Indiscretion (28 page)

Don Felipe stood motionless, defying his opponent. He leant slightly forward until the last moment and then, just as the horns were about to strike the cape, he moved his arms slowly in a sweeping motion, pivoting lightly on the balls of his feet, causing the head and body of the bull to pass by him.

His
veronica
was greeted by enthusiastic shouts from the masses. It was plain to Alexandra that Don Felipe was the star of this lethal duel, in which man and beast confronted each other in a game of skill and death. She found herself curiously entranced by the sheer charisma of his performance. True, he didn't have the immediate effect on her that Salvador had. At that thought, she couldn't help but glance at the man sitting so closely in front of her. Only yesterday
those broad shoulders had towered over her and that muscular arm had pulled her to him for a kiss she could still feel on her mouth … Now it was the
Marquesa
who seemed to be delighting him with her winsome smiles and flashing eyes, clutching his arm at every charge of the bull, every gasp from the crowd.

Now the second fanfare resounded. The
picadores
, dressed in their short jackets, chamois leather trousers and wide
castoreno
hats, entered the arena astride their blindfolded horses. Alexandra wondered what sad fate awaited those poor, grotesque creatures equipped with padded mattresses strapped around their girths.

The
picador
, Miguel Pereda, sat motionless astride his mount, facing the bull. Suddenly, he drove his lance into the animal's neck and a large red stain spread across it. The beast charged once, twice and then, mad with rage, rushed brutally, horns down, towards its opponent. At this the horse reared up and staggered back on to its hind legs, neighing shrilly. The
picador
fell and the bull swept upon him in fury.

The cry that went up from the crowd seemed to Alexandra to be merely the expression of her own, which was caught in her throat. A terrible nausea swirled in the pit of her stomach and she would have left her seat, had she felt able to stand.

In a second, Don Felipe strode briskly over and was using his cape to keep the fierce creature from the fallen man. In one swift movement, the beast turned and charged right at him. Calmly, and majestically throwing out his chest, elbow bent, his eyes fastened on his adversary, the
matador
waited motionless for the assault, diverting it with a simple twisting of the hips before thrusting his
pic
victoriously at the last moment,
al quiebro
, into the bull's shoulder.

Mad with enthusiasm at the sight of such bold, hand-to-hand fighting, the crowd started to shout hysterically, throwing flowers, hats and handkerchiefs into the arena.

The clarions trumpeted a third time, announcing the third and final death match, the
tercio de la muerte
. Don Felipe, taking the sweeping scarlet
muleta
and the sword, went over to the grandstand to salute the President.

It was the first time Alexandra had seen the young man close up. On the night of the ball he'd been wearing a red mask that had screened part of his face. However, she had been too preoccupied with her mysterious ‘stranger' to take note of anybody else.

Don Felipe suddenly stopped in front of her, a brilliant smile lighting up his hard features. He peered at her through long, dark eyelashes that only partially concealed the smouldering look in his eyes. Against the blondness of his hair, his eyes appeared almost unnaturally black. He bowed low, then, his gaze becoming more intense, in a theatrical gesture he threw Alexandra his black velvet hat, thereby dedicating the bullfight to her. In a moment, he turned to face the danger alone, walking deliberately up to the bull, his sword hidden under the scarlet folds of his
muleta
.

Caught up in the whole drama and overflowing with emotion, Alexandra failed to notice the bleak expression on Salvador's face as he watched the
torero
's manoeuvres.

‘He's offered you his life as a gift,' whispered Ramón beside her, nodding at the velvet hat clutched in her lap. ‘It's the greatest homage a bullfighter can pay a woman and Don Felipe doesn't hand out his attentions lightly. Usually, he dedicates his fight to the whole arena.' Ramón paused and leaned further towards her. ‘And don't look now but I think his sister is none too pleased. The expression on her face could sour milk! Anyhow, tradition demands that at the end of the combat you give him back his hat with a gift inside it.'

Alexandra's eyes widened. It was intoxicating to be the centre of such attention from the
matador
, though inside she felt confusion warring with her rescued pride. She watched him stalk across the arena. Alexandra disliked seeing animals suffer; still, she couldn't help but follow the ceremony with fascination, holding her breath for this hero who waltzed with death.

Facing the bull, his right leg extended, arm outstretched, and holding his
muleta
low in his left hand, Don Felipe began his performance with the reckless courage that had made him famous, pushing bravery to the borders of suicide. Time and again he made
the scarlet cloth fly between left and right hand in a continuous passing motion. With scarcely perceptible movements of his body, he parried the repeated attacks of the furious creature, each time tracing quarter circles with the cape to dodge its sharp-ended horns.

Alexandra's hands were clenched. Fingernails cut cruelly into her palms but the spectacle in the arena gripped her so intensely that she did not notice the pain. Her attention was riveted on the brilliant figure of the
matador
, her heart beating wildly, and she felt a strange tingling run up and down her spine.

All of a sudden, Don Felipe flung the
muleta
back, completely uncovering his torso, which had as its only protection a shirt of such thin material that a pin could have pierced it easily. The exasperated beast rushed forward in frenzy and Alexandra noted with horror that only a hair's breadth separated the young man's chest from the cusped horns. Thinking he was done for, she buried her face in her shaking hands but Don Felipe was ready for him. Swift and dextrous, he struck the bull in the chest with the blade of his sword, which found its way smoothly to the creature's heart.

Covered in blood, the bull fell with a thunderous bellow that was drowned in the stamping of feet and cheers of joy from the crowd. Don Felipe had brought off the very difficult, notoriously dangerous and rarely seen manoeuvre, the
recibir
.

Under a rain of flowers and handkerchiefs, and to the hysterical ovation of the crowd, who were demanding that he be given the ears of his victim, Don Felipe went up to the grandstand, this time to reclaim his hat.

He walked slowly and with dignity, carrying his head high, his thin lips drawn into an almost cruel smile. For a fleeting moment, he made Alexandra feel uneasy. Yet, as this god of the arena, who had dedicated his bull to her, stood there before her, spotted with sand, sweat and blood, she was mesmerized.

Suddenly, she remembered Ramón's words: the gift to the
matador
. Her pulse throbbed furiously as she impulsively tore off a quirky-looking ring she'd worn since the day she had picked it up at a flea
market in London, and slipped it into the black hat, which she now returned to its owner.

The solemn
matador
nodded in gratitude. ‘From this day on, I will keep this ring close to my heart, in memory of the most beautiful and delicate being I've ever seen,' Don Felipe said, staring intently at her through the fan of his thick eyelashes.

Alexandra smiled nervously back at him but then found her gaze skidding over to Salvador. She sensed with some satisfaction that he looked uncomfortable. Motionless, his jaw was clenched and a little blue vein throbbed almost imperceptibly in his right temple. Was he showing signs of jealousy, she wondered momentarily? Was that an irritated look Isabel was casting in his direction? Then a fresh wave of exuberant shouting went up from the masses and her attention was drawn back to the show.

Already the mules were hauling the carcass out of the arena to the frenzied whistling of the crowd, while the
areneros
, armed with rakes, cleaned and smoothed the surface of the ground, throwing fresh sand on the splashes of blood.

The trumpet sounded once more, the red gates fell back with a crash and in rushed a fresh bull amidst a cloud of dust. But Alexandra had had enough: though this game fascinated her, she also found it somewhat repellent. Fight after fight would be played out in the same setting, the first act of a scenario where form and content are always the same, yet the outcome remains uncertain. Which of the two adversaries will die: man or beast?

Alexandra knew she would never again attend another bullfight.

There were six bullfights that afternoon: six fights and six killings. Alexandra had never in her life witnessed such monstrous butchery. After the last fight, led by Don Felipe with his habitual charisma, his delirious fans rushed into the arena. There, they hoisted their idol on to their shoulders, preparing to take him around the town to the ‘
Olés
' and cheers of the crowd.

Not once during the performance had Alexandra shared a single look with Salvador. Only now — when the maestro was but a tiny
gleaming speck, silhouetted in the light of the setting sun as they carried him out of the arena and everyone was rising from their seats — did her eyes meet those of her cousin. His regarded her with an ill-concealed irony that went straight to her heart. As Doña Isabel linked her arm firmly with his, Alexandra glared at Salvador furiously. She turned away and rejoined Don Vincente who, now a few seats away, was explaining to Ramón, with much gesticulation and a good deal of facial expressions, the many complexities and skills of his son's technique.

T
hat evening at the Casa de Acacias, the home of Doña Isabel on the outskirts of Ronda, a great fiesta was held to celebrate the fifth anniversary of Don Felipe's debut as a bullfighter.

After his resounding triumph at La Plaza de Toros that afternoon, some two hundred men and women had come to pay tribute. Their hostess, Doña Isabel, was every bit the glamorous mistress of ceremonies in her dress of purple crepe. The amethyst necklace that adorned her neck reflected in her eyes, making them look deeper and more mysterious. She stood on the landing, at the top of a flight of marble stairs, framed by Don Vincente and her brother, radiantly greeting her guests.

Alexandra arrived on Ramón's arm. She appeared almost ethereal in a floating gown of pale green voile, which revealed just the vaguest outline of her graceful form. Her lush chestnut hair, set off by two deep-yellow carnations, was piled high on her head, enhancing the purity of her profile and the elongated line of her delicate neck.

Don Felipe spotted her as soon as she stepped out of the car. Aware of his unabashed, scrutinizing gaze, Alexandra felt her cheeks burn but, holding her head high, she stared back at him, almost defiantly. However, the velvet-black irises of the
matador
, for all their ardour, did not have the disturbing power that the steely glitter of Salvador's eyes always managed to exert over her.

The thought of Salvador brought a tightness to her chest. He had preceded her in another car with Mercedes and Esmeralda, and no doubt was already at the party. Determinedly, she drove him from
her thoughts. Her gloomy Romeo was easily replaceable and tonight she would prove that to him.

Alexandra reached the top of the steps and was greeted icily by Doña Isabel and most cordially by Don Vincente. No doubt the
torero
's sister was even more hostile than usual after her rival had been singled out in that afternoon's triumphant spectacle. Alexandra managed a dignified smile for the
Marquesa
and glided swiftly past her to where Don Felipe stood. Slightly embarrassed at his burning stare, which had never once left her face since she climbed out of the car, she was about to congratulate him on his success at the
corrida
that afternoon when he forestalled her.

‘Allow me to express my admiration for the most beautiful and graceful creature that ever moved my soul,' he said effusively, taking her hand and drawing it slowly and ceremoniously to his lips. Don Felipe looked both magnificent and suave in his elegant dark suit, and Alexandra couldn't help but feel flattered by his attention. He was an impossibly dashing figure, and such exotic behaviour merely fuelled her heightened sense of romance. She blushed slightly and gently pulled her hand away as other guests behind her hovered keenly to offer their congratulations to the
matador
. Don Felipe's eyes continued to burn into Alexandra, but then he tilted his head in a chivalrous nod, allowing Ramón to lead her away.

She followed Ramón into the mansion, through the vast hallway and on to a terrace that led to the artistically floodlit garden, where the sound of Flamenco guitars mingled with bubbling chatter. A sophisticated array of glamorous men and women strolled to and fro in a rainbow of kaleidoscopic colours and shimmering materials, sipping chilled sangria and fino sherry, and nibbling dainty tapas presented to them on silver platters.

The cousins found Salvador in the company of Mercedes and the two flirtatious young men who had been part of their small group at the bullfight.

‘Ah, there you are at last,' Salvador said as they joined him. ‘We were wondering where you were.' Turning to Alexandra, he stared for
an instant before giving her an appreciative look. ‘That colour suits you to perfection. How many hearts do you intend to claim this evening, dear Cousin?' His eyes glittered mischievously though he could see that she was not amused. Flashing her a brief sardonic smile, he added, ‘Can I get you a drink?'

‘No, thank you,' she said coolly. ‘I think I'll wait.'

‘I've just the drink for the
señorita
,' said a voice behind her.

Alexandra turned and met Don Felipe's velvety gaze. ‘Sangria is a mixture of fruit and wine, a favourite drink in Spain, and this one is our special Herrera recipe,' said the bullfighter as he handed her a glass of the rosy-coloured punch. ‘It isn't a very potent drink, but it quenches the thirst during our hot, sultry evenings.'

‘Not very potent? I wouldn't take much notice of that description if I were you,' scoffed Salvador. But Don Felipe seemed unfazed by this comment and kept his eyes fixed on Alexandra.

She smiled graciously. Ignoring Salvador's remark, she took a sip of the fragrant punch. ‘This is exactly what I need.' Childishly, she was enjoying scoring points over Salvador, whose eyes narrowed fractionally at her rebellious expression.

‘Since no one seems inclined to introduce us,' Don Felipe said, studying her intently through his long brown eyelashes. ‘Let me give you a name of my own, a name out of Greek mythology: Aphrodite. This evening, just for me, will you be this Goddess of Love who rose from the waves, white and beautiful as foam, seated in a shell of mother-of-pearl?'

Alexandra laughed to hide her embarrassment and confusion. ‘I see you're not only an extraordinary bullfighter but also an accomplished poet.' She wanted to look away but his disturbing dark eyes were inexorably holding hers, waiting for an answer. At the same time she felt Salvador's stare boring into her. ‘Yes,' she heard herself utter, totally hypnotized by this game, ‘for this evening, I shall be happy to be Aphrodite.'

As she moved off on Don Felipe's arm, Salvador called after her, ‘Careful,
niña
, the devil is cunning.' There was an edge to his voice.
He drained his glass, gazing after them with a frown, but Alexandra was already far away, transported into a new world of fantasy to which the God of the Arenas had introduced her.

Don Felipe did not leave her side for the next two hours. At dinner on the terrace outside, he made sure to invite her to his table. As she knew no one seated around her apart from Don Vincente, who was holding forth to a group of his son's cronies, the
torero
monopolized her unashamedly, regaling her with tales of his bullfighting exploits, which to Alexandra seemed indescribably dangerous but also thrilling to hear.

As they sipped on sangria and ate wonderful food, she found herself responding to his open overtures of interest with shy smiles and flirtatious banter. She began to relax into this rather chivalrous dance they seemed to be engaged in. Occasionally, she glanced over at the facing table, to where Isabel had cunningly steered Salvador as soon as dinner was announced. The
Marquesa
had been fawning over him in a way that Alexandra was beginning to find faintly ridiculous. If Salvador was intent on indulging such behaviour, then so be it, she thought with mounting irritation. It only made her welcome Don Felipe's straightforward attentions all the more. Still, frequently she found Salvador's brooding gaze on her, and despite herself her stomach gave a familiar flutter.

After dinner, Doña Isabel announced that chairs had been set out in the garden for the entertainment.

‘Have you ever seen the Flamenco danced before?' enquired Don Felipe, as they left the table.

Alexandra paused, struck for a moment by the memory of the Flamenco music in Seville, before putting it firmly out of her mind. ‘I've read about it, and heard the music, but never actually seen the dance performed.'

‘The group you are about to watch tonight has among it some of the best Flamenco dancers in Andalucía.'

Alexandra laughed happily. ‘Then I'll have been initiated to two of your traditions today. Thank you for making me so welcome.'
Light-headed, merry and carefree, she felt like a butterfly in some enchanted garden, dazed and intoxicated by the flattery of her handsome partner, and in no small degree by having drunk too much of that oh-so-harmless sangria.

Don Felipe guided Alexandra away from the terrace towards the garden and they walked in silence, savouring the balmy atmosphere of the night.

‘Doña Alexandra, what do you think of our country?' the young man asked suddenly in a tender voice.

‘I think I like it,' she said in earnest, ‘although I feel a total stranger to its customs and curious traditions. They're so different to ours in England.'

‘In what way?' He folded his hands behind his back as they strolled across the lawn.

‘I find them moving but I can't always understand them, despite being half-Spanish myself. It's probably this difference that attracts and yet frightens me at the same time.' She thought for a moment. ‘Here, everyone lives with such intensity. You're all so conscious of death that it seems to be the inspiration for living, as though each step you take in life is a step that brings you closer to death. In England we find this attitude strangely disquieting. I suppose because it's so opposed to our own philosophy.'

‘What you say is right,' said Don Felipe. ‘The Spanish confuse life with death, and death with life. Perhaps the key to the soul of our people is to be found in the words of Socrates, who said that “the wise man doesn't fear death and the pious man doesn't regard it as a final end. It induces the first to make the most of life and the second to live in hope of a better world. For each, death becomes life.”' He gazed solemnly up at the night sky as they neared the edge of the garden. ‘We are essentially a religious people, who have learned wisdom by suffering and by our firm trust in fate. It's the Eastern philosophy of the “
maktoub
”, what is “written”, bequeathed us by our Moorish ancestors and rooted in our character.' He smiled, motioning her towards some seats where a
few of the guests were beginning to assemble. ‘Do you understand us better now?'

For the first time that evening Alexandra grew pensive. Don Felipe's words illustrated so well Salvador's blind submission to his own destiny. ‘Yes, when you put it like that, it seems easier to accept.'

‘Oh, Salvador,' Doña Isabel's laughter suddenly resounded a few yards away, ‘how can you think that? But I forgive you because you're so devilishly handsome,' she purred.

Alexandra's spine stiffened. She didn't bother to look round at the pair. Why could he not find somewhere else to flaunt his attachment to the
Marquesa
? She raised her chin. But what did she care? She had the attentions of a man women swooned over and who was certainly the perfect romantic hero. Suddenly her irritation bubbled over. She deliberately touched Don Felipe's arm and raised her voice a fraction.

‘
Torero
, poet, philosopher … is there no end to your talents, Don Felipe?'

Don Felipe raised his brows and smiled suavely, pleased at her compliment. ‘I like to think that I have a few more, Doña Alexandra,' he responded, his eyes intent on her lips.

Isabel's laughter could be heard very close now. ‘I'm sure your skills are consummate in all things,' she found herself saying, adding quickly, ‘Your reflexes in the arena are certainly incredible.'

‘Well, today they were challenged more than usual due to one ravishing, tormenting distraction.'

She felt her cheeks burn, unable to think of a reply. Then Salvador and Isabel stopped in front of them.

‘I see you're enjoying yourself this evening, Cousin.' There was no mockery on Salvador's face now; in fact, his expression had taken on more of a scowl, Alexandra noted with some satisfaction.

She looked at him boldly. ‘Yes, I am, very much, Salvador. Don Felipe here has been wonderful company. The time has simply flown.'

Salvador's jaw tightened.

‘Felipe, you are incorrigible,' piped up Isabel, as if Alexandra hadn't spoken. ‘You really mustn't neglect your other guests, you
know. They're all here to see you this evening. I'm sure Doña Alexandra is capable of entertaining herself.' She passed a fleeting glance up and down Alexandra and smiled slyly.

Alexandra met the other woman's haughty regard. ‘Of course you are right, Doña Isabel, and I wouldn't want to keep your brother from his guests. You seem not to have had the chance to speak to anyone else this evening either. Isn't it terrible to have such good company that we neglect our duties?'

The
Marquesa
simply stared. ‘Well, I hardly think—'

‘Isabel, I think Alexandra has
dado en el clavo
, hit the nail on the head,' interrupted Salvador. He inclined his head towards her, a dangerous light flickering in his dark eyes. ‘Distracting company can often make us neglect what is important. I only hope, my dear Felipe, that you're looking after my cousin.' Though, as he spoke, his gaze was still only on Alexandra.

‘
Amigo
, what else would you expect?' came the
torero's
courteous reply. ‘
Estar seguro
, rest assured your cousin is safe with me.' As if to emphasize his point, he took Alexandra's hand and placed it on his arm.

Salvador's gaze travelled from Alexandra's arm to Don Felipe's face and for a moment something approaching a challenge passed silently between the two men, like the glare of stalking animals.

‘Come, Salvador,' said Doña Isabel fractiously. ‘We really must be finding our seats before the dancing begins.' She tugged on his arm. He stared for a moment longer at the
torero
, then nodded brusquely and strode off.

Don Felipe's expression changed instantly and he flashed a smile at Alexandra. ‘Doña Alexandra, I've reserved a space for us where you'll have the best view.'

Despite her proud demeanour in front of Doña Isabel, Alexandra was feeling nervy. She pasted a buoyant smile on her face and, raw with confusion inside, followed him across the grass.