Indiscretion (54 page)

Her expression softened and she leant forward a little in her chair. ‘Darling, it's just that I don't want you to ruin your life the way your mother did. I realize you feel that I've nagged you far too much about settling down, but I want to know you're happy and secure.'

She smiled and continued. ‘I know Ashley well. He belongs to our world and, what is more, he's a fine-looking and dependable young man. He has all the qualities to make him a good husband, the very best, and he'll undoubtedly have a brilliant career at the bar.'

There was a stiff moment of silence when Alexandra appeared to be mulling over her aunt's words before she spoke, evenly. ‘Not once did I think of Ashley while I was in Spain. I admit he'll make some woman an excellent husband, but I have no yearning for him, don't you see? My feelings for him are quite different to those I have for Salvador. Between Ashley and me, there are none of the things that seem so important in a couple. It didn't used to bother me because I was ignorant of them, but they're evident to me now. As I said, Ashley is like a brother, no more than a friend. I love Salvador.'

‘Aren't you confusing pity for love?' Lady Grantley ventured.

Alexandra was vehement. ‘No,' she declared, feeling the colour rise in her cheeks. ‘No, of that I'm absolutely certain.' How could she tell Aunt Geraldine that each night she went to bed yearning for Salvador's touch? How could she explain the fire and the passion that took over her whole being whenever she thought of his kisses? How else could she account for the sense of loss she felt on learning of his engagement to Doña Isabel? Her love for him was an ineluctable truth that she could not deny any more and that was her whole
predicament. ‘You married Uncle Howard for love.' she persisted. ‘Can't you understand what I'm feeling?'

‘Yes, I loved Howard, more than I can describe …' Geraldine paused, gazing intently at her niece. ‘And your mother loved Alonso. But it's not always the existence of love that guarantees happiness, my dear. I was lucky to have had so much on my side. Your mother was not. And it pains me to see the same happening with you.'

‘Mother was unlucky,' Alexandra's green eyes sparkled with emotion. ‘But I disagree with you. Love, if absolute, should always be the most important thing. I cannot live a lie.'

‘In that case, what can I say? You never know. Maybe all is not lost.' Geraldine eyed her niece over the rim of her coffee cup. ‘You know, don't you, that I do realize how much this trip has meant to you.'

‘You
do
? You always seemed to hate the idea of me going at all.'

‘Yes, I did. I thought I had lost you when you left. It looked like everything I ever feared was coming true. I was so relieved when you came back. And then, earlier, when you spoke of this Salvador … well, at first it seemed I was right but from the way you describe your experiences, it now occurs to me how deep your affinity with Spain has become. Your mother never had that.' She gave an elegant shrug of her shoulders. ‘Perhaps that gives you a greater chance of finding happiness there.'

At this they exchanged a slow, warm smile of understanding that spoke volumes. Alexandra gazed down at her hands as another thought struck her. ‘Supposing the article wasn't just a rumour, the sort of gossip one finds in society journals, and he is actually engaged to Doña Isabel?'

‘He will have simply made life that much easier for you,' Lady Grantley said as she raised herself from her chair. ‘Come now, it's getting late and, judging by those circles under your eyes, you don't seem to have had much sleep lately.'

‘You're right,' Alexandra confessed, yawning. ‘But I'll sleep well tonight. The air down here always makes me drowsy.' She gave her aunt an affectionate kiss. ‘Thank you, Aunt Geraldine,' she said
gratefully. ‘I don't know what I would have done without you all these years.'

At this Lady Grantley's eyes misted over. ‘Go up to bed now. I'll stay here and read for a while. Sleep seems to escape me these days.'

‘Goodnight, then.'

‘Goodnight, my dear.'

* * *

Nearly nine months had gone by since Alexandra's conversation with her aunt. There had been a few conversations on the subject since then, but to no great effect. With the acceptance of her love for Salvador had come a raging grief at her loss that consumed Alexandra entirely. Aunt Geraldine watched helplessly as her niece retreated into a mournful silence.

Again and again Alexandra had put off her return to London. She had no desire to resume her busy, sophisticated city life, no wish to see her friends, go to concerts or the theatre. All she wanted was the space and solitude to cope with the pain and persistent misery into which she felt herself sinking little by little, day after day, until she believed it would engulf her whole being like quicksand.

She had spent many weeks after her return to Grantley Hall in the darkness of her room. Curled up in bed, she refused to see anybody, her trays of food turned away, untouched. Sick with self-deprecation, she was full of regrets, asking herself over and over how could she have been so reckless as to get embroiled in such a hopeless situation? Her foolish behaviour, as well as her misplaced pride, had played a large part in this mess; now Alexandra's hope of being forgiven was forever dashed and the love she couldn't deny burned within her like an agonizing fever. As hard as she forced it away from her conscious mind, she could not deflect the corroding stabs of raw jealousy that knifed through her whenever she thought of Salvador and Doña Isabel's photograph in the society magazine. Still, what
use were regrets? Where Salvador was concerned, her fate was sealed, and she had to figure out what she was going to do with the rest of her life. She must stop torturing herself and get on with living. By now, they were probably married and that was the end of it.

Gradually, she picked herself up. Winter had come and gone at Grantley Hall and, although the whipping wind and the frost covering the grounds reflected the bleakness inside her, Alexandra had begun to push herself towards recovery, taking back control of her life. She remembered the quote from Thomas Hardy's
Tess of the d'Urbervilles
: ‘
A strong woman who recklessly throws away her strength, she is worse than a weak woman who has never had any strength to throw away.
' She was determined not to throw away her own strength and, in a bid to focus her mind and channel her emotional restoration, she began pencilling notes for a new book, a tragic romance.

There had been a letter during that time, one that had spurred Alexandra's resolve to reclaim her life. Ramón had written from America. After arriving there at the beginning of the year, he had already bought a ranch. Writing with his usual charm and impish humour, interspersed with anecdotes about the country and its people, he seemed happy and liberated in his new life, and it occurred to her that if he had the courage to begin again, so too could she.

Much like someone recuperating from a long and debilitating illness, Alexandra slid into a day-to-day routine of reading, writing, and endless long walks in the countryside or on the beach, slowly allowing her wounds to heal. The time spent at El Pavón and in Granada seemed an age away but the sense of desolation and loneliness that had emanated from that experience was still never too far away.

* * *

It had been raining since the morning; a fine, persistent spring rain.By the time Alexandra came down for her daily walk before supper,
the drizzle had stopped, leaving the countryside fresh and green. A rainbow appeared in the west as the sun made a shy appearance, moving suddenly out of the clouds. Alexandra breathed in the air, pure and crisp after these vernal showers, and the fresh smell that rose from the wet earth. Nature had taken on a new brilliance, a dewy lustre full of anticipation. Everywhere, the rain had formed droplets, sparkling little jewels that slid down the leaves like specks of quicksilver. Birds twittered joyfully, welcoming this unexpected sunny spell and the promise of new growth.

So why was she not similarly hopeful, light-hearted and confident of the future? It had been spring last year when she arrived in Andalucía, so full of dreams and plans. Now, the sight of everything on the edge of bursting into bloom gave her a strange sense of unease. Feelings she had fought to smother these last few months quietly reignited with this relentless budding of life around her.

At this hour, the place was deserted. Gideon, the head gardener, had gone home, along with the other retainers who worked in the grounds of Grantley Hall. Alexandra took the path that wound down to the part of the garden that bordered the lake; a special spot she had run to over the years whenever she'd wanted to think, or to escape. That evening she needed solitude, and it was only natural that she should seek out this little patch of paradise. Here, somehow, she would shake off the burden of undesirable feelings that, since sunrise, had come back to assail her.

In the small hours she had dreamed of Salvador; a clear, vivid dream that left her shaking, panting, her body still throbbing to the frenzied rhythm of his passion, lips burning with his fierce and punishing kiss. All day long she had been restless, finding it impossible to settle to anything. She could feel the tension building as the volcano she had thought dormant once again started to grumble away inside her.

The landscaping of the hills and dips in this part of the vast garden had been designed to captivate the imagination with its subtle intrigue, creating changes in elevation and making natural
divisions. Interesting little outdoor spaces and arbours had emerged from this cultivation, filled with flowers, especially rose bushes. Nearest the house stretched the kitchen garden, with its colourful splashes of red vine tomatoes, yellow and orange nasturtiums, and bright-green dangling runner beans. A level below this lay a secret garden of smooth grass bordered with great vibrant bushes of rhododendron and white roses. Alexandra had written much of her first novel on the bench here, atop a small hillock, on a carpet of bluebells under the beech trees. From there, she could see straight down the mossy verge, now sprinkled with daffodils, to the lake below.

That evening the lake was dark and smooth, not a ripple disturbing its silent waters. Alexandra sat on a massive stone slab at its edge, close to an arc of trees. Surrounded by a tangle of creeping bunchberry and ivy, she almost resembled a piece of sculpture. Her arrival had scattered a family of ducklings: the mother duck, having spotted the young woman, waddled up the bank and took refuge under a large leaf. She called her young to her, who came and buried their heads in her feathers. Alexandra watched silently as a sole lizard basked in the waning rays of the evening sun. It looked back at her, sniffed the air disdainfully, then strolled off and disappeared into the undergrowth.

She sat there a long time, totally still, as though her excessive anguish, in the way a wound might, demanded complete immobility. In the distance, on the other side of the lake, the tall, thick figures of conifer trees formed a screen barely darker than the ambient soft-hued light of dusk. It was getting late: soon it would be dinner-time and she had best be starting back if she wanted to change.

She roused herself from her misty torpor, taking care not to make any noise lest she disturb the little feathered family that had now abandoned their refuge and were pecking away cheerfully at some grain in the grass, just a few feet away. It was no good, though: as soon as she stood up, they took fright, scattering in all directions, quacking furiously.

She started back, heaviness, like lead, pressing on her soul. More than nine months had gone by and still she could not escape Salvador's memory. She thought that the pain had subsided but judging from the way she felt this evening, she would never be free of him. The past would always be there, plaguing the future.

‘Miss Alexandra!'

She looked up to see the ageing butler hurrying as fast as he could across the lawn. Alexandra went to meet him by the bank of rhododendrons.

‘Goodness, Miles, you're out of breath. What is it?'

‘Miss Alexandra … a letter … I'm terribly sorry. Rose took delivery of it this afternoon and then … well, it appears she “forgot” about it.' He raised an eyebrow. ‘I've had words with her, of course.' He handed over a slightly battered-looking cream envelope. ‘The postmark is from Spain, Miss.'

Alexandra's eyes widened as she took the letter. ‘Thank you … Thank you, Miles.'

As the butler hastened back to the house, she turned the envelope round in her hands, hesitating. Without being familiar with any of her cousins' handwriting, she couldn't be sure if it was from Esmeralda or Salvador, or perhaps Doña Inés, as the
duenna
had been such a good friend to her, but then she noticed the Madrid postmark.

She started back the way she had come, towards the lake. It seemed the best place to open it. Back at the stone seat, she tore open the letter. It was from Esmeralda.

My dear cousin Alexandra,

I hope this letter finds you well. My aunt gave me your address in England. I know she's written to you too but it may be many months before you receive our letters, if at all. You must be wondering what happened to me, though I'm sure you always guessed that I'd take the first opportunity to leave El Pavón.

I have so much to tell you, and it's a shame that you are not still in Spain so that we could meet.

The first thing you should know is that there has been an accident and Salvador is in hospital. He has been in a coma for a month now. To begin with, the doctors didn't know if he would live or die and still can't tell us when he will come out of it …

Alexandra turned the envelope over in her hand to look at the postmark again. Last July! Who knows what had happened since then? She read on, hands trembling, desperate for more news of Salvador.