Indiscretion (3 page)

‘So, you say your family live near Puerto de Santa María,
señorita
. Where exactly?' She regarded Alexandra expectantly.

Alexandra could see that this was to be the start of a typical Spanish interrogation and suppressed a sigh.

‘Jerez.'

‘Ah, you're travelling to Jerez. What a coincidence, my family are from Jerez. I used to work at a hacienda near there for a short time. I was a maid for one of the noblest families in Andalucía, the de Fallas.'

Alexandra's eyes widened at the mention of the family name but her curiosity about the de Fallas had now grown to such proportions that she kept quiet. Although she felt guilty about doing so, she knew that she might learn a great deal more by remaining so.

‘How very fortunate to have such a position.'

‘Oh yes, very fortunate indeed.' The woman bit into her sandwich and kept talking as crumbs scattered on to her shawl. ‘To work at El Pavón was to have one of the best jobs in Andalucía, make no mistake. The
Duquesa
, Doña María Dolores de Falla, ruled that place with a rod of iron but a better employer you couldn't hope to find. She was good to all her workers, even through the war. That's when I was working for them, during the uprising and after. And I can tell you, other aristocratic families weren't treating their employees half as well at the time. The
Duquesa
was always respected by the locals,' she leaned forward and lowered her voice, ‘even though she did put up with gypsies on her land. As far as I know, they're still there.'

‘And were they a large family? Were the other members of the family as kind to you?' Alexandra enquired innocently.

‘Well, of course, I was a valued member of the household,' the old woman replied proudly, not really listening to Alexandra's questions now that she had embarked on her story, ‘and so I saw a lot of the comings and goings in that family. The three young men all married badly one way or another, particularly the two sons …
mujeres que eran de un origen social más baja
, the women were from a lower social background and even the cousin's aristocratic wife was a widow with children.
Muy mala
,
muy mala
, not good … and the
Duquesa
never approved.
Madre de Dios
, who could blame her? Take the middle one, Armando. His wife was one of those trapeze people and she'd lived her whole life in a circus when he met her. Imagine! But their son, poor Ramón, he was the one who bore the brunt of it. When the father died and the mother left, it was he who felt the edge of the
Duquesa
's tongue.'

Alexandra pondered whether she should be telling this woman that the people she was talking about with such candour were her own family. She felt a fraud, betraying the de Fallas somehow in listening to such indiscreet gossip but, equally, she felt compelled to hear more when it was so freely given.

‘And what of the others?'

‘Well, the youngest, Alonso, was a widow and remarried.' The old woman finished her sandwich and started peeling an egg, warming to her story, ‘to a lady from one of the richest families in Castille, Eugenia de Juni.
Dios mio! Esta es manipuladora
,
sin un corazón convenida
,
entremetido
, she is manipulative, without a heart, a real meddler.

‘
Le juro a Dios
, I swear to God, that woman wanted to get her hands on the estate the minute she stepped through the door. When their only child was still in the cradle, she was planning how the girl would marry young Salvador, of course. I once heard her say as much … not that I'm the sort to listen at keyholes, you understand, may all the demons in hell swallow me up if I lie, but it was plain as day, what she was up to.'

‘Her daughter?' Alexandra knew this must be Mercedes.

‘Yes, the daughter … Mercedes, that's right. Moody, spoilt little thing she was, even when I knew her. She'll be a teenager now, ready for marriage, if her mother has anything to do with it. Probably already married to Salvador de Rueda.'

Alexandra suddenly remembered something her father had said at Hazlitt's: ‘Young Salvador Cervantes de Rueda, the new heir to the estate, grew into an indispensable member of the family. And I must say, took on his duties with more gravitas than any of us, including the
Duquesa
, could have imagined. In all fairness, he's earned his
right to El Pavón and now couldn't be higher in her favour. Again, how fate twists itself. Though, at times,
Mamá
can be rather … indulgent of his flaws, his … entanglements. But that's all in the past.' Don Alonso had waved this comment away with a flourish of the hand and before Alexandra could ask him any more about her cousin, the waiter had arrived with coffee.

‘The de Fallas sound like a complicated family,' said Alexandra pensively, as much to herself as to the old woman. She was intensely regretting the dishonest role she was playing in their conversation. The woman's indiscretion had probably been caused by Alexandra being a foreigner and, therefore, of little importance. True, curiosity to know more about her family had prompted an encouragement of the old woman's gossiping. Still, the former retainer ought not to have been quite so indiscreetly personal before strangers, even if she was no longer in the service of the family.

Her talk was not only embarrassing now, as she continued to prattle on, it was faintly alarming. The only person she had a good word for was the
Duquesa
; everyone else in the de Falla household sounded positively terrifying. Having heartily maligned the women of El Pavón, she was now attacking the men. At the top of her list was Salvador. She seemed hell-bent on destroying the young man's character.

‘Weird, that's what I'd call Salvador de Rueda. Weird and sinister, in an attractive way, of course. You know, the sort that
que parece santa
looks saintly, when the man could hardly be more worldly. Keeps strange company … the likes of gypsies and other
personas extrañas
, strange individuals. You know the type I'm talking about, or maybe a nice lady like you wouldn't. There's that air of power about him … gets what he wants without bothering too much about the way he gets it … you know, the manipulative kind, especially with the
Duquesa
. And proud too. I never knew a prouder man for all his cool politeness. He was supposed to become engaged to the daughter of a friend of the family but she preferred a
Marqués
… I think she's a widow now. Anyway, I've seen them
together in town unchaperoned … what the world is coming to, I just don't know.'

Just then, the train slowed down and the woman peered out of the window.

‘Ah, Cádiz. This is my stop.' Stuffing the remains of her food together with her crocheting into her bag, the woman held on to the bench as she stood up, bracing herself against the rocking of the carriage as the train hissed into the station. ‘
Adios, señorita
. Enjoy your stay in Jerez. And be careful of the
gitanos
, they'll rob you as quick as look at you.' With that, she shuffled off down the gangway.

Alexandra was alone once more, looking out of the window at the hustle and bustle on the platform. She was reminded of the old woman's conversation about chaperones when she noticed a boy and a girl, obviously
novios
from the way they were gazing at each other, walking together on the platform, not arm in arm as they would in England but with a modest air of submission on the part of the girl and a manly proprietorship on his. They were followed by a rotund matron, who was keeping a close eye on them.

As the train jerked into motion once more, Alexandra pondered everything the old lady had said about the de Fallas, the family she was soon to meet. Perhaps the
Duquesa
was not so hard as she had always imagined. Still, she was slightly apprehensive at the prospect of meeting her grandmother, the matriarch, not to mention her stepmother, Doña Eugenia, or her ‘spoilt' younger half-sister, if the picture the old woman had painted of them were true. Was this the reason for the growing sense of disquiet that murmured indistinctly beneath her thoughts?

What had Vanessa de Falla's life really been like among those who had made her so unhappy? ‘It wasn't easy for her, I suppose, being English and trying to fit into a close-knit noble Spanish family,' her father had admitted over that same breakfast at Hazlitt's.

‘Impossible, by all accounts,' Alexandra had noted bitterly.

‘You mustn't believe everything your Aunt Geraldine says. She doesn't understand the ways of our family.'

The ways of our family.
Their ways had made Vanessa de Falla so wretched that she had taken her only child back to London after just three years at El Pavón.

Although her mother was English, she was ‘as fiery and passionate as any Spaniard' her father used to say. Perhaps that was what had first attracted Vanessa to Don Alonso de Falla, making her dream of an exotic life in Andalucía — at least that was what Alexandra had always imagined. And now, she was following her mother's footsteps into the dream of another life, not knowing where it would lead her. But one thing she did know: she was embracing a longed-for freedom, the chance to throw off the stuffy atmosphere of England, and of that she was glad.

* * *

The train shuddered to a halt with a great screeching of brakes. Alexandra opened the door. A breath of fresh air, overlaid with the faint tang of iodine, greeted her. She ventured hesitantly on to the platform and stood there motionless, holding a suitcase in one hand; with the other, she shielded her eyes against the blinding glare of the Spanish sun. There were no porters in sight, nor were there any trolleys. With difficulty, and a mounting sense of irritation, she carried the rest of her luggage from the carriage.
This is ridiculous
, she thought; she should have listened to Aunt Geraldine and travelled by plane from England. Maybe coming to Andalucía alone was not such a good idea after all.

The station at the small port town of Puerto de Santa María swarmed with the oddest characters. Water sellers with huge earthenware pitchers and merchants selling wine, sweetmeats and shellfish bustled about next to the train. Brown urchins pushing barrows heaped with mountains of luscious fruit called out their offerings. ‘
Que vengan todas las Marías, que traigo sandias y melones dulces como el caramel!
Come all you Marías, I bring watermelons and melons sweet as caramel!' Crippled beggars squatted in corners,
palms outstretched. There were peddlers hawking their cheap wares of soap, matches, lace and miniature bottles of cologne, plus gypsy knife-sellers with trays of hand-crafted
navajas
, shouting ‘
Afilo cuchillos y Tijeras! Vamos! Barato!
I sharpen knives and scissors! Come! It's cheap!', plus lottery ticket touts and a host of others.

Presumably, Alexandra thought, in this part of the world, the arrival of the train was the only event of the day to break the monotony of provincial life; and the railway station would be, she supposed, the obvious meeting place for everyone. Her gaze searched the crowd for a familiar face. Travellers hurried along. Newcomers and locals jostled each other as they came and went. A few spectators, leaning idly against the wall or seated on small benches in the sun, looked on as others passed by. She was surrounded by a babble of shouts, exclamations and laughter, but no one seemed to be waiting for her on the platform.

As she stood there, with the sun on her face, taking in the sights and smells that seemed strange, yet curiously familiar, Alexandra felt she had stepped out from the shadows of her old life into the dazzling light of a new world. The momentary annoyance at being left alone with her luggage suddenly vanished. England was never further away than at this moment — a dull moth to the colourful butterfly of Spain — and she ached to unfurl her own wings and discover it all. This was the stuff of novels, and yet here she was. The thought made her stomach tense with a mix of excitement and trepidation.

It was then that a gypsy woman, dressed in bright colours and bearing fans and red roses, accosted her. ‘
Hermosa joven
, beautiful young lady, buy one of my roses, fresh-picked this morning. It will bring you luck.'

Alexandra met the falcon-dark orbs that were watching her slyly. The gypsy was of an uncertain age with a nest of coal-black hair hanging untidily at her shoulders, her features regular but coarse in a sun-scorched and wind-beaten oval face. Alexandra shook her head and tried to smile politely. ‘Thank you, not today.'

The
gitana
grabbed her arm, clasping it tightly in long bony fingers. ‘Give me your palm. I can read the heavens and I will tell you the secrets the stars hold for you in the future.'

But that was the last thing Alexandra needed or wanted, remembering the woman on the train and her warning. She knew there was only one way she would rid herself of the old witch. ‘Here …' She took a few pesetas from her pocket, ‘I'll buy one of your beautiful roses.'

At this, the penetrating jet-black eyes lit up greedily. The gypsy took the money and handed Alexandra the crimson flower. ‘
Que Dios los bendiga
, God bless you, kind and generous lady.
Que los ángeles te miran
, may the angels look upon you,' she squawked before turning to cast her designs on her next victim. ‘
Bella dama
…
Apuesto caballero
…'

Somewhere a bell rang. Doors slammed. The train began to move, its ancient frame creaking. Motionless, Alexandra watched it pull out of the station. As it disappeared she could hear its piercing whistle in the distance, one moment raucous, the next strident, and then there was nothing: a kind of stillness she would have found oppressive had the sun not been shining.

She glanced quickly around her in the hope of finding a porter. Most probably she would be met outside the station. Like actors after the curtain has fallen, travellers and tradespeople had vanished to leave a deserted stage. The platform was empty, the waiting room dark and damp-looking. Alexandra moved briskly towards the exit in search of help.