Indiscretion (39 page)

It was dark now. The moon cast an ashen light, while fifty feet below, at the bottom of the cliffs, the sea roared threateningly. The struggle had taken a curious and dangerous turn: for both men, this was now a combat to the death. Don Felipe had manoeuvred the fight so that they were on the narrow balustrade, the only thing between them and the precipitous drop to the black chasm of the ocean below. Alexandra was still rooted to the spot, terrified, not daring to move for fear of causing one of the men to fall. Then she saw with horror that Don Felipe had picked up the whip again.

Moonlight fell momentarily on the bullfighter's face. Don Felipe wore his arena look. Just as he had been flirting with death during those afternoons in the bullring, so too was he tempting destiny or the devil now. The whip cracked, making her jump. Salvador warded off the blow and reeled a little as he tried to rid himself of the whipcord that had wound itself round his ankle. Just as he had regained balance, the whip cracked again and caught him full in the face. His cry, like that of a wounded animal, tore the night and a trickle of blood appeared on his cheek. It cracked once more.

This time he was ready for it. He caught the cord in mid-flight and yanked it sharply towards him, toppling his opponent, who rolled over on to the terrace. Throwing himself on top of the
torero
, Salvador punched him hard, again and again. But Don Felipe, quick
as lightning, turned his upper body swiftly to the left, shot out his right leg and smashed his foot into Salvador's knee, causing him to lose balance. With the exceptional agility he had acquired in the ring, the
torero
now sprang to his feet, his face covered in blood, and threw himself at the Count's throat. They wrestled savagely, each trying to bring the other down one more time.

Alexandra could no longer bear to watch. ‘That's enough!' she screamed, shaking as much with anger as fear. ‘Stop this right now!' Breathing heavily, she wiped her face with the back of her hand, staring at them both in a mixture of horror and disgust. ‘You're nothing but a pair of brawling louts.'

The two men stopped dead. It was clear that in the heat of the fight they had forgotten Alexandra's presence. Pulled back to reality, they staggered apart, wild-eyed and dishevelled, breathing heavily.

Don Felipe's features, battered from the blows of his opponent, were almost unrecognizable. He had difficulty standing upright and it looked as if he must have had a rib or two broken by the force of the Count's punches.

At first glance, Salvador's condition didn't seem that alarming. The blood oozed from the gash on his right cheek and his left shoulder was bare, the skin badly torn. It was only as he tried to take a few steps on the terrace that Alexandra noticed he was finding it difficult to walk. He turned feverish eyes to her and she flinched from the disdainful, icy gaze she had never seen him use before, which left her shivering and on the brink of tears. Now that the reality of the situation had hit home, her anger at their fighting had dissolved into guilt and shame.

‘Let's go,' Salvador growled. His eyes were sharp and focused on her in blazing fury.

‘No,' rasped Don Felipe. ‘Doña Alexandra came with me and I will see her home.'

He turned to her, his disfigured face twisting in the semblance of a smile. ‘You're right,' he said contritely. ‘Don Salvador and myself should have shown better judgement, settled our differences
between us according to the rules of propriety. Our conduct was unworthy of gentlemen.' He tried to stand straight. ‘And now, with your permission, I will accompany you back to El Pavón.'

But Alexandra realized she had caused enough grief for one day. She figured it would be wiser if she returned quietly to the hacienda with Salvador. Conscious of the bullfighter's pride, however, she placed a trembling hand on his shoulder. ‘El Pavón is out of your way, it's too far for you to travel in your state. You need to see a doctor and get some rest.' She let her hand drop to her side. ‘I think that I should go home with Salvador.'

Don Felipe looked at her momentarily, something fierce flashing in his eyes for a second before it was gone. He then nodded courteously and turned away, clutching his arm.

Alexandra looked at Salvador, hoping the storm had subsided, but instead met his diamond-cutting pupils.

‘Come on, let's go,' he said gruffly, wiping the sweat and blood from his forehead with the back of his sleeve. He grabbed Alexandra's hand and dragged her back to the stairs like an errant child. With almost rigid composure, he led her in a painful climb up the steps, leaving the
torero
alone on the terrace, his back to them, staring out to sea.

Salvador had come alone in his Hispano-Suiza. Without a word or a glance, he opened the door for Alexandra. She climbed in and the door was slammed shut hard, making her close her eyes and shudder. Salvador eased himself into the driver's seat, wincing as he turned the ignition. With one hand he manoeuvred the car on to the main road, his left arm hanging by his side.

A lump rose in Alexandra's throat and her vision became blurred with unshed tears. She was so tired. It was all too much — this was certainly more than she'd bargained for when she decided to rediscover her relations in Spain. Never before had she been through such a kaleidoscope of wild and contradictory emotions. Her family and friends back in England considered her down-to-earth and logical. She had seen herself that way, too. Principles, and ideals
about emotional propriety, had remained safely unquestioned. Only in her novels had she allowed her imagination to run away uncontrollably into fantasy, weaving romantic and exciting plots that reflected the more intense side of her personality she had tried to keep thoroughly in check. It was now as if the English side of her temperament was subsumed by the Spanish. Suddenly her beliefs were being challenged and her whole life was topsy-turvy.

They sped through the warm night in silence. Alexandra was huddled in the corner, desolate, making herself as small as possible. She found it hard to tell whether Salvador was suffering from his injuries for he provided no clue. He'd retreated into his solitary tower. Remote, seemingly indifferent to the pain, he drove pale-faced; his jaw set stubbornly, eyes fixed on the road ahead. His lean profile showed the gash in his cheek, streaked with blood, a mute reminder of her recklessness.

Had Salvador not been there, Alexandra would have given in to the surge of emotions that assailed her and cried her eyes out. Never had she found him more disturbing than at this moment. On one hand he rebuffed her, urging her to leave, seeming to favour a woman of easy virtue to whom nothing mattered but his money, and a titled socialite who'd already let him down once. Yet when Salvador held her, when he kissed her, all the magic of love, tenderness and passion she had ever dreamt of were contained in his touch. And tonight he had behaved with the blind and impulsive passion of a jealous lover. She no longer knew what to think.

Turning to him, she reached out a hand in an attempt to break the silence, or perhaps to tenderly touch the wound on his cheek, she wasn't sure which. But she drew it back. The words died on her lips as she noticed the bitter twist in the corner of his mouth. She couldn't see his eyes but because she was so familiar with their every changing mood, she knew how they must look. He was beyond anger for he had misinterpreted what he'd witnessed and chosen to condemn her.

A sense of impending doom and fierce anxiety clawed at her insides. Alexandra's hot-headed need for adventure had finally
landed her in real trouble. Her reputation would now be in tatters. What would people say if it became known that she'd let herself be drawn into such a compromising situation? Could she ever make Salvador believe in her again?

Having burnt her bridges this time, she would just have to ride the storm.

I
t was almost ten o'clock when they turned into the long avenue of willows leading to the house. Agustina, wrapped in a large flowery shawl, her arms folded across her bosom, was waiting for them at the front door. As the car drew closer, she hastened to meet it, gathering her shawl tighter around herself.

‘Doña Alexandra, your grandmother's waiting for you,' she said urgently, resting her hand on the open window. ‘Her Grace the
Duquesa
is very upset. She's horrified you went off like that with a young gentleman, without a word to anyone, and your getting home this late hasn't put her in any better mood either.'

Alexandra hastily climbed out of the car, avoiding Salvador's gaze. The tension between them was still palpable. He pulled himself slowly out of the driver's seat and Agustina gave a start when she saw the state he was in. Anticipating her words, he said quickly, ‘Agustina, please tell my aunt that I'm tired and will speak to her in the morning.' Thereupon he went off, limping badly, never once casting so much as a glance towards Alexandra.

‘I suggest you tidy yourself up before meeting with your grandmother,' Agustina advised. In the wrestling session with Don Felipe, part of Alexandra's chignon had come adrift and was hanging loosely down her back. As she hurried to her room to change, she was already marshalling her arguments in preparation for the showdown that was to come. She was determined to stand her ground; after all, she was a grown woman. If this had been England, no one would be making such a fuss, she told herself. And, combined
with that, Salvador's cold and angry demeanour only heightened her rebellious frustration, which was gradually beginning to usurp her feelings of guilt.

When she was ready, she found Agustina waiting for her in the hall. The
duenna
placed a hand on her shoulder in support, then silently led her to the
Duquesa
's apartments.

Doña María Dolores was seated in her wing-backed chair near the window with a book in her hand. She did not look up straight away when Alexandra entered the room, seemingly absorbed. After a few moments, she put down the book and removed her glasses, carefully replacing them in their case. Crossing her hands, she laid them in her lap. Her movements were deliberately measured. When at last her eyes met those of her granddaughter, their expression was icy.

‘Well …' the
Duquesa
said at length, raising her eyebrows questioningly. ‘I'm waiting for an explanation.' She had not asked her granddaughter to take a seat as she usually did.

‘What sort of explanation?' Alexandra's stormy eyes fixed those of her grandmother defensively.

‘I see that you're not only irresponsible but also impudent,' countered the old lady stiffly. ‘I expected better of you.'

Alexandra tried to maintain her composure, despite the anger bubbling up inside her. ‘Grandmother,' said the young woman calmly, reverting to the English address in an attempt to gain the upper hand, ‘I really don't understand the big drama.'

‘Are you saying you don't understand why a respectable young lady shouldn't wander off unaccompanied with the first braggart to show her some interest?'

‘Don Felipe isn't a braggart! On the contrary, he's a respected gentleman. In fact, a hero among your people, whom I met for the first time here, in your house.' She didn't want to antagonize her grandmother after they had started to build bridges these past weeks, but neither did she intend to buckle under the
Duquesa
's domineering nature, now showing itself in full force.

‘Don Felipe is not only an insufferable braggart,' exclaimed the
Duquesa
passionately, deliberately choosing to ignore Alexandra's argument, ‘he's also a rogue!' She waved a hand in the air. ‘Oh yes, he seems carefree and quick-witted, a smooth talker when he wants to be, but any fool can see that he's a good-for-nothing scoundrel. Not an ounce of moral fibre in his body!' She paused a moment to catch her breath, her measured control now vanished. ‘I have to warn you, Alexandra, although it concerns me you didn't have more sense. This man cannot be trusted when he's joking, and even less when he is being serious. At the slightest disagreement, he will turn on you like a wolf, you mark my words. Just like in the arena, he smiles as he wounds. If he's treated as a hero, it's because he's been able to hoodwink unsophisticated and fanciful people. And you, my granddaughter, in your extreme youth,' she held up a hand as Alexandra looked indignant, ‘Yes, in your extreme youth and ignorance of the human race, you have allowed yourself to become caught up in his trap.'

Alexandra had listened to the old lady's tirade in astonished silence. ‘I can assure you, Grandmother, that the picture you paint of Don Felipe is quite unfair,' she declared. ‘We spent an interesting afternoon visiting his father's
bodegas
. We would have returned for dinner had Salvador not turned up unexpectedly, behaving quite bizarrely, and laid into Don Felipe with his fists.'

‘Salvador went to look for you because I asked him to,' the
Duquesa
retorted, ignoring her defence of the bullfighter. ‘Your cousin, my dear child, is a man of honour and certainly not bizarre, as you put it. Quite frankly, if he chose to strike that miscreant, I have no doubt he must have had good reason for doing so. As for you, it disheartens me to find you're still so naïve and ignorant of Spanish customs. May I remind you a young lady who cares about her reputation never goes off on her own with a young man under any circumstances, even Saint Francis of Assisi himself, without being accompanied by her
duenna
. You should have taken Agustina or Sarita. You aren't in England now, Alexandra.'

That was too much. Alexandra felt the blood rush to her face. ‘I don't like to contradict you, Grandmother,' she said, trying to contain the tremor in her voice, ‘but I'm almost twenty-six. No longer a child and quite aware of certain relationships that can evolve between a man and a woman. And yes, things are done differently in England. Happily, customs have changed since the war. Women are far more independent now. Not hampered, thank heavens, by outdated notions such as needing a chaperone. Believe me, I have deep-rooted principles of my own. I'm mature enough not to go rushing blindly into some casual liaison, and I trust my own judgement. Don Felipe feels very deeply for me, I'm certain of that. His intentions are honest, and besides, he can do me no harm since the feelings I have for him don't go beyond those of friendship.' She had spoken honestly, trying to reassure the old lady.

‘To believe in Don Felipe's good intentions is to believe that the water of the Guadalete could flow upstream, my child!
Man is made of fire, woman of tow, the devil arrives and has only to blow
.'

The
Duquesa
looked at her granddaughter wearily, the severity in her eyes having given way to an expression of anxious affection. ‘You're right,' she sighed, ‘I can't stop you seeing whomsoever you choose. You are indeed old enough to make up your own mind and take what decisions you think best. At the end of the day, we all have to make our own mistakes, do we not? As the proverb goes,
Treinta monjes y su abad no pueden hacer un rebuzno de burro en contra de su voluntad
, thirty monks and their abbot can't make a donkey bray against his will.' She fixed Alexandra with a stare. ‘Yet, your indiscretion will have its consequences. It is my duty to warn you of the risks you're taking in going with Don Felipe and by encouraging his friendship.'

‘Grandmother, you don't seem to understand …' Alexandra broke in with frustration.

But Doña María Dolores stopped her with a peremptory gesture. ‘I haven't finished, Alexandra. Whether you're interested in my opinion or not, you will have the courtesy and the good sense to hear me out. Sit down,' she ordered.

Leaning back, Doña María Dolores shut her eyes. Suddenly, she seemed so helpless and worn out that Alexandra could scarcely control the impulse to rush over to her grandmother and wrap her arms round those frail, bowed shoulders.

‘I'm listening,
Abuela
,' she said softly.

‘You must understand, Don Felipe has a certain reputation with women,' said the old lady.

‘Yes, I know that. Surely, that's not surprising, given his status as a local hero?'

‘No, no,' the
Duquesa
shook her head. ‘This is different. Did you know he's been engaged no less than twice before?' She leant forward in her chair. ‘That is almost unheard of in Spain. Each time it was broken off by the girl in question, under
circunstancias ambiguas
never explained. In Spain, a woman doesn't do that sort of thing lightly.' The
Duquesa
paused to check that Alexandra had taken this in. ‘In Spain, once a woman's name has been associated so intimately with a man, her chances of marrying again after that are negligible, unless of course you have an independent fortune. Neither of these women did, and they were seen as secondhand goods afterwards. Whatever drove them to break off the engagement must have been serious enough to make them risk their future chances.'

‘But there's no proof anything untoward happened. There could have been any number of reasons why Don Felipe was unlucky enough to have two failed engagements.' Alexandra looked at her grandmother as her mind turned over the possibilities. Wasn't the
Duquesa
biased against the Herreras because of the way Doña Isabel had treated Salvador? Didn't she want to steer her away from Don Felipe because she hoped Alexandra would make a fitting wife for the ‘heir of El Pavón'?

Doña María Dolores sighed. ‘I see I haven't managed to convince you, child. All I ask of you is to consider what I've just told you, before seeing this young man again. Talk to Salvador, when you've both calmed down. I'm sure he'll be able to throw more light on the
subject.' She pursed her lips. ‘At one time I'm afraid to say he was very friendly with the Herreras.'

‘No!' replied Alexandra a little too forcefully. ‘No, I prefer to keep my cousin out of this. Salvador overreacts and everything with him turns into a drama. Besides, he's been so bad tempered lately.'

Doña María Dolores gave her a sideways glance. ‘
No hay infierno en la tierra como la del corazón de un hombre infeliz
, there's no hell on earth like that of the heart of an unhappy man,' she said softly.

Irritated, Alexandra pretended not to have heard. ‘
Abuela
, I should go now. It's late, you look tired and I'm sorry to have kept you up. I'll think about what you've said.'

Affectionately, she kissed her grandmother goodnight. As she was leaving the room, seeing the
Duquesa
's weary figure still slumped in her chair, a wave of regret at causing her so much distress swept over her. Deep in thought, she went back to her bedroom.

Climbing into bed, she gazed up at the ceiling. If she were truly honest with herself, she had felt a whispering of unease at the
bodega
. She had to admit that Don Felipe's behaviour had been rather too forward. He had taken advantage of her temporary weakness, but then he too may have been feeling the effects of the alcohol. But her thoughts continued to swirl around her head, with disquieting images. In her mind's eye she recalled the cruel mask that came over the bullfighter's face as he used the whip on Salvador. And the undisguised pleasure Don Felipe's features displayed as he realized the dangerous way in which the duel was developing. Still, the
torero
was used to fighting for his life in the arena. Could this have been no more than his instinctive thrill for combat, fuelled by damaged pride and the potency of the wine?

Her thoughts turned to Salvador. She could see that, of the two men, he was the one to blame for the fight. He had struck the first blow, and there seemed no solid argument in his defence. Why should a man, considered by everyone to be reasonable and balanced, act like a moody adolescent whenever a situation involved her? And start a violent brawl simply because he'd found her in the arms of
another? That he may indeed love her seemed the only explanation. Alexandra's heart lurched keenly in her chest with a bittersweet pain. But if that were true, why did he continue to ignore her and brazenly pursue his liaison with Marujita under this very roof? Why did he flirt with Doña Isabel and Mercedes at every opportunity? Either he didn't want to care for her, or he didn't care for her at all. She decided that it must be the latter: Salvador didn't love her, he simply took delight in playing a pointless game, cruel sometimes, and unworthy of the gentleman he claimed to be. She had heard of men like that.

Exhausted, she finally closed her eyes and gave in to sleep. It had been a long day, and one that had changed things between herself and Salvador irrevocably.

* * *

Alexandra stirred in her sleep as sunbeams filtered through the heavy silk curtains, summoning her to yet another glorious day. Only half awake, she was vaguely aware of doors banging and general commotion on the floor below. A brightly coloured butterfly flew in and fluttered round for a few seconds before settling on the linen sheet next to her. Alexandra raised herself on one elbow and watched it through drowsy eyes, admiring the velvety texture of its delicate wings. She was tempted to stroke it with her fingertips and moved a hesitant hand towards the quivering creature but it was too quick for her. Abruptly taking off, it beat round the room in wide, alarmed circles as if stricken by a sudden panic at being prisoner of those white walls. Still numb and drowsy, Alexandra's gaze followed it for a moment and, as she remembered flashes of the previous evening, she too experienced a desperate need to feel less closed in. She climbed out of bed and drew the curtains back. The sun shone through, flooding the room with a brilliant light. A fresh breeze wafted into the room. The butterfly drifted gracefully towards the open window and disappeared into the clear morning air.