Indiscretion (43 page)

The man had a rope tied around his neck and his shirt was in tatters, open to the waist. Through the ripped fabric, Alexandra could see reddish-purple bruises and bloody scrapes and she wondered, hand to her mouth, if he'd been dragged across the ground or beaten. A gasp escaped her when she realized that a bloody ‘V' had been carved into the skin of his chest.

Alexandra's eyes widened in shock:
Fernando Lopez
.

What was he doing here? Did Salvador know? She thought not, judging by the way the gypsies had waited until he had left before bringing Lopez out. She watched in horror, not daring to move. Should she interfere or call for help? These were gypsies, she realized. What was it her grandmother had told Salvador: ‘They live by the
navaja
'? If all she'd heard about them was true, she should leave well alone.

The knife-sharpener circled Lopez, who was cowering, breathing heavily, his ferrety eyes darting about, looking for an escape. Grasping a handful of the prisoner's lank hair, the
gitano
pulled out his
navaja
from the inside of his waistcoat.

‘
No por favour
, no, please, I'm begging you. I'll just go, I'll leave you alone, I'll never come back.
Prometo
, I promise! Just don't …' Lopez's voice was almost a scream.

But the
gitano
merely sneered at him and sawed off a hank of hair. The crowd of gypsies roared in grim appreciation and slowly began to stamp their feet. Another handful of hair, another swipe of the knife … The stamping continued. Some spat on the ground and hollered. The knife-sharpener hacked away three or four times until what was left of the steward's hair stood in matted tufts.

‘Oh yes,
gajo
scum, you'll
never
come back! And if you ever lay a hand on one of our people again, I'll string you up by the heels over the fire and roast you like a pig.' He paused to deliver a kick to the steward's kidneys. ‘That would be proper vengeance but for now, you've got this to remind you …' And with these words, he picked up a bottle and poured a clear liquid over the bloody ‘V' on the other man's chest.

‘You've been protected for too long, Lopez.' His last words were almost drowned out by the shriek from the steward as the alcohol bit like acid into his open wound. ‘Today, we've been merciful, very merciful indeed, but only because it suits us. If you show your face again,
hijo de la bruja
, you son of a bitch, you'll feel our
venganza
on more than your skin … I'll rip you from ear to ear and feed your remains to my dog!'

With that, the knife-sharpener hauled Lopez to his feet. The steward took off, stumbling through the crowd of jeering men and women, some of whom threw bits of food or the contents of their cups at him as he passed, the rope still around his neck.

As if to signify that Lopez wasn't worth breaking the festivities for another moment, music from the guitars struck up again and the gypsies continued chatting and carousing. Alexandra watched as Lopez staggered across the clearing towards the line of trees where she was standing. She disliked the man intensely and couldn't help thinking he had brought this upon himself with his brutal treatment of these people, but the humiliating scene she had just witnessed appalled her.

It was only as he drew level with her, and paused to wrench the rope from his neck, that Lopez saw Alexandra. She took a step towards him. ‘Fernando, are you—?'

‘Get away from me!' he hissed. ‘
Le juro a Dios
, I hope they get eaten up by the disease they spread. Gypsy scum! I'll drink to their corpses.'

He made for the horse tethered to one of the palms and untied it. With some effort, he hoisted himself into the saddle. Bringing the horse's head around with a yank of the reins, he leant over and spat on the ground at Alexandra's feet. ‘You bastards are no better.
Hipócritas y putas
, hypocrites and whores, the lot of you, under your high-andmighty ways. Burn in hell, where you belong!'

And with a final sneer at Alexandra, Lopez galloped off.

She stood there, stunned. Would she ever escape this madness? At that moment, her determination to leave El Pavón gripped her more keenly than ever. Alexandra turned and quickly walked back
the way she had come. She must return to the hacienda and make plans for her departure.

* * *

Once at El Pavón, Alexandra went to find her grandmother to inform her of her plans to return to England. She contemplated telling the
Duquesa
about Lopez, but thought better of it. It was unlikely the steward would show his face at the hacienda again, and she had no desire to complicate the already difficult conversation she was about to have with the
Duquesa
. It would be hard enough to deliver the blow that she'd decided to leave.

Her grandmother listened in silence but Alexandra was keenly aware of the distress she was causing. She tried clumsily and somewhat evasively to justify her hasty departure without much success. Using work as a pretext for leaving, she hoped her explanation would be plausible enough without having to go into the other reasons. It wasn't totally without truth: a few days earlier, she had received a short letter from her agent, asking how the new novel was going and when it might be finished.

‘Is this anything to do with Salvador?' the dowager asked, eyeing her granddaughter pointedly.

‘Of course not,
Abuela
,' Alexandra answered quietly. She had deliberately omitted any mention of him. ‘My publishers are becoming concerned that I haven't yet sent them the new manuscript. They paid me an advance and I need to submit the first chapters for review,' she concentrated on holding her grandmother's gaze. ‘Such things are better done face to face.'

Doña María Dolores nodded sadly but made no comment, obviously not taken in by her granddaughter's lame excuse, and when Alexandra, suddenly overcome with guilt, wrapped her arms around the old lady, she felt the
Duquesa
stiffen slightly.

On the pretext of a headache, Alexandra retreated to the solitude of her room and didn't go down for lunch. She had no wish to endure
the searching glances and prying questions of her family, particularly her stepmother, who would doubtless be jubilant at the news of her imminent departure; nor did she wish to be the object of Mercedes' spiteful insinuations. This was hard enough without all their interference and meddling. Besides, she might run into Salvador. Just the idea of facing him was enough to make her want to flee although, knowing him, he would make himself elusive for the next few days, which would give her time to sort herself out.

In the early afternoon, she went down to the library to return the books she had borrowed during her stay. She hoped she wouldn't meet anyone there. It was siesta time, that sacred hour of the afternoon when Spaniards retire to the coolness of their rooms, blinds drawn, to escape the stifling heat. However, she was irked to find Doña Eugenia and Mercedes seated on the sofa, working at a large tapestry.

‘Ah, there you are,' said her stepmother, on seeing Alexandra. ‘I'm told you're leaving us.' She made no effort to hide a triumphant smirk.

‘Yes,' Alexandra replied softly. She didn't look at her stepmother but went straight over to the bookshelves on the far side of the room, which held rows of leather-bound volumes, each one engraved in gold with the family crest. Alexandra was fond of this somewhat austere room. Many times she had come here seeking refuge when she was feeling lonely or homesick. Somehow it reminded her a little of home, and the thought that this was probably the last time she would ever set foot in it made her wistful.

‘This decision to leave El Pavón is rather sudden, isn't it?' continued Doña Eugenia, with feigned surprise.

‘I must deliver my manuscript in person,' Alexandra replied coolly.

‘Nonsense! There's nothing wrong with our post. Where would we be if we had to hop on to a plane every time we needed to send anything abroad?' her stepmother continued relentlessly, still watching her closely.

‘My dear sister doesn't want to tell us the real reason for her departure, I'm sure,' suggested Mercedes, with a surreptitious glance over her shoulder.

If Alexandra had been watching she might have noticed the glance, but instead it was the sound of rustling paper that drew her attention. She turned towards it and sucked in her breath. Salvador was sitting in a corner of the room, holding a newspaper, almost hidden from sight behind an antique Japanese painted screen. His presence threw her into confusion. She felt faint; the walls were closing in on her, and all she wanted to do was flee the stifling tension of the confined space that held them all, like mice in a cage.

‘Such a pity you're leaving so soon,' Mercedes went on, cheerfully mocking. ‘You'll miss the ball I'm having for my birthday.'

‘How naïve you can be,
querida
,' snorted her mother. ‘Those sorts of balls are only for the amusement of innocent young girls of your age. I'm sure Alexandra would rather be in London with its more permissive social scene.'

Determined not to rise to the bait, Alexandra hastily made for the door, not trusting her own tongue. But just as she reached it, Ramón came into the room.

‘Ah, there you are, Cousin,' he smiled. ‘I went up to your room to see if you were feeling better but you weren't there. Here, this should be interesting,' he said pointedly, as he handed her an envelope. ‘It's just arrived for you. There's a messenger in the hall waiting for your reply.'

‘For
me
?' Alexandra was genuinely surprised. Then, as Ramón gave her the letter, and she immediately recognized the Herrera family crest embossed on the grey envelope, she hastily shoved it into her pocket. She was uncomfortably aware that everyone else in the room had probably registered the provenance of the note too.

‘Aren't you going to open it?' Mercedes said, bristling with curiosity. ‘Or maybe you already know what it says,' she went on mockingly, a smile curling the corner of her mouth. ‘Let me guess … has my sister a mysterious lover … perhaps someone we know … won't you give us a hint … or …'

‘That's enough, Mercedes,' a deep voice cut in coldly. ‘Act your age!' Salvador's face was in shadow but Alexandra knew that tone only too well and could imagine his expression.

Mercedes stopped dead. She wrinkled her nose mischievously like a recalcitrant little girl who had been caught doing something naughty. Salvador stood up, folded his newspaper, and let his gaze wander for a moment through the open French doors. Outside, in the golden light of the early afternoon, the lawn stretched like an emerald carpet as far as the blueish shadows of the willow walk. He sighed, placed the newspaper on the coffee table and walked out on to the terrace, but not without Alexandra noticing his eyes as they flashed momentarily at her; they were storm-coloured, a dark grey, like the threatening skies of a mythical sea when Neptune himself was in a rage, a look that filled her with dread. How had things reached this point, where the gaping chasm between them held so many unspoken truths, unresolved anger and painful misunderstandings she had to leave? Salvador seemed beyond her reach now, and the realization froze her heart.

‘What's the matter with him?' Mercedes asked innocently, looking round the library. ‘Everybody's so bad-tempered today,' she added, sticking out her lower lip in her usual sulky pout.

‘I wouldn't take any notice,
querida
. You know how moody Salvador can be,'declared her mother.‘He'll soon be back,apologizing for the way he behaved.'

‘Come along,' Ramón whispered in Alexandra's ear. She allowed her cousin to usher her from the room. He took leave of her at the door of her bedroom. ‘A couple of malevolent
viboras
, vipers, those two in there. I wouldn't make too much of their words.' He laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘Are you feeling all right? Look,
mi primita
, are you sure this decision to leave El Pavón is the answer to everything? You're not fooling me with this story about needing to go back to England to meet with your editor.'

She gave him a weak smile. ‘Nothing gets past you, does it, Ramón?'

‘Of course not,' he winked. ‘I am all knowing, all seeing. Perhaps I have some circus fortune teller in me, as well as trapeze artist.'

Alexandra chuckled in spite of herself. ‘I do have to visit my publisher, though not immediately.' Her smile faded. ‘But yes, things have become too difficult here.'

‘But you have me to help you.' Her cousin looked at her earnestly. ‘You said you wanted to discover yourself. Isn't that what you're doing? It's not always a comfortable process.'

‘I'm deeply grateful for your friendship, Ramón. You can't imagine what a difference it's made to me. Without your company to cheer me up I don't know what I'd have done. But, at the end of the day, I need to be alone to untangle my thoughts and sort my life out.'

‘I suppose I can't blame you. Can't see how much longer I can stand this place myself, particularly now you're leaving too.'

‘Where would you go?'

‘I don't know, America probably. The Land of the Free, isn't that what they call it? Sounds like my kind of place.' He gestured to the letter she was still holding. ‘What about the messenger?'

Alexandra looked thoughtful. ‘Could you please ask him to leave now, and say I'll get a reply to Don Felipe later? If I write a letter, could I ask you to take it over to him once I've have left El Pavón? I really don't want to see him again.'

‘Anything for you, Alexandra.'

For a moment, warmed by his good-natured smile, she let herself wonder why she never fell for the Ashleys or Ramóns of this world. Kind, dependable, always even-tempered, they were surely the sort of men who could offer her a good life.