Indiscretion (42 page)

‘I'll accept Don Felipe's invitation and spend some time in Granada,' she added, defiantly sinking deeper into the quicksands of her scorned pride. ‘I'll visit him today, and tell him of my decision. I'm sure he'll be delighted.'

‘Of that I have no doubt,' Salvador's face was ashen as he flung his cigarette into the murky waters of the canal.

He flashed Alexandra a final glance that froze her to the spot. She looked away so that he couldn't see her tears. Then, without giving her the chance to offer a retort, he turned on his heels and strode off towards the house.

A
lexandra let herself slide to the ground. Her head throbbed. She leaned it against the willow trunk and watched Salvador's cigarette butt float slowly on the water. What a mess! Why did conversations with him inevitably end this way?

She gave a long sigh. There was no going back now and she cursed the foolish pride and fiery temper that had made her say such hurtful things. But it didn't matter any more: she had to leave El Pavón now, if only to save face. Perhaps the trip would do her good; she really needed a change of scene.

In spite of the recriminations she had hurled at him, Alexandra now knew that Salvador's passion for her was genuine. Like the Flamenco of Andalucía, to which he had introduced her, their mutual desire raged like a force of nature. The way he'd held her, clinging to her possessively, feasting on her lips as though he wanted to drink up her soul, even his angry outburst of the night before … all of these things, she had to admit, were proof of his feelings.

And now he knew where she stood too: she had told him she loved him … but still he pushed her away. What more could she do? She felt exhausted and, for the first time, ready to give up, ready to leave El Pavón.

Heavy-hearted, Alexandra stood up. She still loved Salvador and wanted him with a passion that equalled his; but the fire of that passion was always a destructive one, burning them up in its angry flames. Even if she had shared his fear of the gypsies, or credited the superstitions almost everyone seemed to believe, she would still find
it difficult to trust a man who had blown hot and cold from the very beginning, always evading an honest, open conversation with her.

Salvador had been right about one thing, though: this was no place for her. Alexandra had come to Spain hoping to acquire a father and a family but the de Fallas had never accepted her. To them she was, and would always remain, the foreigner, the cuckoo coming to rob them of Doña María Dolores' affection and a slice of their inheritance. Anyhow, she would never have been able to conform to all the strict laws and traditions ruling the inhabitants of El Pavón. She could see now how her mother had suffocated under them, why she had run away.

Still, Alexandra thought wistfully, it would have been such an amazing achievement, had things turned out differently: to have a caring family, so many people to cherish, roots that anchored her and the sense of belonging she'd always yearned for. She was strolling head down, deep in gloomy thought, when the sound of a car close behind made her jump. She turned to see Ramón at the wheel of the old Fiat in which he had picked her up on that very first day at the Puerto de Santa María. It seemed so far away now.

‘Good morning, Cousin,' he called out cheerfully. ‘How can I be of service to you today?' She managed a ghost of a smile.

‘What's the matter?' Ramón frowned, alarmed by her miserable expression. ‘Don't tell me you're upset by Esmeralda's prison breakout? If only she'd left a map of her escape route, some of us could have followed.'

But all Alexandra could manage was a sad shake of her head. The lump in her throat choked her, and she remained silent as she fought back the tears that were stinging her eyes.

Ramón opened the passenger door and motioned for her to get in. ‘Come on, tell me what is making you so sad and we can try to put it right,' he said in a soothing voice. ‘It can't be that bad. Let's take a trip into Jerez. That'll soon cheer you up, it always does.'

At times like this, Ramón reminded her of Ashley. Kind and faithful Ashley, always there to console, to listen to her troubles
and offer a shoulder to lean on. Ashley … now he seemed like a ghost from another world.

‘What would I do without you, Ramón? Yes, let's go into Jerez.' Alexandra managed a weak smile and climbed in beside her cousin.

‘That's my girl. Now, tell me everything.'

Alexandra confided a little in Ramón. She didn't tell him everything, just that she and Salvador had argued, it had involved her going off with Don Felipe to his
bodega
, and that she couldn't understand why Salvador continued to allow himself to be caught up with Marujita.

Ramón listened quietly as they wended their way through the lush countryside dotted with vineyards, orchards and cattle ranches. ‘Alexandra, I did try to warn you that Salvador was a law unto himself. Who can say why he does what he does? Our cousin is a complicated man, with a misplaced sense of honour. He's reckless as well as stubborn, which isn't a good combination. This business with Marujita is of his own making, and so is the solution. There's nothing any of us can do or say to influence him but as for you and Don Felipe, you should be careful of him.'

Alexandra cocked an eyebrow. ‘So I should be careful of him and of Salvador? Are there any safe men in Andalucía?'

‘Listen,
mi primita
, I feel some of this is my fault …' Ramón glanced at her as they sped alongside a field of high corn. ‘I should have discouraged you at Don Felipe's
corrida
party. I was too busy having a good time myself to realize how much attention he was paying you. If I'd stuck closer to you, I could have told you more about him. I never thought I'd hear myself say this but, had I been in Salvador's place, I'd have given the man a good thrashing too.'

‘Please, Ramón,' Alexandra laughed, momentarily finding her good humour, ‘don't you lecture me as well!'

‘No, no, I'm not lecturing you,' he replied. ‘I'm only putting you on your guard against this Romeo. He's broken more than one heart in Jerez. There's been all kinds of malevolent gossip — who knows if it's true? — but one thing's for sure, his exploits have covered most of Andalucía.'

‘So I hear. Look, as I keep telling everyone, I'm a grown woman. I promise I'm not about to fall into that sort of trap, Ramón.' Alexandra flashed him a reassuring smile. ‘We're nearly in Jerez, let's talk about something more cheerful. You can tell me the best places to visit.'

They left behind fields of sunflowers and olive groves, and the road fed into the dusty suburbs of the town. Ramón began to tell her about it: Jerez de la Frontera, the capital of horsemanship, sherry and Flamenco.

‘This is the season of the horse fair,' he explained. ‘The town will be teeming with extra life and colour, there'll be lots to see.'

He left the car in one of the squares and, after a drink and some tapas, the pair parted company, giving Ramón the chance to pick up a few things he needed and Alexandra the welcome opportunity of exploring a little on her own.

She strolled haphazardly around the narrow
calles
. The breeze had dropped, the sky was serenely blue and there was a magical quality in the air, which was saturated with the heady fragrance of jasmine and orange blossom. Like that first afternoon in Puerto de Santa María, Alexandra wandered through the cobbled backstreets where the windows of the whitewashed houses were guarded by curved grilles rimmed with spikes. She couldn't help thinking of submissive women, kept prisoner in their golden cages; she wondered about their destiny and about her own mother, who couldn't bear to live that life. Then there was Esmeralda, born into wealth and status, who had nonetheless decided to spread her wings and fly out of the enchanted garden. For the chance of true happiness, Alexandra would have done the same in a heartbeat.

Lost in thought, she barely noticed that she had come out of a side street into one of the main thoroughfares, full of large crowds milling about. Many of the women were dressed in long, polka-dot ruffled skirts, with embroidered paisley shawls, flowers and
mantillas
, high combs in their hair. Horsemen strode through the throng, attired in white shirts and ties with wide-brimmed, flat-topped hats, tight-fitting jackets and soft leather boots. And then there were carriages and
horses; everywhere Alexandra looked there were horses, the majority decorated with fancy harnesses in brilliant hues, brass ornaments, ribbons and bunches of flowers: the Jerez Horse Fair was in full swing.

Alexandra kept walking, taking in the festival energy of the town. There was nothing caged about this atmosphere, she mused. Here the women were more like birds of paradise set free, however illusory that might be, she noted cynically.

She drifted along the margins of the crowd, eventually coming to the fringes of the town, where the buildings, in faded dusty pinks and browns, had a rundown look. Alexandra continued to walk, absorbed in her own thoughts, until suddenly she found herself on the edge of an open space lined with palm trees, many of which had horses and mules tied to them. At the far end of this clearing, two corner walls of a ruined building, punctuated with arches, rose high into the air, and a cluster of tents was pitched in the shade cast by them. Her eyes were drawn to a large group of gypsies, jostling about in an abundance of music, dancing and laughter.

The
gitanas
were wrapped in shawls of dark red and fuchsia, the only splashes of colour against their black dresses or shabby white blouses. The men, who wore blue handkerchiefs around their heads, under their hats, stood in groups, shouting and laughing, gesticulating rapidly as they spoke, their bronzed faces creasing in a multitude of expressions. Elsewhere, mules were being handled by their drivers, who had deep blue sashes encircling their waists, while women called out from tables covered in baskets of oranges and wine gourds. There were horses everywhere, tied up together with ropes or being led round the dusty encampment under the sharp gaze of prospective buyers. The air was impregnated by their smell and the constant snorting and neighing.

Alexandra stood at the edge of the clearing a moment, mesmerized by the scene, drunk with the magic of the atmosphere.
A horse fair or a gypsy fête
? she wondered apprehensively, her hand resting on a palm tree. A horse and a couple of mules tethered to the next tree stood munching grass from an old hat on the ground, now and then
blinking stoically at her. She was just about to turn and leave when she thought she glimpsed Salvador. Despite the unusual attire of patched shirt and baggy trousers, she was sure it must be him.

He stood at the entrance to one of the tents that was hung with coloured lanterns. Half-turned from Alexandra, he was towering over three gypsies, with whom he was talking. The first looked more Mexican than Spanish, with a huge moustache and an enormous pagoda-like straw sombrero; the second was thin and wiry, an older version of Pedro, with a
navaja
tucked into his belt. But it was the third, a hawkish-looking man with a deep scar etched into his weathered face, who stopped Alexandra in her tracks: it was the knife-sharpener.

The men seemed to be talking quite amiably with Salvador. Next to them, a couple of rabbits were roasting on a spit, which they turned occasionally. Two guitarists and a fiddler sat close by, thrumming their instruments. Crouched around a great fire, hung with cooking pots, a group of women and children were throwing pine cones and sun-dried branches over the flames, which leapt up from time to time, casting a rosy glow on their faces. Then, without warning, the trio of musicians stood up and started to play. Thrum, thrum, thrum, went the guitars, while across the deeper chords the fiddle with its strange tuning threaded a shrill pattern of monotonous arpeggios.

Three young dancing couples lined up, face to face, and began swinging to and fro. Soon they were joined by another pair. Alexandra's eyes were drawn instantly to the woman, who tossed her mane of raven hair, golden-brown shoulders gleaming against her white, low-cut blouse. Like a copper butterfly, she seemed to quiver with life, from her bare, beautifully shaped ankles to the tips of the glittering half-moon hoops that swung from her ears. With a pang, Alexandra recognized Marujita and she felt a hand grip her heart fiercely. Afraid she might be seen, she edged closer to the palm.

Now the dancing duel began. Marujita raised her hands and clapped them sharply above her head. Bracelets jingled on her arms, and her bare feet stamped the earth. Her partner was much older, dark-skinned and obviously Spanish, but Alexandra didn't think he
was a gypsy. Indeed, he looked every bit the aristocrat in his expensive shirt and trousers. The rhythm of the music was pagan and exciting; Marujita's dancing had a wild beauty as her long hair nearly swept the dust, her slim body arching and swaying towards her partner, seemingly wanting to be touched even though she repeatedly eluded him. Even from this distance, Alexandra could see the passion in the
gitana's
eyes: she looked in love. Was Marujita trying to incite Salvador's jealousy, or was she finally giving up her hold and turning to pastures new?

For an instant Alexandra was compelled to glance away from the dancers towards Salvador. What was his reaction? His tall, dark figure stood at the entrance to the tent, his profile visible through the shimmering air around the flames. He seemed unaware of anything but Marujita, his attention wholly captured by her. Instinctively, she knew that his eyes were unsmiling, damascened steel in his haughty face. What was he thinking? Why was he here with Marujita and the gypsies? Alexandra felt a rising sense of panic, a need to get away from this place. She didn't know how much more her weary heart could take. Her mind ached with confusion, to the extent that she felt completely numb. Still she remained as though mesmerized by some hypnotic spell.

Marujita and her partner finished their dance to hoots and claps from the assembled gypsies. Without so much as a glance at Salvador, she and the older man disappeared beyond one of the arches.

Alexandra moved away from the tree, and as she did so, she saw Salvador murmur something to the thin, wiry gypsy and pat him on the back in a farewell gesture before striding off. The gypsy watched him go before nodding to the knife-sharpener. At this, the scar-faced man stepped inside one of the tents. A moment later, propelled by a great kick from the gypsy's foot, a figure was sent sprawling through the opening. He landed on his knees, and Alexandra could see that his lank pale hair was plastered to his bowed head in bloodied clumps. All of a sudden the mood of the crowd changed, though it was no less intense. Instead of the jokes and laughter, she could hear hisses and catcalls.