Indiscretion (22 page)

Increasingly, she would read to her grandmother: ironically, the one person she had thought she would most likely want to avoid during her stay, but who had turned out to be a good companion.
They talked on the
Duquesa
's patio, or sometimes in the garden when it was not too hot, and caught up on lost time. Ramón was usually somewhere around the hacienda, of course. Faced with an obnoxious sister and a father who was nowhere to be seen half the time, she was thankful for her sparky-eyed cousin whose cheerful and thoughtful nature lifted her spirits. Still, more often than not, Alexandra spent hours by herself: she worked at her desk, writing letters or endeavouring to shape her notes into some kind of structure for her novel.

She liked to walk through the extensive grounds of the de Falla estate. Sometimes Ramón accompanied her but for the most part she went alone. As a child, Alexandra would often happily roam the acres of parkland at Grantley Hall on her own, or invite her friends over for impromptu all-day tea parties on the front lawn. Sometimes, the quiet and gentle Ashley would come and stay and Aunt Geraldine let them have the run of the house. On warm summer nights, she would frequently stock up on ginger beer and
Girl's Own
comics and head down to the garden to spend the night in a tent, reading by torchlight and gazing up at the stars. Her notebook was always close at hand, where she would write down new ideas for stories that she later passed round the other girls at school.

Here, at El Pavón, she was more careful in her wanderings. She never ventured near the gypsy camp, for fear of some unpleasant encounter; the gypsy with the scar on his cheek and the witch-like fortune-teller were never far from her mind. Although she had gained only a fleeting glimpse of the
gitanos
' seemingly barbarous customs, part of her was still burning to understand the life of these wild people.

One day, while on one of her solitary rambles, Alexandra had discovered a small octagonal summerhouse overgrown with red bougainvillea, and adopted it as a hideaway where she went to read or think, away from the suffocating atmosphere of the hacienda. Apart from when she was alone with her grandmother, she felt her every move judged and maybe even discussed. Besides, she had
always loved losing herself in nature and welcomed her escape to the vast gardens of the property. Not for the first time it struck her how surprisingly different the wild and exotic El Pavón was compared with the lush green surroundings of Grantley Hall. With both she revelled in discovering new secret places.

Writing didn't come easily to Alexandra now. Since her arrival in Spain, she had amassed an extraordinary amount of material for her novel and yet, strangely enough, she was reluctant to use it. Previously, she'd never experienced the slightest difficulty in putting her ideas into words. She had written her first novel in less than three months and her second in little more than that but, with this one, she found herself unable to sketch the most vague outline of a plot. Something had shifted inside her, transformed by a silent storm. It was almost as if she were afraid to formulate her thoughts now lest they betrayed some insidious inner feeling, forcing her to face up to a reality she was eager to ignore. Was she falling in love with Salvador or was the kiss they'd passionately shared the reason for her troubled thoughts?

One morning, after breakfast, she escaped to her usual hideout. Salvador had been particularly exasperating. During the whole meal, he'd deliberately avoided speaking to her, though once or twice she had felt his surreptitious gaze, and Alexandra was greatly relieved when she was finally able to get away from the electrifying tension in the air.

Two hours later she was sitting in the summerhouse surrounded by mounds of crumpled paper, nervily chewing at the end of her pencil, when a rustling of leaves startled her. Somebody was watching her, hidden in the bushy foliage of the coppice. This was not the first time her intuition had warned that she was not alone. She remembered that evening not so long ago, when she thought she heard someone prowling outside her bedroom; and the night in Esmeralda's room when someone had been listening at the door. On several occasions after that she had caught the sound of furtive footsteps again, and sensed the presence of an intruder.

Suddenly, Alexandra realized she was entirely defenceless in this isolated spot; her cries for help would be useless as no one would hear them. Her pulse quickened as a cold tingling broke out in the nape of her neck. She became rigidly still, rooted to the spot, refusing to believe what her senses, sharpened by fear, were telling her.

Was that the flash of something moving that she glimpsed out of the corner of her eye? A high-pitched, yet almost imperceptible hiss was followed by a soft rush of air as a projectile shot past her, brushing her cheek lightly. Her eyes widened. A few yards away, a quivering arrow had embedded itself with a
thunk
in the wooden beam of the gazebo. She gasped and pushed back her chair.

Still dazed by the speed of events, she distinctly heard this time a rustling of leaves and the rapid patter of someone running. Coming to her senses, Alexandra rushed from the summerhouse and into the clearing outside. Now, she could hear the distinctive sound of feet hurrying away at top speed, and she ran through the coppice in pursuit, outrage, rather than fear, firing her steps.

With a sudden surge in energy, she stepped up the pace, stumbling over the long unmowed grass and weaving her way through the maze of shrubs. Soon, she spotted the prowler ahead: it was Pablo, Marujita's young brother, whom she'd saved from Fernando Lopez's hands not so long ago. He was scurrying away like a hare, aware that the young woman was on his heels. Alexandra was gaining on him, her heart racing, when suddenly she crashed into a man's broad chest and found herself prisoner of two strong arms that encircled her tightly.

‘Salvador!' she gasped, her eyes flashing green fire, at once powerfully aware of her captor. ‘You shocked me!' She struggled, trying to break free from his hold.

‘Where are you going? Why the mad rush?' Gone was Salvador's icy façade. The young man now regarded her with a curious, twinkling gaze.

‘Let me go! I nearly caught up with him,' she cried, panting, still attempting to free herself.

‘Catch up with whom?' He questioned her without relaxing the pressure of his arms around her, pulling her instead against his lean, powerful body.

‘Pablo!' She was trying to recover her breath and ignore the sudden stirring inside her, triggered by Salvador's close contact.

‘Pablo?'

‘You must have seen him, you must have passed him a few seconds ago,' she insisted, her chest still rising and falling fast, the shrillness of her tone ringing almost hysterical in her ears. She babbled out the whole story in a trembling voice, her mind so blurred that she was barely coherent. It was not the arrow that had come so close to hitting her that alarmed her now, all she could think of was the strength of the arms clasping her and the warmth of the virile, hard body that towered over her.

Eventually, after she had finished, Salvador released his grip, his eyes holding hers. ‘Very mysterious. Your story is rather intriguing …' He was trying to keep a straight face but there was amusement in his voice, which immediately provoked her. Did he not believe her?

All of a sudden Alexandra was angry. Her cheeks tinged a heated red. How dare he doubt her word! His mockery incensed her and, glaring hopelessly up at him, she said, ‘You seem to think I've made it all up, or that I simply have a vivid imagination. The arrow is still there, buried in the beam where I left it. Come and see for yourself.' She dearly wanted to dent his colossal arrogance.

Salvador let her lead him to the summerhouse. All was silent save for the happy warbling of a finch and, sensing her hesitation, he took her arm and steered her into the shady little house.

He looked around him. ‘So this is where you hide out … this place certainly seems to inspire you, Alexandra. Never in my life have I seen so much crumpled-up paper in one spot.' He grinned widely at her, his tone softly mocking.

Alexandra managed a tight smile as she fought back the angry tears welling up inside her. One moment he hardly wanted to look
in her direction and the next he was talking to her again, but only to laugh at her. Why did Salvador have this crushing effect on her feelings? She blinked at the grey-blue irises staring down at her with such intensity.

‘Come now,
niña
, what has brought tears to those beautiful eyes?' he said, now regarding her with concern. He placed an arm affectionately around her shoulders.

Alexandra moved away. ‘Please, don't,' she whispered. Her nerves were already on edge and his proximity did not help. Every time she had been close to him they'd ended up locked in each other's arms, and she was not about to go down that path again, however much a part of her longed for it.

Salvador frowned. ‘Here, dry your eyes,' he said gruffly, ignoring her curt rejection and handing her his freshly ironed handkerchief. ‘Show me this arrow that's so alarmed you.' Again, he'd adopted the patronizing tone that so exasperated her. Where was the man she had glimpsed briefly in Seville, who kept appearing and disappearing like a mirage?

Irritated at herself for being so emotional, Alexandra gazed at the spot where the projectile had embedded itself. She stared wide-eyed: the arrow was no longer there.

‘It was there,' she muttered disconcertedly to herself, pointing at the beam where a few moments ago she had left it quivering. ‘I didn't dream it.'

She glanced anxiously at Salvador. The brief drawing together of his brows showed that he believed her. Obviously he had noticed something. In two strides he reached the wooden post. He bent his dark head to examine more closely the hole clearly made by the fine point of a dart or an arrow.

‘Have you any idea who could have been responsible for this?' He straightened up and turned to face her, worried now. ‘Did you actually see who fired it?'

‘No, but clearly it's someone who wants me to leave.'

‘Just then, you mentioned Pablo. Surely you don't suspect him?'

‘I can't be certain,' she admitted hesitantly. ‘However, I did see him scurrying off. But why would he be running away if he wasn't guilty? And what would he have against me?'

‘Indeed,' he sighed, raking his hair with long, supple fingers. He shook his head. ‘How many times have I asked … no, how many times have I
begged
you to go … to leave this place? I have good reason to believe that you're not safe here, Alexandra. Why are you so determined not to listen to me?' He looked away but she could sense his concern.

The last trace of the fear that had gripped her earlier vanished.

‘And Salvador, why are
you
so determined not to tell me what that reason is?' Alexandra spoke softly now, knowing he wouldn't answer her.

He had moved away from her, his head held high, shoulders straight, hands thrust deep in his pockets. Standing there, his Grecian profile unmoving, proud, reserved and secretive, Salvador was without doubt a puzzle. Time and again, Alexandra had been baffled by his complex personality; it reminded her of a mysterious dark cellar she felt tempted to explore, but did not dare to do so. Suddenly he looked incredibly alone, tired and vulnerable. A wave of tenderness swept over her and she realized she would never forget his strong, brooding face as it appeared now. The impulse to help him that gripped her in this moment was far stronger than the one that told her to run away.

Aware that she was watching him, Salvador turned, shifting his gaze towards her. He remained silent but his expression was disturbingly intense. In the shadows of the gazebo, his eyes were deep blue and seemed sad.

‘I do believe,
niña
, that you're feeling sorry for me,' he said softly, that familiar enigmatic smile floating around his lips.

He had caught her by surprise. ‘No, Salvador,' she whispered after a few moments, looking away so he could not see the emotion on her face, ‘I don't think what I feel for you can be called pity.'

Perhaps he would have pushed the conversation further but, at that moment, there was an exclamation outside.

‘There you are at last, Salvador! I've been looking for you for more than an hour,' cried Mercedes, bursting through the foliage. Their time alone was at an end. Alexandra wondered how long her stepsister had been there, hidden in the coppice, and what she had overheard. Mercedes would have no qualms about eavesdropping on a conversation not meant for her.

Turning towards the newcomer, Salvador's face lit up; he grinned broadly and Alexandra suspected he was somewhat relieved by the interruption, which put an end to a situation he no doubt found uncomfortable. A slight lump came to her throat.

Mercedes threw her arms around her cousin's neck and kissed him.

‘What can I do for my mischievous sprite this morning?' Salvador asked, placing his arm around the young girl's slender waist.

Mercedes gazed up at him adoringly, nestling closer to him. ‘I wanted to go for a ride with you,' she cajoled.

‘What a marvellous idea,' he said enthusiastically. ‘Let's go then.'

Mercedes pouted. ‘But you know it'll soon be lunchtime.
Abuela
would never forgive us for being late.'

He laughed. ‘Well then, we'll have to postpone our delightful ride until some other time.'

‘I don't believe you, you're as slippery as quicksilver,' Mercedes sighed. ‘No one ever manages to make you do anything against your will.'

‘Come now, little Mercedes, be truthful! Have I refused to go riding with you?'

‘No,
little
Salvador,' she went on, mimicking his tone. ‘But as Agustina always says:
Truth is not a beautiful woman hidden at the bottom of a well, but a shy bird which only guile can entrap
.' They both laughed at this and Salvador gently cuffed the side of her head.