Indiscretion (46 page)

‘You'd be surprised how close we are to animals when we're threatened.'

‘Perhaps. A few months ago I couldn't understand the strange perspective the Spanish have on love, passion and death. Now, although I'm not sure I'm comfortable with it, I'm certainly more familiar with it.' She shook her head and turned away, thinking how different she was now to the naïve girl who had been teased by Salvador at the
Alcázar
in Seville. Her heart gave a squeeze at the memory, but she refused to think about it; instead, she let herself be entertained by the solicitous, if slightly intense,
torero
. He was a cliché of the Spanish man: parading his masculine pride alongside impeccable courtesy and charm. But now she felt careless of everything: of Salvador, of her family. Something had detached within her and begun to float away, making her feel lighter, freer.

Meanwhile, Don Felipe continued to scrutinize her. ‘Granted, our Moorish ancestors had rather severe solutions to their problems. And yes, for the Spanish, love, passion and death are inextricably linked.' A dark fire leapt deep in his obsidian gaze for just an instant before he smiled pleasantly and nodded. ‘In any case, I'm glad you're more at ease with the Spanish view of things now.'

As time went on, Alexandra had found no reason to feel anything other than relaxed in his company. He was the perfect gentleman. Her pride had been bruised at El Pavón, and although the excitement of novelty that she had felt at first in Don Felipe's presence had now waned, his courteous attentions were still far from unwelcome.

Most afternoons, when they weren't out visiting the local sights, were spent lazing on the terrace of the Hacienda Hernandez or chatting over a glass of fresh orange juice and small dishes of tapas, always under the watchful eye of Doña Inés, who took her role of chaperone very much to heart.

For her part, Alexandra spent the mornings, and sometimes entire days, writing in the shade of a flame tree, among the flowering cacti
and grey-green stems of aloes, inspired by the peaceful atmosphere and the incredible beauty of the place. In Granada, the writer in her had come alive; she had achieved a great deal of research and wrote copious amounts.

Sometimes, when she was short of ideas, she would stroll through the narrow and congested streets of Granada's old district. She wandered free, happy and relaxed, taking in the bright palette and quaint scenery that this popular quarter offered. Alongside the quaintness, there was a no less striking picture of poverty and dirt in the old town, with its flies, the clatter and noise of thronging life, and odours reminiscent of Arab
souks
. There were beggars squatting on pavements and gypsy tinkers hawking their clinking kettles and pans: so much on which to feast the eye. Numerous colourful stalls overflowed with delicious fruit and vegetables, meats, poultry and fish. There were little donkeys, their panniers loaded with bread and everywhere, hanging over the narrow streets, were balconies spilling crimson flowers and oleanders.

From time to time, Alexandra would pause to watch the blacksmiths at work, or to admire the weavers as they dextrously spun their gaudy but nonetheless spectacular shawls. She would stop at a stall to buy a few olives, nuts or the long sausages stuffed with peppers of which Doña Inés was so fond. It was a poetic setting, one that was always changing. Sometimes it seemed romantic and reflective, other times demanding and provocative, but always satisfying. Then, after her long walk, she would come back exhausted but fulfilled to the peace of the hacienda at the top of the hill, feeling as if she were cocooned from the rest of the world.

In spite of all this, Alexandra was conscious that she had acted rashly and unreasonably in accepting Don Felipe's invitation. As the days went by, she was increasingly aware of her compromising situation, an unforgivable indiscretion in the eyes of Spanish society. Certainly no unmarried young lady, aristocrat or not, would think of embarking on such an adventure. She knew that she enjoyed unusual latitude as a foreigner, and perhaps that was why
the more cosmopolitan Doña Inés and Don Felipe encouraged her to stay, but there were certainly limits to the tolerance of most of the traditional people here, and she suspected she was coming close to crossing that boundary.

Several times during the course of the month she had thought about going back to England, though the prospect of taking up her old life — and of facing Ashley again — became less and less appealing as time went by. But her sojourn had lasted longer than she'd thought, and she didn't want to overstay her welcome at the Hacienda Hernandez.

When, on one occasion, she had voiced her thoughts about leaving, Don Felipe had assumed an injured expression. ‘Has anyone harmed you? Have I offended you in some way?'

She had retracted her proposal laughingly. Of course, nothing the
torero
had done had caused the slightest offence. Never during her stay had he been anything other than courteous and respectful, avoiding the slightest word or gesture that might have made her uneasy or tarnished her reputation in any way and, for that, Alexandra was grateful. Now and again, when Doña Inés was out of earshot, he would try tactfully to steer the conversation towards more intimate subjects, but she had always managed to evade them astutely without hurting him and Don Felipe, with his customary consideration and tact, had never persisted.

Every time the subject of her departure had arisen, Doña Inés too had found convincing words that took away her qualms. ‘Really, Doña Alexandra, you're simply doing necessary research for your novel. Plus, you're my companion, and a wonderful one at that. What could anyone object to?' Finally, with Don Felipe's help, she had managed to persuade Alexandra to postpone her travelling, at least until after the Whit Sunday bullfight.

So Alexandra stayed on. She loved this sun-baked country and its talkative people and had even begun to understand something of its strange traditions, which previously she had found distasteful and sometimes barbaric. Above all, though, if she were honest with
herself, it was the thought of Salvador not being far away that had led her to stay so long in Granada. She knew he often came down to the city for his work. Despite the fact that she had left El Pavón largely to escape her feelings for him, deep down she hoped that by some fortuitous twist of fate she would bump into him at a bend in a narrow street during one of her frequent strolls. So she dreamed.

She dreamed and wrote, wrote and dreamed. Because she had now experienced for herself each word of love, each moment of fear, each sigh she described, with Salvador the hero and she the heroine, Alexandra's characters came to life. They throbbed with a new vitality and her novel was redolent with the flavour of authenticity — something she had never quite achieved before.

But now today, suddenly, events had taken an unexpected and complicated turn. That morning, Don Felipe had proposed. It came out of the blue, while they were walking in the garden. Unprepared for such a bombshell, Alexandra had been at a loss for words. He had assumed her silence signified consent.

‘I've known that I wanted you for my wife since the first time I saw you. You're exquisite,
querida
, and no man can look at you without wanting to make you his. My life without you by my side is impossible to imagine. You've been happy here too, I'm sure. I will make you the envied head of a new dynasty. Come with me tomorrow, we'll take a trip to my
ganaderia
. What plans we shall make!'

Regaining her self-control, Alexandra had protested, trying to clarify the misunderstanding, but he had not wanted to hear.

‘Shush,
querida
,' he'd whispered, placing his fingers lightly on her lips, his black, fiery eyes boring into hers insistently, ‘not a word until after the
corrida
. They always say, never put a
matador
off his stride or he may be gored in the next. You only have forty-eight hours until the
corrida
,
mi princesa
. We will announce our happy news at the party I'll be giving in your honour, Alexandra.'

Now, a few hours later, Alexandra was standing at the window of her bedroom, studying the distant outline of the Sierras, lost in thought, as if those silent titans held the answer to her predicament.
She sighed and turned away, moving to the table, where she began distractedly to tidy her papers. Why had she not managed to make her feelings clear to Don Felipe? In saying nothing, she had only managed to complicate matters. She felt ensnared in a sticky web and slightly ashamed at her part in the weaving of it. How on earth could she extricate herself?

Calm sense prevailed. Whatever she decided to do, it would have to wait until after Don Felipe's performance in the arena. She would never forgive herself if something untoward were to happen on the day of the bullfight. One painful thought to distract him, or a feeling of devil-may-care recklessness, brought on by her refusal, could make all the difference between life and death, and she didn't want that on her conscience. She dropped her pen on to the stack of neatened pages and gazed back at the far-off, enigmatic mountains. If the Devil was involved at all, she mused, he was still playing his pipe and laughing at how she was caught up in his tune.

She told herself that once the
corrida
was over, and she had cleared up the misunderstanding, she would go back to England and that would be an end to it.

* * *

That night, having pleaded a headache so that she didn't have to face Don Felipe at dinner, Alexandra couldn't sleep. She tossed and turned in the big four-poster, a hundred disturbing thoughts milling about in her head. Finally, she gave up and climbed out of bed.

Putting on her dressing gown, she went downstairs. It would soon be dawn but perhaps some hot milk would help her sleep for a few hours. When she stepped into the kitchen, she saw Doña Inés standing by the open door to the terrace, sipping from a steaming glass. She turned her head and smiled from the doorway.

‘Alexandra. Can't sleep, my dear?'

‘No, not really. You look like you're having the same problem.'

‘I suffer from insomnia quite a bit these days and often come down to make myself some hot milk. Ignacio used to sweeten his with honey whenever he couldn't sleep, but I prefer mine plain.' She cast a look of gentle enquiry at Alexandra. ‘You missed dinner,
querida
, which won't have helped. Here, let me make you some.'

‘Thank you, I was hoping it would do the trick too.' Alexandra sat at the table and watched Doña Inés as she began heating milk on the stove.

‘Shall we move to the terrace?' Doña Inés suggested when she'd finished. ‘The kitchen's a little stuffy.'

Alexandra took the glass of frothy milk from her hand. ‘I'd love that, thank you.'

It was a smaller terrace than the one they usually used when they sat together in the evening after dinner. During the afternoon this was always a shady spot, a refuge from the heat of the kitchen. They sat down in a couple of easy chairs and put their glasses on the small, marble-topped table. Tired and overwrought, Alexandra was grateful for the softness of the light gleaming from a couple of wall-mounted, conch-shaped amber lamps.

The night was full of subtle enchantment, the air warm and sweet, throbbing with the sounds of insects and amphibians, and fragranced by spicy breezes wafting up from the flowers and shrubberies.

‘You really miss your husband, don't you?' Alexandra asked, as they settled back in their chairs.

Doña Inés smiled sadly. ‘Yes, I do. Ignacio and I had a wonderful marriage. I was devastated when he died.' She paused, looking at Alexandra. ‘He was completely bankrupt, you know. I didn't care, of course, being so consumed by grief. But I had nothing, no money to look after myself. If it hadn't been for Felipe, I don't know what I'd have done.' She waved a hand at her surroundings. ‘He paid for all of this, and the house in Gibraltar too.'

‘He's obviously a wonderful godson and cares about you a great deal.'

‘I'll always be grateful to him,' Doña Inés paused. ‘A lot of people don't understand him, but he's very loyal. Felipe is an intense young man and — how can I say it? — doesn't always have control over his passions. He's been like that since he was a boy.'

Alexandra met her direct gaze. ‘Yes, I can see that.' She was tempted by the kindness in Doña Inés' expression to tell her about Don Felipe's proposal. Could she take the risk of confiding in his godmother? She seemed so wise and grounded. But what if she insisted on talking to him, or worse still, if she thought that Alexandra and her godson would make the perfect match? So far, confessing her troubles to other people had not brought Alexandra much luck, and had only made her feel more vulnerable. No, it would be better to handle this alone for now.

‘My godson was always an affectionate child … but complicated,' Doña Inés went on, looking out over the garden. ‘Funnily enough, it was to me he often came when he was upset or angry, not his mother. Perhaps that's why we have something of a special bond. He still values my advice, you know, even though he's a grown man … charming, popular, courageous.'

‘The people's hero,' said Alexandra pensively, sipping her drink.

‘Yes, the people's hero, but a hero with few real friends. I'm glad he's found a friend in you, Alexandra.' Doña Inés patted her arm gently, in a maternal way. It made her yearn to reach out to the older woman for comfort but she merely gave a wan smile.

The velvet sky was alive with stars and the moon's milk-white sheen. Where its beams fell, the garden was almost as bright as day, although the shadows were blacker. Alexandra shivered in spite of the balmy air: the idea of light and dark had brought to mind the two facets of Don Felipe's personality, an unsettling association. Feeling suddenly lost and lonely, she hugged herself.