Indiscretion (12 page)

Alexandra laughed, delighted by the
duenna
's description. ‘Agustina, how can you possibly believe such things? Nothing but old wives' tales and colourful legends.'

Agustina lowered herself into a chair and began tidying the brush. ‘Anyhow, it's always better to have these people on your side. We have a saying in Spain:
Deja el jabalí dormir, es solo un gran cerdo, molestalo y estas muerto
, let the boar sleep and he's just a large pig, upset him and you're dead. It's the same with the
gitanos
. Leave them alone and the damage is small: a bit of poaching and petty thieving. Attack them, try to pick a quarrel, and you open the gates to a flood of troubles.'

‘You seem afraid of them,' Alexandra remarked as she did up the cuff buttons of her blouse.

‘
Los gitanos trae mala suerte
, gypsies bring bad luck,' muttered Agustina under her breath, shaking her head with disdain.‘
Desgraciado
.'

Only that morning, Fernando Lopez had used the same words to describe young Pablo. The day before, old Jaime the shopkeeper in Jerez had also mentioned bad luck. This was a land riddled with superstition and prejudice. Lost in her thoughts, Alexandra remained silent until she had finished dressing and Agustina had done her hair.

At last she was ready. It had taken a while to don her outfit: the magnificent sultana's costume was made up of several distinct parts. First, there was a transparent jerkin that moulded to her body perfectly and was worn under a bodice with loose-fitting sleeves. The bodice itself was made of fine ivory-coloured silk that revealed the delicate curve of her breasts. Over the bodice came a short bolero jacket, entirely embroidered with silver thread, seed pearls and precious stones. Loose-fitting trousers, also in ivory silk, clothed her legs in graceful folds; they were bound at the ankles
with a bias band and held in at the waist by a wide belt, similarly embroidered with pearls and stones.

Agustina had skilfully plaited the lustrous hair on either side of Alexandra's head and brought it up into a braided chignon. The veil resting on the crown of her head was fastened in place by the tiara her grandmother had given her. Dangling at the centre was a pear-shaped pearl, resting on her forehead like an iridescent tear, while the matching pair of drop earrings swung gently from her ears.

Alexandra studied the willowy image gazing back at her from the mirror, excitement lending her pearly complexion a glowing hue. Her large eyes, rimmed with thick brown lashes, seemed a deeper green now, seen through the narrow slits of the black velvet mask drawn across her face. She ran her fingers lovingly over the fabulous necklace encircling her swanlike neck and lifted her head proudly, smiling back at her reflection. Her image really did call to mind the mysterious characters from the tales of
One Thousand and One Nights
.
The anonymous Conde would not be disappointed
, she thought with satisfaction. She turned round, aware Agustina was watching her silently.

‘Agustina, you're a fairy godmother.' Alexandra rushed to her and planted two big kisses on the
duenna
's blushing cheeks. ‘I would never have managed such a complicated hairstyle without you. It suits my disguise so well, I'm really grateful.'

Agustina beamed. ‘You are too kind,
señorita
. I simply let nature do its work.' She hesitated and her eyes clouded, suddenly grave. ‘
Tener cuidado
, be careful, my child. If you don't mind my saying so, you're a very beautiful young lady. Tonight many people will be jealous of you and
los celos son la madre de la malicia
, jealousy is the mother of malice.'

* * *

For the week leading up to the masked ball, confusion had reigned on the ground floor at El Pavón. Servants had shifted out furniture,
rolled up carpets, prepared tables for the buffet in the dining room, and chandeliers, wall sconces, columns and cornices had been decorated with garlands of bright roses interspersed with jasmine and orange blossom from the garden. As the evening began, and the sweeping strings of ballroom music filled the hacienda, El Pavón seemed transformed into a magical palace.

Although the ball was in full swing as dusk gave way to night, cars were still arriving. They stopped at the foot of the stairs with a rasp of gravel and young drivers in dark-grey suits and caps leapt out to open the doors.

In the garden, an array of colourful lanterns hung from arbours, dangled between fruit trees, encircling the fountains and pools, twinkling with light. While in the great ballroom, overlooking the east-facing gardens, Doña María Dolores' guests, attired in all sorts of disguises, drank, joked and glided happily on the polished oak dancefloor.

The ballroom was long and rectangular, taking up the entire length of the house. At each end, French doors opened out on to terraces stocked with exotic plants. Down one side, more windows led to the wide green lawn at the side of the hacienda. High mirrors hung between the windows, framed with gilded beading. Supported on marble columns was a gallery with a wrought-iron balustrade where musicians in evening dress were playing romantic dance melodies from tangos to Viennese waltzes.

Alexandra paused on the threshold of the vast room, a trifle overwhelmed by the grand spectacle. All the guests wore masks of velvet, satin or lace, giving them a mysterious air. She watched for a moment as Ondine, Goddess of the Northern Seas, leant against a column, lost in a dream, her head slightly tilted to one side. In her long tunic of turquoise silk sprinkled with iridescent sequins, she appeared to have just risen from the depths of the ocean, her beautiful golden hair draped gracefully about her bare shoulders. A
torero
in black silk breeches, drawn in at the hips, with a waistcoat brocaded with silk, knee-length stockings and shiny flat shoes, gazed at her.
Just as he had decided to approach, another gallant figure, Oreste, bearing his father's sword in his belt, swooped in first and, bowing deeply before her, drew her on to the dancefloor. They passed a maharani wearing a magnificent sari of dark gold brocade, who was walking towards the veranda arm-in-arm with a American Indian in a headdress of multi-coloured feathers and a jacket of brown suede.

A hand tapped Alexandra's shoulder. Startled, she turned, almost bumping into a couple of waiters carrying trays laden with appetizing tapas and small glasses of fino sherry. The intruder was a musketeer in a wide soft hat, loose breeches and a leather doublet. A black mask hid his twinkling eyes but she recognized the beaming smile.

‘Well, Cousin,' he said cheerfully, ‘I didn't have to search very long to find the most beautiful girl at the ball. I told you I could spot you under any disguise.'

She smiled at Ramón, happy to find a friend in this sea of masked strangers, but it was difficult to concentrate on what he was saying. Her eyes were scouring the dancefloor, eagerly scrutinizing the whirling couples from behind her velvet mask. What, or more precisely who, was she looking for, exactly? After all, she knew nothing of the mysterious
Conde
, except that he had a deep and seductive voice. Recalling it made her pulse run faster and her knees slightly weak. Could the peculiar episode at
Mascaradas
have been merely a foolish jest designed to mystify her? Surely Old Jaime would not have taken part in a practical joke? She started with indignation at the idea she might be the victim of some prank. Yet, the more she thought about it, the more that seemed improbable. It would be an expensive joke to play, after all. No, the sheer cost of her beautiful costume had to be proof of the generosity and admiration of her romantic stranger.

Ramón's voice broke into her thoughts once more. ‘
Madre de Dios!
Doña Isabel has just walked in. I didn't know she'd been invited. After the way she behaved two years ago, I'm amazed to find her here this evening. I wonder if Salvador had anything to do with it.' Ramón peered over the heads of the guests, as if talking to
himself. ‘He certainly seems keen to move on from all that business, and doesn't exactly shun her company. Far from it …
Dios Mio
, this really will set the cat among the pigeons, as you English say. Both
Abuela
and Eugenia will be furious, though for different reasons. I don't think Mercedes will be getting many dances with Salvador now,' he chuckled, then shrugged his shoulders and took Alexandra's hand. ‘Anyway, what do I care about all that? Come, let's dance.' He forced a passage through the couples and squeezed himself on to the crowded dancefloor.

Alexandra's curiosity was aroused. ‘Tell me more about Doña Isabel.'

‘She's the daughter of the owner of the second biggest
bodega
in Jerez, the one who almost married Salvador. Doña Isabel ditched him, definitely a bad move. He is, after all, one of the most prosperous wine growers and stud owners in the region. Anyway, she married a
Marqués
forty years older than herself, who died shortly after that of a heart attack. Today, she's titled and enormously rich, very much the cheerful widow.'

Doña Isabel. Alexandra knew she'd heard that name before: maybe in the prattled gossip of the woman on the train. She studied her curiously. A mask of white satin and lace concealed the young woman's face so well that it was impossible to distinguish her features. However, something in the way she carried herself, throwing her head back every time she laughed, reminded Alexandra of something, which at that moment escaped her. She could not explain her sense of déjà-vu and dismissed it as ridiculous. There was nowhere she could have met the
Marquesa
before this evening.

Doña Isabel Herrera was wearing the costume of a noblewoman of the sixteenth-century Spanish court. The full crinoline dress in topaz blue, drawn in at the waist, emphasized her slim figure, while her slender neck was set off by a stiff ruff in pleated lawn. She wore her flame-red hair coiled on the top of her head and held in place by a crown encrusted with precious stones. Two magnificent peacock feathers were set into the top, sweeping above her white satiny-lace mask, which put the finishing touch to her splendidly regal disguise.

The young man accompanying her was also dressed in the fashion of that haughty and stately court, with knitted silk stockings, short cape and long sword. He was tall and fair-haired, like the Spaniards from the North, and wore a mask of blood-red velvet.

‘Don Felipe, the elder brother of Doña Isabel. A good match for any woman, no doubt, as far as most are concerned,' Ramón offered wryly as he noticed Alexandra's interest in the newcomer, who was surveying the room silently. ‘Though he's as handsome as a Greek god and as rich as Croesus himself, he's also a crafty fox. He has a sixth sense for the kind of bait young ladies and their mothers set for him. He has more than one trick up his sleeve when it comes to avoiding the hook, and can boast many a broken heart.'

Alexandra laughed wholeheartedly — her cousin's good humour was catching. ‘Ramón, you're incorrigible. I don't know of a man more fond of tittle-tattle than you. You're never short of scandal to entertain me.'

‘The things I do to bring a smile to your pretty lips,' he replied, winked at her affectionately and then paused, looking at her askance. ‘I suppose you'd like to meet him?'

‘Maybe it would be nice later in the evening, but not now.'

‘Good, can't say I'm disappointed,
mi primita
. Come, in that case, I'd like to introduce you to a good friend of mine, Sergio Valentini. He's an Italian artist who specializes in portraits. He saw you with me in Jerez the other day and is dying to meet you.' Ramón began to steer her back through the crowds, away from the dancefloor, towards the dining room. ‘Don't be surprised if he speaks to you in French, by the way. His French accent is quite abominable but he seems to think it makes him sound more sophisticated.'

Alexandra spent the next half hour being charmed by Valentini, a pedantic little man with a corkscrew moustache who constantly referred to her profile as ‘
quello di una dea
, that of a goddess'. She was mildly amused by the pantomime of his good-natured flirtation and entered into the spirit of the game, though always slightly distracted. As they talked, other people joined them for a while,
entertained by their lively conversation. Ramón introduced them to her, but Alexandra's eyes frequently moved away, skimming over the crowds impatiently, not knowing how or when the
Conde
would make himself known to her. She became aware of Valentini waiting for a response from her and hastily switched her attention back to the diminutive artist, who was smiling at her expectantly.

‘I'm sorry? Yes, yes, of course. I'd be delighted for you to paint my portrait, Monsieur Valentini.'

‘
Mais c'est merveilleux
!' he exclaimed. ‘When do we start?'

She laughed, and arched her brow. ‘Not so quickly, Monsieur.' At the request of Aunt Geraldine she'd already sat for her portrait once before and was in no great hurry to repeat the experience.

‘
Mon ami
,' said Valentini, turning to Ramón with feigned vehemence. ‘You've heard? She accepts and then when I ask her for a rendezvous, she backs down. Ah, cruel Titania, I can see you're going to break my heart.'

‘Well, let her break it over dinner,
amigo
. They're just announcing it now and I, for one, could eat a horse,' said Ramón jovially, slapping his friend on the back and offering his arm to Alexandra, who was gazing absent-mindedly in the other direction.‘Come, oh preoccupied Titania,' he grinned, moving her into the tide of other guests heading off the dancefloor.

Dinner was held in the vast, austere dining room. For the event, it had been brightened up with ten or so small dining tables, spread with white tablecloths and decorated with carnations and coloured candles. Tall silver candelabra also lit up the room, their flickering light throwing gigantic shadows on the high, bare walls.