Indiscretion (10 page)

‘Let me be the judge of that,' Alexandra retorted, hardly able to contain her excitement. If her grandmother had made her the present of such a sumptuous set of Eastern royal jewels to wear
with her costume, a princess from Arabia was exactly the part she needed to play.

‘Of course,
señorita
, of course,' old Jaime replied hastily. ‘I'll fetch it for you
immediatamente
.'

He disappeared behind a heavy curtain into the back of the shop and Alexandra fancied she could hear murmurings from within.
Old Jaime was certainly an eccentric
, she thought, as her eyes travelled round the room. They fell on two mannequins, looking as if they were engaged in silent close conversation and dressed entirely as samurai warriors except for their bowler hats. The man emerged a few moments later carrying a large cardboard box, which he opened ceremoniously to reveal a garment carefully wrapped in several layers of tissue paper. After a lot of huffing and puffing, the costume was laid out.

Alexandra gasped at its richness and dazzling beauty. She didn't need any further encouragement: when Jaime produced a pair of silvery sandals, delicately carved, her mind was already made up. The costume would be perfectly suited to the beautiful, priceless heirloom her grandmother had given her that morning.

‘I'll have it,' she said impulsively. ‘How much does it cost?'

Again, the shopkeeper eyed her craftily over his round spectacles. ‘I forgot to add,
señorita
, that I can't sell the sultana's costume without selling the sultan's one as well,' he announced.

Alexandra's brows drew together in surprise. ‘I don't understand,' she said.

The man's eyes darted back to the heavy closed curtain behind him. ‘These costumes were sold to me about ten years ago by the descendant of a Moorish nobleman,' he told her, earnestly. Lowering his voice a little, he added, ‘According to legend, the wearers of these costumes are destined to fall in love. It would be unlucky to sell the costumes separately.'

‘What nonsense,' Alexandra exclaimed indignantly, dismissing his comment as the sales talk of a shrewd businessman. ‘I'm not superstitious.'

‘But
I
am,' he retorted.

‘Jaime,
muéstrame los vestidos
, show me those costumes,' ordered a man's voice suddenly, from the back of the shop.

‘Right away,
señor
,' old Jaime replied. Quick as a flash, before Alexandra could protest, he picked up box, costume and tissue paper, and disappeared once more behind the curtain separating the two rooms, leaving her fuming. Who was this man, presuming he could commandeer the shopkeeper, and her costume, at the drop of a hat?

She was tempted to leave but then she would be without a costume. Gritting her teeth, she called out impatiently: ‘Well, shall I go then?'

‘
Un momento, señorita
.' The shopkeeper poked his head through the curtain. He seemed very excited and returned a few seconds later to the front of the shop. ‘His Grace the Count has bought both costumes.'

Alexandra almost lost her temper. She was on the verge of giving the man a piece of her mind, when he handed her over an envelope, adding hurriedly: ‘
Su Gracia El Conde
asked me to give you this,
señorita
, together with the costume of the sultana and his compliments.'

Alexandra took the envelope and opened it. Her eyebrows rose slightly as she scanned the note, wondering whether she should be amused or offended. The writing on the card was bold and vigorous and read: ‘
In homage to your beauty, until Saturday evening!
' It was left unsigned.

The writer in her couldn't fail to be intrigued by such a romantic gesture but she was not about to let on to either the shopkeeper, now staring back at her anxiously, or the arrogant author of the note, who was no doubt still within earshot. Alexandra shook back her auburn mane and shot the shopkeeper a baleful look.

‘I really can't understand all this mystery,' she declared crossly. ‘Why didn't he give it to me himself? And just who is this mysterious
Conde
? He didn't even have the courtesy to sign his message.'

She was about to insist old Jaime should reveal the identity of the stranger when Ramón burst into the shop.

‘Sorry, Cousin. My watch must have stopped and now it's late,' he said, running a hand through his hair. ‘We'd better leave right away or we won't make it back in time for dinner, and then we'll be in trouble.
Let's not make the next de Falla mealtime any more painful than it needs to be.'

Alexandra had no other alternative but to take the costume and follow her cousin.

* * *

Seated that evening at her dressing table, preparing for dinner, Alexandra found herself musing over her mysterious benefactor.

For no palpable reason, she hadn't mentioned the incident at
Mascaradas
to Ramón and had refused to show him her costume, merely hinting that it was stunning and she was very happy with her choice of outfit for the ball.

She took the envelope from her handbag and examined the note, looking for some clue as to the author's identity. Disappointingly, the curious message revealed nothing, save that ‘His Grace the Count' was possessed of an arrogance that she found not entirely displeasing. However, it was rather presumptuous of him to assume she would be willing to go along with his frivolous game.

No matter. She shrugged and let her mind wander a while, recalling the warm deep voice that had summoned old Jaime in such a firm tone, and attempted to give it a face. It was a sensual voice but the voice of a man who was in the habit of being in charge. He had only said a few words but something in his tone … Her pulse quickened slightly and she closed her eyes for a moment, a strange emotion welling up inside her. Unbidden, the face of the stranger at the church in Puerto de Santa María floated in front of her eyes. A handsome face … a warm deep voice … already the attributes of a romantic hero for the new novel were beginning to form in her mind. A man with winter storms in his eyes, secrets in his heart and fire in his soul. Spain was perfect for her story; she had chosen it for its people, whose traditions were deep and mysterious and whose blood burned with passion and music and desire. Everything she had conjured in her imagination before, every hero, every emotion, now seemed bland and wanting in comparison.

Alexandra smiled to herself and went to the wardrobe where she had hung the sultana's costume. She thought about trying it on straight away instead of waiting until after dinner, but they had only just made it back to the house with a few minutes to spare and there was no time. She opened a drawer and took out the jewellery box her grandmother had given her that morning. Taking it to the dressing table, she lifted the lid gently, revealing the magnificent gems. Her heart leapt with excitement.
What a strange coincidence to have come across the costume of a Moorish sultana after having been given these by Grandmother
, she thought, staring at the Eastern princess's gleaming jewels.

There was a peremptory knock at the door and it swung open. Mercedes sauntered in.

‘Good evening, dear sister.' A mocking smile hovered on her lips. ‘Ramón tells me you've bought a marvellous disguise which you're being rather secretive about. I imagine …'

Dumbfounded, she stopped short, staring at the open jewellery box sitting on the dressing table in front of Alexandra. She moved swiftly to it and snatched up the tiara, frowning. Her jet-black eyes smouldered with heat as she glared at her sibling.

‘Where did you get this?' she demanded.

‘Grandmother gave it to me this morning.'

‘I don't believe it, the jewels of Princess Gulinar!' Mercedes looked suddenly on the verge of tears. ‘You've only been here a day and already you've got your hands on the best thing in
Abuela
's collection. Everyone knows it's her favourite.' She looked bitterly at Alexandra, attempting to keep her composure, but her words were charged with resentment.

‘She's always refused to lend it, let alone give it to anyone. Salvador himself was unable to part her from it when he was engaged to Doña Isabel, even Esmeralda has never been allowed to wear it.
Mamá
was right,
eres una vibora
, you
are
a real viper in the nest!'

Alexandra, almost shaking with shock, was about to say something but her younger sister beat her to it. ‘Congratulations, your scheming's
paid off. I hope you enjoy the ball.' Having delivered this venomous speech, she turned on her heel and flounced out of the room.

For a while, after Mercedes had left, Alexandra remained still, too dismayed to move. It was clear that the sweet little sister she had hoped for would remain a figment of her imagination but the malevolent accusations had stung her to the core, making her tremble with a mix of hurt and anger. Should she return the heirloom to her grandmother to avoid any further ill feeling among the family, or remain silent? Perhaps it would be wisest to do nothing: making a drama of it would only aggravate matters.

The matter was soon taken out of her hands. Doña María Dolores had sent word that she wouldn't be attending the evening meal and although the atmosphere at the table had suddenly relaxed without the presence of the
Duquesa
, it was not for the better.

As Alexandra entered the dining room, Mercedes was taking up a seat next to her mother, her doll-like face pinched into an expression of silent fury. Don Alonso was playing with his napkin, looking uncomfortable, while Ramón was murmuring to Esmeralda.

‘I tell you, it's just not fair,
Mamá
. Why can't you do something about it?' Mercedes hissed under her breath.

‘There you are,' Doña Eugenia announced, glaring at Alexandra as she took the seat next to Esmeralda, while Ramón shot her a quizzical look. José was already circling the table, pouring wine into small crystal glasses. ‘Apparently, you've done such a good job ingratiating yourself with the
Duquesa
that you've already managed to wheedle a nice little trophy out of her.
Madre de Dios
, you English girls are quite something.'

‘Eugenia, my dear, I don't think …' Don Alonso began, but Alexandra interrupted.

‘It's all right,
Papá
.' Alexandra schooled her features as she turned to her stepmother. ‘If it's the jewels that Grandmother gave me as a present today that you're referring to—'

‘Present, is it?' Doña Eugenia's eyes narrowed. If Alonso's wife had been simply cold before, now she made little attempt to
disguise her dislike of her stepdaughter, whom she clearly felt had arrived for no other purpose but to usurp the favoured place that should have been Mercedes'. ‘And what would the
Duquesa
be doing giving the Gulinar jewels, her most prized family heirloom, to someone who's only been here five minutes and is barely a de Falla?'

The insult struck at Alexandra's sensitivities. Still, she wanted to avoid a row, even though she could feel her temper simmering. Suddenly she felt sorry for her father. What could possibly have attracted him to such a woman? She was also rather disappointed in him. How could he sit there at the table, clearly wishing himself elsewhere, making no real attempt to silence his wife, not even for the sake of his own daughter?

‘It seems to me, Doña Eugenia, that I am no less a de Falla than yourself,' she answered. ‘I didn't marry into the family, after all, and half my blood comes from my father.' She glanced at Don Alonso for a sign of some reaction.

He took a weary breath. ‘Indeed it does,
niña
. Now, try the paella. I'm sure you won't have had this back at home,' he said with forced enthusiasm as José stood there, holding an appetizing dish of the saffron rice with all its delicious trimmings, waiting for Alexandra to help herself.

But Eugenia ignored her husband's attempt to change the subject, continuing to eye Alexandra contemptuously. ‘As we say in Spain,
al árbol por el fruto es conocido
, the tree is known by its fruit. Like mother, like daughter, I say.'

Alexandra set her chin and looked her stepmother directly. ‘I take that as a compliment. Like me, my mother also found it difficult to tolerate discourtesy.' She turned away to spoon some rice on to her plate. ‘Another failing of the English, perhaps.' At this statement, she noticed Esmeralda gazing fixedly at her. The young woman seemed to be taking notice of Alexandra for the first time. The expression on her cousin's beautiful pale face was one of surprise and a hint of admiration flickered in her eyes.

Eugenia's mouth narrowed to a thin slit and she was about to say something when Ramón chipped in.

‘We Spanish can be somewhat direct. You'll find no shortage of it while you are at El Pavón.'

Aware that her demeanour had become icy, Alexandra tried to relax and nodded at Ramón with a smile. She was not about to give her stepmother the satisfaction of seeing that she had got under her skin.

‘I think Alexandra will become used to our ways in time,' offered Esmeralda. ‘And besides, she's no caged bird. Luckily for her, she's free to fly the nest whenever she pleases if we're not to her liking.' She turned smoky, sad eyes to Alexandra, searching her face with some curiosity as she spoke.

Eugenia put down her fork and looked up sharply. ‘Anyone would think you were not satisfied with your own lot here, Esmeralda, the way you're always disappearing off these days.'

‘Then I shall be careful to rattle my cage more loudly in future to make my presence known.'

‘Mind your step, Esmeralda.'

‘All I ever do
is
mind my step,
Tía
. Isn't that what we all do here?' She suddenly looked exasperated, as if something had momentarily broken through the remoteness she wore like a cloak.