Indiscretion (8 page)

‘My dear Alexandra, you're here at last,' Don Alonso declared, kissing his daughter warmly on each cheek. ‘You're more beautiful than ever. Our Spanish sun agrees with you already, I can tell. Ah,
good morning, Fernando,' he said, addressing the steward who had come up behind Alexandra. ‘I see you have met my daughter.'

Fernando Lopez nodded.

‘Have you shown her around the stables yet?' Don Alonso asked and then beamed at Alexandra. ‘Are you still riding? Perhaps we can go out after breakfast.' Without waiting for his daughter's response, he nodded to the steward: ‘Would you ask Miguelto saddle up two horses? Prince for me, and Chiron for Doña Alexandra.'

‘Very well,' replied Lopez, and he strolled off unhurriedly towards the stables.

Don Alonso turned to his daughter and placed an affectionate hand on her hair. ‘As you walked up the drive just now, I thought I was seeing your mother again … the same large green eyes, you are like her in so many ways,
querida
.'

Alexandra hugged her father. She could not help but smile at his obvious emotion on seeing her again. Riding would not have been her first choice of how to spend her first morning with him but she told herself she would find a way to get out of it later. ‘And now you are finally here at El Pavón …' Don Alonso sat her down on the bench beside him. ‘I can't tell you how happy it makes me to see you with the family at last.'

‘Yes,
Papá
. And now that I'm here I'm also hoping to capture the whole flavour of Spain for my new book. Perhaps we could spend some time together and you could help me with my notes on Spanish culture?'

‘
Sí
,
sí
, I remember you told me in London you were writing about your homeland. That pleases me too,
querida
. What is it that Lord Byron said? “Oh, lovely Spain! renown'd, romantic land!” An Englishman, but impeccable taste nonetheless.' Don Alonso grinned and took his daughter's hand, patting it affectionately as they sat side by side, looking out across the lawn and colour-drenched gardens.

Since he hadn't answered her question directly, Alexandra gently persevered. ‘There's much I'm sure you could show me in the local area that I couldn't discover on my own.'

‘Mmm?' Don Alonso turned to look at her and, as if carried off on some other thought, he smiled wistfully. ‘You know, I do wonder what it would have been like if your mother had remained in Andalucía and you had grown up here.'

As Alexandra had often observed with her father during his stay in London, their conversation was going to be like trying to catch butterflies and so she quickly changed the subject.

‘How is your family?' she asked tentatively. ‘Mercedes must be nearly eighteen now. I can't wait to meet her.'

‘They're your family too, my dear,' Don Alonso replied. ‘I have told her so much about you and I'm sure she's just as eager as you are.'

‘Has she asked about me much then? She must be curious.'

‘Of course, of course.' He smiled and waved his hand nonchalantly. ‘Our dear Mercedes is curious about everything and everyone. Such spirit! It's difficult to keep up with her half the time. The two of you will get on
espléndidmente
.'

Alexandra had learned a little of Mercedes from her father's letters but had never even seen a photograph of her Spanish half-sister. She would have loved to have had a sibling for company when she was growing up, instead of rattling around on her own for hours in the house in Chelsea or at her aunt and uncle's country seat in Kent, though she wondered what kind of welcome she would receive from the child who had been used to her parents' undivided attention. She still hoped that they could form some kind of sisterly bond, given time.

‘Does she look like me?'

Don Alonso looked surprised. ‘Do you know, I've never even thought about it. You have the beauty of your mother, particularly your eyes. Mercedes is a pretty girl, there's no doubt about it, but she's more like Eugenia and the apple of her mother's eye, of course. She has no shortage of admirers already but, between you and me, Eugenia and I have high hopes that she and Salvador will make a good match when she's a little older. He's a fine young man and it would strengthen the family to have such a marriage.'

Don Alonso had just started to enquire about her journey, apologizing for not having been there to greet her, when a girl in her late teens strode across the lawn towards them. Alexandra took in every last detail of the girl, who, she guessed, must be Mercedes. Petite and well proportioned, she had two bunches of black corkscrew curls held up with blue ribbons that swung gracefully at each side of her heart-shaped face. Her overly elaborate blue-and-white organza dress seemed somewhat out of place in the country and at this time of day. Like the woman she had seen at the little Santa María church the day before, Mercedes seemed to evoke another era. Alexandra was reminded again that the modern world had not yet reached this quaint and wild country, which seemed to have been frozen in time.

‘Good morning,
Papá
,' the young girl said, giving Don Alonso a peck on the cheek while casting a sidelong glance at Alexandra through long lashes.

‘Ah, Mercedes, there you are,' he exclaimed in a tone that forced cheerfulness.Alexandra could sense that he wasn't entirely comfortable. After taking a breath, he added, ‘This is your sister, Alexandra. I'm sure you'll get on very well. You'll have plenty to talk about.'

Mercedes pouted but did not answer; her almond-shaped black eyes surveyed the newcomer without a hint of warmth. Looping an arm through her father's, she cast a wan smile towards Alexandra, who was disappointed though not entirely surprised by the cool reception.

During the awkward silence that followed, Alexandra inspected her younger sibling. So this was the adored child of her father's second marriage to Doña Eugenia de Juni. Everything about her was small and dainty, like a china doll.

‘Shall we go into breakfast? I'm famished,' suggested Don Alonso with feigned enthusiasm. ‘Mother is expecting us and you know how she hates to be kept waiting.'

A
lexandra followed her father and Mercedes into the dining room through the French doors that led from the terrace. She found it even grander than she'd expected. Research for her book had involved hours spent looking at photographs of Spanish architecture and furniture within the pages of collectors' magazines such as
Connaissance des Arts
and
Apollo
, but the articles she'd read did not do justice to the distinctive style of the real thing. Impressive though the interior was, and beautiful in its own way, Alexandra did not warm to it and felt like she'd stepped into a daunting theatre set.

It was a huge, high-ceilinged room, situated on the west side of the house, with an open arch to the right that led to other living rooms. The oak furniture was dark and austere. Hangings in the typical Spanish ‘repostero' style, decorated with coats of arms, lent warmth to the white walls, while an exquisite Afghan carpet covered part of the floor, its rich hues scarcely dimmed by age.

On the left, two chairs with ornate backs stood on either side of a heavily carved sideboard. To the right of it was a handsome what-not in rustic style, dating from the seventeenth century, surmounted by a hexagonal mirror with a richly decorated frame. At the far end of the room, between two large doors of Moorish inspiration, constructed with carved ornamental slats like jalousies, was a small dais upon which stood a copper brazier with a pointed cover. In the centre, surrounded by upright chairs, the dining table was massive yet still dwarfed by the vast dimensions of the room. Only its legs were carved, the upper surface having the simplicity of a board. Around it, the
de Falla family was already assembled, talking in quiet tones as congregations do before the start of a church service.

Doña María Dolores sat at the head of the long table, upright in her chair. She was smaller than Alexandra expected, and surprisingly youthful-looking for her age. Her shock of perfectly groomed white hair crowned a handsome face, with proud, high cheekbones and a mouth that was not given to easy smiles. Two women were seated further down the table, the youngest of whom Alexandra recognized as Esmeralda.

‘
Mamá
, may I introduce Alexandra,' said Don Alonso as he came into the room.

As though by common accord, all conversation ceased. Stiffly, like a choreographed corps de ballet, all three heads turned towards the newcomer. A deathlike silence followed, making the distance Alexandra had to cover between the doors and where her grandmother sat seem endless.

She didn't speak as she crossed the room, taking in the figure who'd been the focus of her mixed emotions for so many years, and who appeared every bit the intimidating matriarch she had expected. Finally she found her voice, though it was not as assertive as she would have liked. ‘Good morning, Grandmother.' She kissed the old lady lightly on the cheek as their eyes met. Those of the
Duquesa
were jet black and, for a moment, her penetrating gaze held Alexandra's searchingly.

‘Good morning, my child,' said the dowager at length. ‘Sit here, beside me. José, draw up a chair for Doña Alexandra, to my right,' she ordered imperiously.

Someone let out a faint, stifled gasp at this invitation. The signal was clear: the newcomer was being given the most important position in the room. Like mechanical tin soldiers that had been wound up again, the family once more began to move.

As Alexandra sat down next to her grandmother, Don Alonso moved round the table to stand awkwardly behind the chair of the horsey-looking woman diagonally opposite. He cleared his throat.

‘Alexandra, this is your stepmother, Doña Eugenia,' he said, gesturing towards his wife with an anxious smile.

Eugenia María de Juni was of indeterminate age and, although her appearance was meticulous down to the smallest detail, there was nothing particularly charming about her features — in fact, nothing that stood out at all. Above all, she lacked warmth. She had clearly married Don Alonso rather late in life, producing their only daughter, Mercedes. Whatever youth she had hurried through had long since dried up to be replaced by a seemingly permanent sour expression. She gave something that passed for a smile to Mercedes as her daughter took up the seat next to her before staring icily across at Alexandra.

‘And this is your cousin, Esmeralda,' Don Alonso said. The young woman next to Alexandra turned to look at her with grey-blue eyes that were distant and yet oddly familiar. Where had she seen those eyes before? Esmeralda's beauty was undeniable, with hair the colour of champagne falling in tendrils across a delicate face, but those steel-blue eyes held no vitality.

‘
Bienvenidos a El Pavón, querida Prima
, welcome to El Pavón, dear Cousin. We're glad you've come.' Her smile was stilted, the words spoken rhetorically as though her mind were elsewhere.

How strange
, thought Alexandra.
The warmest welcome so far, if you could call it that, has been from my grandmother.
She had expected the
Duquesa
to be the standoffish one but it was the others who had given her a chilly reception.

Breakfast resumed in almost complete silence. The only sounds to be heard were José's muffled tread as he served and the clinking of silver against the china.

‘I trust you slept well?' The
Duquesa
glanced across at Alexandra as her coffee cup was filled.

‘Yes, thank you,' Alexandra replied. She was not about to admit to restless dreams about the stranger in the church, whose eyes had followed her everywhere through those night-time visions. ‘I woke early and went for a walk to explore El Pavón.'

Doña Eugenia's narrow gaze had never left Alexandra's face. ‘So I see you've already sized up the estate before the rest of us had even set foot out of bed. I applaud your diligence, my dear.'

Unsure of her step in the face of this openly barbed remark, Alexandra paused. ‘It's such a lovely morning, I was merely enjoying the grounds. They're so beautiful,' she replied pleasantly.

Don Alonso shifted an uncomfortable gaze away from Eugenia to smile fondly at his eldest daughter. ‘Do you have any memories of the gardens from when you were here as a child? You took your first steps on the front lawn, you know.' He might have continued with this reminiscence but at that point caught his wife's eye and pursed lips, and seemed to remember himself.

‘I recall flashes of colour and the wonderful light here. Nothing of the house, though.'

There was an audible sniff from Doña Eugenia. ‘Yes, our Spanish sun cannot be compared to the grey, soulless climate of your country. Strange your mother couldn't wait to return to it. Especially as, like the rest of the English, she must have suffered a sallow complexion as a result.'

Alexandra felt her temper flare, but before she could react, the dining-room door creaked: it was Ramón. Too absorbed by her own thoughts, she had not noticed the young man's absence from the breakfast table. He had exchanged his casual clothes of the previous day for a more suitable outfit with a jacket.

‘Good morning, Grandmother,' he said as he sat down at the other end of the table.

The
Duquesa
looked up, her expression hard. ‘You are late, Ramón,' she said curtly. ‘Your mother may have been brought up in a circus but that is no excuse for you to behave as though you're living among the gypsies.'

Alexandra glanced at Ramón sympathetically and he returned the look with an ‘I told you so' arch of his eyebrows. The quiet click-clack of knives and forks continued.

‘You were up early this morning, Esmeralda. I saw you from my window. Where had you been?' asked Doña Eugenia. Her question
hung unanswered for a long moment. It was plain to Alexandra that mealtimes would, most likely, be dominated by toxic political machinations on the part of her stepmother. She had no doubt that the woman meant to make trouble.

Esmeralda was caught off-guard. At first, Alexandra thought she would panic but she was wrong. Not a muscle moved in that beautiful oval face, not the bat of an eyelash betrayed any inner turmoil. She simply grew a little paler and her large wintry eyes became a shade darker.

‘I was coming back from the lodge,' she said flatly. ‘Salvador came to see me at dawn. He asked me to visit Marujita. It seems the child had another fit and a bad night.'

Was she lying? Alexandra knew, at least, that one part of Esmeralda's morning activities were unaccounted for: her tryst with the somewhat shabbily dressed young man, but the young woman gave nothing away and, though Doña Eugenia might have had her doubts, she was forced to take her at her word and drop the subject.

‘Where's Salvador?' asked Mercedes suddenly, as she helped herself to a second pastry. ‘It's not like him to be late for breakfast. I thought I saw him this morning. And why isn't he here?'

‘Salvador's been called into town urgently,' her father explained. ‘There are difficulties with the two stallions we sold last month to Don Miguel. He'll probably have to go to Seville and might be away for a few days.'

‘But what about the masked ball?' The girl was unable to hide her disappointment. ‘He promised me the first dance.'

Alexandra pricked up her ears. The romance of a masked ball appealed to her greatly but she smothered her questions, feeling disinclined to draw attention to herself and invite further snipes from Doña Eugenia.

Don Alonso smiled and said in an overly bright tone, ‘Don't worry, my dear. I'm sure he'll be back for it. You will not only have your first dance with him but a few others as well, I should think.' He gave a satisfied chuckle. ‘Salvador's
temper seems much improved lately and I think I can guess why.' He gave a knowing smirk towards his wife, who returned a warning glance. Doña María Dolores stiffened. ‘And I think, Alonso,' she said coldly, ‘that Salvador has far too many responsibilities to concern himself with such trivial matters. Perhaps if he could count on one of you to take on some of his duties he would have more time to spend on frivolities. Unfortunately, he is surrounded by dilettantes and daydreamers.'

With this, she rose briskly and ordered Alexandra to follow her. As the door closed behind them, Alexandra heard someone give a snort of derision and then Ramón's voice: ‘Her dear angel, Salvador, has fallen to earth with a crash due to one certain frivolity, I'd say.' If he was expecting laugher at his jibe he didn't get it.

The
Duquesa
turned to Alexandra with a softer look.‘
Venir conmigo, mi hija
, come with me, my child, we must get to know each other.'

As she followed the old lady through the dark corridors of the house, Alexandra couldn't help but feel dismayed at the family she had finally encountered. Her thoughts flitted from her disdainful stepmother, Eugenia, and the capricious Mercedes, who she now saw was likely to be no end of trouble rather than the sisterly ally she had hoped for, to Esmeralda, whose melancholy and nervousness made her unreachable. And when would the mysterious Salvador himself put in an appearance … this cousin who had stirred up such strong reactions in more than one member of the family?

Although it was clear that her grandmother was determined to draw Alexandra into the fold and had shown her a modicum of warmth, she was still an impossibly dictatorial old matriarch. Alexandra could see why Ramón was impatient to leave. How tiring it must be to live under a roof where you were constantly spied upon and where every gesture, word and action was discussed, judged and criticized in public. She could never imagine living permanently at El Pavón.

More than one intrigue was no doubt being plotted in the gloomy corridors of the big house and she wanted no part of it. Except for Doña Eugenia, taken individually, the members of her family seemed
tolerable enough, but together they made a most unpleasant group. Even her father had seemed a different person. Where was the lively and affectionate man she'd got to know in London? Today he'd seemed artificial and diminished somehow; almost a stranger.

When Alexandra had finally made up her mind to make the journey, her father had insinuated a hope that she would consider El Pavón her permanent home. And although she couldn't really imagine that it ever might be so, that she could leave her family and friends behind and suffer the strictures of her dominant grandmother, still she had hoped that the Spanish aristocratic life would be a change, and possibly even fun, at least for a short time. But less than twenty-four hours had gone by and already she was aware that more than a few weeks at a time in such a stifling atmosphere would be insufferable.

Her grandmother's apartments were on the ground floor at the back of the house. Doña María Dolores showed Alexandra into a room of Moorish design. In one corner, a part of it was raised, with low furniture and brightly coloured cushions on the platform, harking back to the days when Arabs ruled much of Spain. The de Falla matriarch was as much part of the interior as this throne-like dais, and yet the space was more relaxed elsewhere in a way that surprised Alexandra. Carved tables and a carpet with patterns reminiscent of Arabic ceramics were placed in the lower part of the room, in front of a European sofa and comfortable armchairs. French doors opened out on to a courtyard with a wide-slatted, semi-open ceiling that allowed sunlight and shade to mingle as twines of bougainvillea trailed across its beams. There were palms, climbing jasmine and clumps of oleander, and dwarf orange trees grew in tubs around the edges; the warbling of birds mingled happily with the sound of small singing fountains. The effect was peaceful, intimate and utterly charming.

The dowager watched Alexandra's face brighten with delight and there was a smile in the old lady's eyes. She led the way out on to the patio. ‘We will be more comfortable here,' she explained, as she seated herself in one of the two bamboo chairs with wide
circular backs, placed in a cosy corner of the courtyard in front of a matching round table.