Indiscretion (11 page)

At that point Mercedes gave up her petulant silence, determined that her mission would not be ignored. ‘Oh, Esmeralda, don't be so dramatic. Anyhow, we're getting off the point. What about the Gulinar heirloom? Those jewels were to be mine, when I marry, weren't they,
Mamá
?'

‘
Si, querida
,' Eugenia answered her daughter, her gaze steady on Alexandra as she did so. ‘By rights, they should go to Mercedes and remain in the family, here on Spanish soil, to be passed down to generations of pure Spanish nobility, not carted back to England to be lost among whatever inferior baubles and trinkets you might possess.'

Disconcerted, Alexandra bit down an angry response. Mercedes had made no mention that the jewels were promised to her during the angry tirade upstairs.

Ramón gave a sugar-sweet smile. ‘Mercedes, surely you don't need the Gulinar jewels to confirm that you're a little princess. We all know that already.'

‘
Very
funny, Ramón,' snapped Mercedes. ‘And I suppose you're on
her
side, boasting about her secret costume for the ball, making it sound as if she's going to be the best dressed there.' Her voice became increasingly shrill, her cheeks reddening in frustration, making her appear even more like a painted figurine.

‘You exaggerate, as usual, Mercedes.' Ramón took a piece of bread and broke it in two.

‘If Salvador were here, he'd be on my side.'

‘If Salvador were here, then the
Duquesa
would be too, most likely, and you wouldn't be squeaking your complaint so loudly then,' Ramón retorted. ‘Besides, what makes you so sure that you were to have the Gulinar jewels? How strange that our grandmother has never made that public knowledge.'

‘Not everything is public knowledge in this house,' said Eugenia coldly.

Ramón cocked an eyebrow. ‘How very true,
Tía
.'

Alexandra felt Esmeralda shift uneasily in her chair.

‘The
Duquesa
and I have an understanding,' Doña Eugenia continued. ‘I do not expect you to understand, Ramón. You don't have the ear of the
Duquesa
, far from it. And you, my dear,' she said, turning her hard, black eyes on Alexandra, ‘if you think you can waltz in here like an upstart and pull the wool over your grandmother's eyes …'

‘That's enough. Leave her alone,
Tía
,' Ramón shot Eugenia a challenging look. ‘Alexandra's come all the way from England to meet us, her family. What kind of a welcome is this? Can't we, for once, at least give the illusion that we
are
a family?'

‘I'm under no illusions, my boy. But when have you ever wanted to be part of this family? You spend more time outside the hacienda than in it. Lord knows what you do or where you go. All I know is you're never around when you're needed.'

‘What am I needed for,
Tía
? To make this house even more miserable than it already is?' His voice was quiet but his eyes loudly proclaimed his bitterness.

‘What's this? First Esmeralda, and now you. Neither of you would have piped up with such talk before your cousin came to stay.
El ruin pajarillo, descubra su nidillo
, the wretched bird fouls its own nest.'

Alexandra looked over at her father, bemused, wondering why he wasn't putting an end to this stream of relentless spite. Don Alonso caught her eye and, as if guilt had stirred him out of his apathetic silence, turned to his wife.

‘Please my dear. Is all this unpleasantness really necessary? Ramón is right, we're hardly behaving like a family.'

‘And what kind of family would you have us be, Alonso? Like an English one?' Doña Eugenia's expression changed from one of haughty distain to something nastier. ‘Perhaps you'd prefer it if I were like your English wife? At least a Spanish wife stays to raise her child herself and doesn't make a fool of her husband—'

‘Eugenia!' Alonso, finally jolted out of his lethargy, roared at his wife.

What Don Alonso may or may not have said at this point was not to be heard, however, as everyone became suddenly aware of the
Duquesa
, who stood glowering in the doorway.

Doña Eugenia's eyes rounded and alarm flashed across her face. ‘
Mamá
, we did not expect you for dinner. We thought you were staying in your room tonight,' she uttered, half rising from her chair.

‘Sit down, Eugenia, and tell me how I could possibly be expected to stay in my room with all this commotion going on under my roof. What is the meaning of this unearthly noise? I could hear you halfway down the corridor.'

‘Sorry you've been disturbed,
Mamá
,' said Don Alonso, regaining his composure. ‘There was just a little … misunderstanding …' He gave an apologetic wave of his hand.

‘
Misunderstanding
?' The
Duquesa
lifted an enquiring eyebrow, her slate-grey eyes fixed upon her son with a freezing stare.

‘Grandmother, had I realized my acceptance of your gift would cause such trouble, I would have insisted you kept it,' interjected Alexandra, looking anxiously at the matriarch who stood there motionless, like the statue of wrath.

‘And I would have tolerated no such thing,' the
Duquesa
said in a low voice, but her tone was fierce.

‘But if they were intended for Mercedes …'

Doña Eugenia looked uncomfortable. ‘I was only explaining that there may have been a misunderstanding about the Gulinar jewels. You might have lent them to Alexandra for this special occasion …'

The
Duquesa
's gaze now fell frostily on her daughter-in-law. ‘No explanations are needed, Eugenia. There is no misunderstanding. The Princess Gulinar jewels are mine to give to whomever I please.'

‘But,
Mamá
, Mercedes …' Doña Eugenia began to object.

‘Mercedes has nothing to do with it. I will not have my decision questioned on this matter and that is all I have to say.' The
Duquesa
's stare swept over her small audience before she sailed out.

The atmosphere pulsed in the room for several moments after Doña María Dolores had gone. Dinner was now served in complete silence. Doña Eugenia pursed her lips and Mercedes, though wide-eyed with indignation, knew better than to speak. Instead, she went into a pouting sulk and was motioned by her mother to finish up her paella before it became cold.

‘Well, that seems to have settled things,' said Ramón sardonically, ignoring Doña Eugenia's glare. ‘Perhaps we can continue to eat now. All this excitement has made me ravenous.' He sent Alexandra a reassuring wink as he passed the bread but her appetite had vanished.

So this is the family I have been curious about for so long
, Alexandra thought gloomily. She could swallow neither another mouthful of food nor her desperate disappointment. How different was the reality compared to her wistful imaginings. She realized now how deep-seated her longing for a family had been: the father she could have relied upon, the companionship of a sister she might have confided in, even a stepmother who might have come to love her as her own.
The reality of this woman's contempt, and the other girl's antipathy towards her, felt utterly horrendous.

She thought back to the
Duquesa
's disparaging remark at breakfast that morning about Lola, Ramón's mother. Having seen first-hand the autocratic way her grandmother treated her family, she could now understand why her mother had felt so oppressed. She could imagine exactly how her grandmother must have been cold to Vanessa, regardless of the
Duquesa
's current warmth towards her granddaughter. Undercurrents of animosity that rippled through the family were undeniable. Aunt Geraldine may have been right after all: it was pure folly to have come to Spain.

Alexandra retreated into her own world for a while, grateful to be ignored, even though Ramón sporadically tried to engage her in conversation.

For the rest of dinner, no further mention was made of Princess Gulinar's jewels. The conversation presently moved on to a new subject. Apparently, the condition of Marujita's sick child was worsening by the day. That name again. It had cropped up that morning at breakfast. Alexandra wondered who Marujita was and why everyone was so concerned about the young woman and her offspring.
She must be some close friend of the family
, she guessed.

As she had barely spoken a word since the
Duquesa
left, nobody paid much attention to Alexandra. Even Ramón seemed to forget she was there, not bothering to fill her in on the background to this new piece of gossip, though he too said little, perhaps reluctant to stumble into another altercation with his aunt. For her part, Alexandra was only half listening to the conversation, too preoccupied by the unsavoury argument at the start of dinner.

She foresaw that her stay at El Pavón would probably not be without similar incident, and wondered if it would be preferable to return to London before any further unpleasantness occurred. The old woman on the train had sown a seed of doubt about the family and now one certainty had taken root: Mercedes and Eugenia, each in her own way, would be difficult, to say the least. Still, she was not
one to give up at the first obstacle; quite the reverse, she had always been up for a challenge. She had never hesitated to fight for her beliefs, or for whatever she needed. Had the issue taken place in the morning, before she had made better acquaintance with her grandmother, she would have had no hesitation: she would not have chosen to put up with such a suffocating and confrontational atmosphere. Except, the very ‘dragon' that everybody feared had charmed her, and then stood up for her. An unfamiliar feeling was growing in her heart: a mixture of warmth and tenderness towards her grandmother, unknown to her until then.

Alexandra was distracted by the sound of chairs being drawn back. Dinner was over. On her way to the door, Doña Eugenia continued her monologue for anyone who might care to listen.

‘
Mamá
ought to have been firmer right from the start and not let the situation reach this point. There's nothing to prove that the girl is telling the truth and, even if she were, she wouldn't be the first to find herself in such a position. This sort of thing is quite common among those people. Of course, she is very young. Still, if it had been up to me, the problem of this indiscretion would have been solved without all this fuss. A few gold coins slipped in the right direction and matters would've been settled. Salvador's too soft.'

Salvador's name jerked Alexandra out of the haze of her own thoughts. What were they talking about now? And what did Salvador have to do with it? Whoever the girl was, another piece of intrigue seemed to be at work at El Pavón. A now familiar wave of uneasiness gripped Alexandra as she went pensively up to her room.

A
lexandra glimpsed Marujita for the first time on the day of the masked ball. It had been nearly a week since she'd arrived at the hacienda and she had taken to having a daily walk through the grounds. It was a relief to get away from the oppressive mood of the place when the family were around and often she went out with her notebook to scribble down ideas for her novel.

Following her usual route along the avenue of sycamores, she reached the clearing where she'd stopped a couple of days before to admire the landscape. From the clearing, by chance, she turned into one of the narrow tracks, alongside the lemon orchard, that ran on from the shaded walk. Further on, the sunken path opened out into a secluded private garden.

There, hidden away amidst a tumbling golden cascade of mimosa, was a single-storey cottage of white stone with turquoise shutters. The doorway was ajar and a birdcage hung outside the open window. To the left, some distance away, surrounded by pomegranate and lemon trees, was a fountain, its steady warbling the only sound to disturb the tranquillity of this enchanting retreat.

Alexandra was peering at the cottage from behind a bushy shrub and did not see the girl immediately. She was sitting beside a basin, leaning over the edge, looking at her reflection in the mirrored surface. One of her hands was playing dreamily with the translucent water, letting it filter between her long, graceful fingers while with the other she stroked the big purring black cat that lay at her feet.

‘Marujita! Marujita! Where are you?' called a voice from inside the house. A stout woman appeared at the door. ‘Ah, there you are!
Siempre soñando
, always daydreaming. Come and help me hang out the washing.'

The girl turned. She drew herself up languidly, and reluctantly followed the matronly woman into the house, holding a bunch of Spanish jasmine under her nose as she did so. The black cat wagged its bushy tail and trailed after the young
gitana
, the girl carrying herself with a sensuality allied somehow with a fragile, almost adolescent grace. Alexandra had no doubt that for most men those looks, while unconventional, would be both bewitching and unforgettable. Marujita possessed a fiery beauty: long ebony hair, dusky, golden, satiny skin, a slightly aquiline nose and high cheekbones. Her jet-black, velvet eyes, beneath the smooth arc of perfect eyebrows, reflected a haughty arrogance matched by the provocative fullness of her lips.

A vague, troubled feeling crept over Alexandra once more, almost a dark presentiment, which had been her frequent companion since she arrived in Spain. So this was the infamous Marujita. Something about the girl made Alexandra sense danger. What had she just stumbled on? Slowly, apprehensively, she went back the way she'd come.

As she turned into the avenue of sycamores, the faint sound of voices made her stop in her tracks. This time, she heard a man in anger and the subdued, imploring tones of a youth. A shrill cry split the air. Without hesitation, Alexandra hurried towards the orchard on the other side of the pomegranate trees, from where the cry had come.

She soon spotted them, at the base of one of the trees.

‘I think you filthy
gitanos
must enjoy being beaten. Do you think I don't know what you're always up to?'

Fernando Lopez, the blond-headed steward Alexandra had disliked from the moment she had seen him on that first morning at El Pavón, was holding his victim by the ear, his face twisted in a
cruel sneer. He was on the verge of striking the boy again with his fist when he saw Alexandra. Immediately he let go of the boy, who could not have been older than fourteen. Gritting her teeth, Alexandra approached the pair, making a determined effort to keep her temper. She bent down and placed a protective arm around the lad.

‘What do you think you're doing?' she hissed, finding it difficult to contain the outrage in her voice. ‘Aren't you ashamed of yourself?'

The steward's eyes darkened. He attempted a smile but only managed a grimace.

‘You don't understand,
señorita
,' he said sharply. ‘These gypsies, they're a cursed people, they bring bad luck and this one will only learn from a beating. I'd shop him to the authorities but unfortunately the Count and the
Duquesa
choose to protect this lot. It's not the first time I've caught the dirty little
ratero
stealing and I—'

‘Even if he did steal,' Alexandra cut in, her eyes flashing, ‘no offence gives you the right to carry on so contemptibly. I don't know what rules govern this estate but in England you'd be dismissed for far less.'

The youth was huddling by a tree, his swollen and bleeding face rendered almost unrecognizable by the blows. Looking more closely, she saw that he was one of the stable boys she'd noticed working with old Miguel, the head gardener and stableman.

‘Go and fetch help,' she ordered curtly. ‘We'll take him to the house.'

Again, the smile from Lopez did not reach his eyes.‘
No te preocupes
, don't worry yourself. Let me deal with this. I'll take him to his family. They live on this land, not far from here. Besides, as I said before, Pablo is a bad lad and it's not the first time he's been in trouble.'

‘Very well, I'll accompany you then.'

‘That won't be necessary, Doña Alexandra,' Lopez replied, and made as if to start hauling the boy to his feet. ‘I wouldn't want to put you to any more trouble.'

‘But I insist,' she said dryly, glancing at Pablo, who was still cowering on the ground.

The estate manager paused, narrowing his eyes, and gave a grudging nod. ‘Just as you wish,
señorita
.'

Alexandra motioned to indicate that he should carry the boy. Reluctantly, Lopez bent down and picked up the lad, who groaned painfully.

They left the shade of the lemon trees, following the avenue of sycamores, and turned into the sunken lane, retracing Alexandra's footsteps. Finally, they stopped in front of the picturesque white cottage capped with mimosa.

‘Consuelo! Marujita!' Fernando Lopez called out in a surly voice.

The older of the two women appeared at the doorway, hands on hips.

‘Hey, not so loud,' she exclaimed, ‘you'll wake the baby.' Suddenly aware that the estate manager was carrying her son, she rushed to the boy, her hands to her mouth, muffling the cry that died on her lips.

‘Pablo, Pablo,
mi hijo
, my child! Santa María, how did he get into such a state?' she wailed.

Standing unnoticed, well behind Lopez, Alexandra couldn't make out the man's answer. Marujita ran up now, alarmed by her mother's cries. The trio and their burden disappeared inside the house and, for a moment, she wondered if she should wait to check that the steward made no further trouble for the boy but decided, given her intervention, that was unlikely. He wouldn't dare risk her anger again. For the second time that morning, Alexandra started back to El Pavón, her thoughts disturbed by what she'd seen.

Her relations with Fernando Lopez had already got off to a shaky start. She had no doubt this incident would damage them further. Lopez was clearly a cruel and dangerous man. He had seemed to enjoy hurting the boy; Alexandra had sensed that he was almost enacting some sick fantasy; she shivered. People like that ought to be locked up. She must have a word with her father.

* * *

As the afternoon slipped into early evening, Alexandra sat in her wide pedestal bath, immersed in the comforting warmth of the hot
water, freshly run by Sarita and scented with homemade flower oils. She played absent-mindedly with the soapy foam on her sponge. The time of the ball was growing closer and, with every minute, a strange excitement built up inside her. Only a few hours away from discovering the identity of the mysterious stranger, this so-called
Conde
, she had to admit she was intrigued. She closed her eyes. The recollection of the deep tone of his voice sent a pleasant sensation rippling down her spine. Her writer's fantasy was conjuring up all sorts of situations for their imminent meeting.

Then something more than romantic fancy unsettled her, and the stranger from the church once more intruded into her thoughts. She could feel his soft grey gaze on her again, melancholy yet probing in a way that had stirred her inexplicably, and the prickling sensation in her spine intensified, moving lower, making her muscles clench deeper inside.

After wiping the wet sponge over her face, she opened her eyes. It was a shocking realization that no sooner had she set foot on Spanish soil than two men were occupying her fantasies. She had inherited her looks from her mother; perhaps she had inherited some wayward streak from her too, she wondered. Had she been so deprived of romance back in England that the attentions of both these strangers had made her lose control? After all, Latin men were famous for their effusive, flamboyantly romantic ways.
Silly girl
, she chided herself,
you're acting like an unsophisticated teenager.

A knock on the door startled her. She rose, dripping, from her bath, wrapped herself hastily in a large pink towel and went to answer it. Standing in the doorway was Agustina, her grandmother's chambermaid.

‘Her Grace the
Duquesa
has sent me to help you with your costume.'

‘How kind of Grandmother,' said Alexandra. ‘You've come at the right time, I couldn't possibly have managed my hair by myself,' she smiled.

The maid laughed. ‘I should think not! Agustina will handle it.'

Alexandra had seen Agustina on the first day when the housekeeper had given Doña María Dolores her medicine, and often after that in the dark corridors of the house, but she had never paid much attention to her. She was a matronly woman in her fifties, handsome, with the golden-brown skin and large dark eyes so typical of the women of her country. Agustina had undoubtedly been a great beauty in her youth. Her hair, black and shiny like a raven's wing, was strewn with a scattering of silver threads and was drawn back into a large chignon, held at the nape of her neck by a net and a wide tortoiseshell comb. Her black frock was of heavy silk that rustled when she moved; a stiff white collar and a starched apron trimmed with lace brightened up the rather austere outfit. She smiled frequently, as she was doing now, showing off two rows of perfectly straight white teeth. There was an intelligence in that face and Alexandra could well understand why her grandmother had appointed Agustina as her personal servant. She followed her to the dressing table and sat down.

‘I'm going to give your hair Agustina's special treatment,' the
duenna
said, picking up the brush and running her fingers through Alexandra's copper mane. ‘It will leave it so
sedoso
, silky and shiny, that all the women at the ball will be envious.'

Alexandra smiled and gave a docile nod, instantly warming to the older woman. ‘I'm in your hands, Agustina. I've never been to a masked ball,' she admitted. ‘It's very exciting. What a marvellous idea of my grandmother's.'

‘The masked ball has been a tradition at El Pavón since the days of Her Grace's late brother, the Count. She was still a young girl then,' explained Agustina, brushing Alexandra's hair energetically.

‘Is it held for any particular reason?' asked Alexandra, glancing up at the
duenna
in the mirror.

‘I was a child but my mother, who was in service here at the time, told me about it. In the old days, it was open house to all the European
nobleza
. The festivities lasted a whole week and ended with the masked ball at the house. At the back of the hacienda, at the other
end of the garden where the gypsy camp is now, the servants had their own celebrations. It was a sort of
feria
to honour spring and mark the end of the late orange harvest. Nowadays, only the great Spanish families are invited, along with artists and writers, and all sorts of distinguished types.' Agustina put down the brush. ‘As for the domestic staff, their festivities now take place later in the year, at the end of the grape season.'

‘When is that?' asked Alexandra. She moved over to the bed where the sumptuous costume of the sultana was laid out.

‘In the autumn, on the banks of the Guadalete. Ah, just to hear the guitars and castanets! You'd love it, I'm sure. Everyone takes part: women, children, masters and servants, even gypsies. Nobody sleeps much, as most of the night is spent singing and dancing. The gypsies fall on all the free food and drink given out for the occasion. The crafty ones hold their own fiestas during this season: weddings, christenings and the like. In my opinion, they're usually an excuse to cause chaos.'

‘If they are so troublesome, why does Grandmother allow them to camp on her property?'

‘They've been here for generations,' explained Agustina. ‘They were here before this house was built by your ancestors, though their camp used to be near where the horses are now kept. The
gitanos
always help out with the orange harvest. It's good money for them, and they know which side their bread is buttered.'

‘I've read a little about the gypsies in Spain and suppose it must be difficult for their kind in this country. It can't be easy being treated like second-class citizens and it must be hard to find work.'

Agustina shrugged. ‘The Franco government sees their people as undesirables. They're not the only ones. Freemasons, homosexuals, socialists, Marxists, Jews … they all get a hard time but they seem to survive somehow. The gypsies are a wily bunch, you see. If they're not tricking people out of their money, they're stealing it from them outright. Just look at Andalucía's
bandoleros
in the old days: gypsies, murderers and thieves, the lot of them. As they say,
Dime
con quien andas y te diré quién eres
, tell me who you go with, and I will tell you who you are. Mark my words, bad company seeks out bad company. El Tragabuches, that famous
bandolero
, he was a gypsy. And they say his father ate a newborn donkey.' She shook her head and muttered an oath.