, she crossed to her bed and crept under the sheets. She fell asleep as the first rays of the sun announced dawn.
Alexandra was awakened a few hours later by Juanita, the chambermaid, enquiring whether she would be joining Doña Inés for breakfast on the terrace or preferred to have it in her bedroom.
‘Thank you, Juanita. I’m not very hungry this morning,’ she confessed. ‘Would you please convey to Doña Inés my apologies and tell her I’ll be joining her on the terrace after my coffee.’
‘The señorita looks tired this morning,’ remarked the servant. ‘Did the señorita not sleep well?’
‘No, Juanita, not very well,’ Alexandra admitted with a faint smile.
‘If the señorita has a headache, Juanita can prepare for her a special herbal tea, a secret recipe known only to the gypsies.’
The mere mention of gypsies sent a nasty shiver down Alexandra’s spine and she looked sharply round at the chambermaid. ‘That’s a kind thought, Juanita, thank you, but it’s nothing a cup of coffee won’t cure. I’ll be back on my feet in no time,’ she replied, a little too hastily. Was it her disturbed mind playing fancy tricks on her, or did she detect a momentary flash of mockery in the young girl’s eyes as she left the room?
Juanita returned a few minutes later with a steaming pot of coffee and a bowl of fresh fruit on a tray as Alexandra was coming out of the bathroom, wrapped in her dressing gown. ‘Thank you, Juanita. Just put it down on the chest of drawers, there, by the window.’
Juanita did as she was bid but remained standing there, hesitant.
‘Yes?’ Alexandra prompted.
‘If the señorita pleases, I have a message to give her.’
Alexandra struggled to conceal the tension fraying at her nerves; she had a bad feeling about this. Picking up her brush she went to the mirror, avoiding the gaze of the young Spanish girl.
‘I’m listening,’ she said at last, brushing her hair vigorously.
‘Paquita wants to see you,’ announced Juanita.
Alexandra stiffened and drew a sharp breath. The strange fear that had lain buried inside her these past few weeks bubbled to the surface. Ever since her arrival in Granada she had been unconsciously waiting for something of this kind, a sign to show that the gypsies knew she hadn’t left Spain. Even so, the very name filled her with dread. How did the maid know Paquita? Alexandra had no doubt that the gypsies were feared by many, and their influence was presumably widespread among the peasant and servant classes. Previous encounters with the Romany fortune-teller flashed vividly through her mind and she tightened her grip on the brush to control the quivering of her hand. The best thing was to remain impassive and feign ignorance. Placing her brush on the dressing table, she coolly turned to face the girl. ‘I don’t seem to recall the name,’ she declared.
Juanita eyed her slyly. ‘But Paquita knows you well,’ she insisted. ‘You’re the señorita who used to live at El Pavón. I saw you there myself, with the gypsies on the night of the velatorio,’ she concluded defiantly.
‘Really, I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Alexandra maintained, without batting an eyelid. She never knew she had such capacity for lying, a trait she had always deplored in others. ‘And now I’d be grateful if you’d let me finish getting washed and dressed,’ she added, in a tone signifying the interview was over.
Juanita pulled a face and crossed to the door, her head high, swinging her hips nonchalantly. For a moment, Alexandra thought how seductive she looked despite the drab black dress, with that sensual beauty so like Marujita’s. At the doorway, Juanita turned round abruptly. ‘I must warn you that it’s disgracio, unlucky, to go against Paquita’s wishes,’ she taunted, spite gleaming in her eyes. ‘She will bring un millón de maldiciones, a million curses down upon you.’
Something snapped inside Alexandra’s head and a rush of heat burned her cheeks. Clenching her fists, she swore under her breath. ‘Tell your Paquita I’m not scared of her threats!’ she said vehemently. ‘Tell her as well,’ she went on in a colder voice, articulating each word clearly to put the girl in her place, ‘not only am I not afraid of her threats, but if she carries on bothering me like this, I’ll report her to the authorities and have her picked up.’
The Spanish girl’s fiery black eyes widened in surprise and then swept insolently over Alexandra, full of disdain. Then, turning on the balls of her feet, she strode out of the room, slamming the door
behind her.
Alone, Alexandra began to shake violently, Juanita’s threats ringing in her head. Now calm down, she told herself. You aren’t going to let a bunch of gypsies ruffle you this way. She sat down on the edge of the bed, her face buried in her hands, forcing herself to think positively. It was no time to be pathetic, she lectured herself, hysterically running off to somehow placate the old fortune-teller was the last thing she should do. A relaxed, constructive attitude was the only way to smooth those ripples her being in Spain had caused.
Her coffee had gone cold. She poured it into the sink, without having touched it, and glanced at the bronze clock on the bedside table. Discovering with horror how late it was, she hurried to wash and dress. Not only had she promised her hostess she would join her on the terrace once she had finished her coffee — which should have been almost an hour ago — but she had also agreed with Don Felipe the day before that he would show her around his ganaderia at half past ten. She had just a few minutes to finish getting ready before he arrived.
Downstairs, she found a message from Doña Inés saying that she’d had to make an urgent visit to her lawyer and apologizing for not being able to accompany Alexandra to the ganaderia. She would, however, make sure she joined them later at the Hacienda Herrera, where Don Felipe had invited them both to lunch.
Don Felipe was waiting for her on the terrace. He greeted her with his usual friendly smile, hands outstretched.‘Good morning, querida,’ he said as she came up to him. His brows drew together in a concerned frown. ‘I was worried, Juanita told me you’re unwell. Nothing serious, I hope?’
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