The Flesh and the Devil (65 page)

         
‗Señora, pardon me.‘

         
The inclination of Tristan's head was so exactly judged
that she was unsure whether or not he mocked her as he moved away. Her hand
fell to her side almost at once, and she smiled frozenly.

         
‗For what - or should I say for whom, señor?‘

         
‗What but the most important business could draw me
from your side.‘ It was not a question, but the brilliant eyes belied the
unemotional tone. ‗It is no less, my honour upon it,‘ he added rather
strangely.

         
Her yellowish eyes glittered. ‗I am half-minded to
deny you leave to go in spite of that, Señor Stanford. If I were captious, I
might say that no business could be more important than the loss of my favour.‘

         
‗And I might reply that I know you to be too
well-graced in intellect and far too deep in policy to seek to hold a man with
shows of temper like some tiresome virgin.‘ He watched the pique drain from her
face to be replaced by something like complicity, then raised her bejewelled
hand to within a hairsbreadth of his lips before he left her. Doña Jerónima
watched him go with a feeling of disappointment whose acuteness surprised her;
the ugly young man with the impossible hair had made her pulse race like a
girl‘s. If he went to Margarita now, she found herself thinking, she would claw
the little bitch‘s eyes out.

         
But he did not, and the knowledge gave her an odd thrill
triumph. Her gaze followed the glint of copper above the heads of her guests
for a few moments before it was lost to sight in the wreaths of smoke from so
many candles, but he was going towards the door that led to the hallway, away
from Margarita and Don Diego. Perhaps he had spoken the truth, and it was
business that called him after all.

         
‗Jerónima, do you know what you have been saying? You
might as well have told him straight out that we are selling the girl! If the
fellow talks of it –‘

         
‗Oh, nonsense, Bautista, you are boring me.‘ The thin
brows jerked together, and Doña Jerónima shut her fan with a snap. ‗The
man is a stone, and besides, even if he does not impute it to our strange
customs, they understand such things in England - they are not hypocrites, like
so many here. I knew what I did.‘

         
She stifled her own uneasiness and glanced sidelong at the
clock. It was nearing ten. Soon, she thought, with clenching fingers,
soon
....

         
To Juana the festivities had taken on the air of some lunatic
ritual, without sense or purpose. It seemed insane that so many people should
crowd together, saying things that had no meaning while they pretended to be
what they were not. Don Diego was babbling to her of regard and admiration,
while they both knew well that he only cared to have her to bed with him. She
was acting the part of an unawakened girl while she carried another man‘s child
in her belly. She pretended ignorance to Don Diego because seeming not to
understand his intention was the most absolute denial of it, but the glimpse
she had had of Tristan across the room had made her hideously self-conscious.
He, too, pretended; watching her from another woman's side as coolly as if he
had never possessed her, never sowed his child within her. Don Diego, baffled
by her lack of response to his fertile flow of compliments, suddenly remembered
the advice that his hostess had whispered to him as he bowed over her hand on
his arrival.

         
‗Treat her gently.‘ The whisper had not seemed to
disturb a muscle of her smiling face. ‗Make her believe that you mean
nothing but friendship. Then –‘

         
Her hand closed for an instant into a tightly-clenched
fist.

         
Don Diego preferred the more open way, but now that it
seemed to be yielding him little he decided to change his tactics. ‗You
will drink with me at least, señorita?‘ he asked more mildly, and did not try
to clutch at her hand as her fingers fell from his at the dance‘s end.

         
She did not respond, and he repeated the question, and
after a moment she turned to him, looking curiously haunted.

         
‗Pardon me, I did not hear what you said.‘ The tremor
in her voice emboldened Don Diego, ‗No matter. Something troubles you?‘

         
‗No. Only - have you seen Señor Stanford? The tall
Englishman with the scarred face?‘

         
‗What, the Condesa's cicisbeo?‘ His eyebrows lifted
in genuine surprise. ‗I shall grow jealous if you enquire for him - I
thought that even if you show this cruelty to me, there is no other man who
fares better!‘

         
‗There is not, but... that face of his displeases me,
and I should be glad to be sure that he has gone.‘

         
‗Oh,then - !' Don Diego shrugged magnanimously, a
difficult feat in his buckram-stiffened doublet. ‗I saw him a while
since, talking to our kind hostess, but I see no sign of him now. For sure he
has gone-such a giant cannot be overlooked.‘

         
Juana forced a smile with her murmured thanks. It was as
well he had gone, she thought; it took away any chance that she would yield to
the wild urge to let him know what had happened to her. It would have been no
more than another minor victory to him; perhaps he would have seen it as a fit
revenge on her for trying to be quit of him, that now she should be condemned
to bear his child. She could picture the glint of unpitying amusement that would
have been in his eyes if she had confessed that he had achieved his first
purpose when he lay with her. Would it, she wondered bitterly, have been a jest
to share with the Condesa Elena?

         
She swayed and found Don Diego supporting her, his fingers
caressing at her waist, and his voice sounded blurred in her ears. ‗You
are faint –‘ She thought absently that he sounded more excited than disturbed. ‗Come,
let me help you to a chair.‘

         
The sounds in the room were close at one moment, echoing
and distant the next; Juana closed her eyes weakly and let him help her to a
couch by the wall. She could hear a violent thudding close to her and realized
that it must be! Don Diego's heartbeat. She must be too heavy, she thought, too
heavy for him to lift.... She was roused from a waking dream of someone
carrying her as lightly as if she were a blown leaf when she was lowered to the
couch,| and she opened her eyes to see Don Diego bending over her.

         
‗You are not well, señorita. Let me –‘

         
‗It is nothing. A passing faintness, that is all.‘
Juana‘s mouth was dry as she spoke, and the room seemed to be swinging like a
brawling bell; giddiness caught her afresh, and she had a sudden terror that
she was going to vomit again. She was aware of a shimmer of rose-pink somewhere
in her range of vision, and lifted an ashen, glassy-eyed face to Doña Jerónima.
The widow eyed her appraisingly, but Juana did not recognize the expression on
her face.

         
‗Do not crowd her so, all of you. If Margarita is
faint she needs air, not advice.‘

         
Juana had not realized until then how many had clustered
around her. They melted away obediently, and she felt a thin arm supporting her
shoulders, the coolness of silk against her cheek.

         
‗Come now, my dear, do not try to speak for a moment;
you have been overcome by the heat of the room, and now you must sit quietly
until all these kind folk have dispersed.‘ The thread of meaning beneath the
gentle words made those who still lingered turn away sharply, and in moments
only Don Diego still stood before them, his gaze on the elder woman, not the
girl.

         
‗Is she -?‘ he began hesitantly.

         
‗Go on, man, go on!‘ Doña Jerónima‘s lips curled as
she gazed at him above Juana‘s drooping head. ‗This could not be better
for your cause. Go where I bade you - I shall bring her presently,‘ she added
under her breath.

         
With a last look at Juana‘s white face Don Diego obeyed,
hoping that the girl would not remain so listless for long; then he sketched a
bow and hurried away with a jaunty, almost cocksure step.

         
Doña Jerónima grimaced slightly and bent her head to
address Juana, her voice as sweet as warm honey. ‗Margarita-Margarita!
Look up, my dear. Do you feel a little better now?‘

         
For a moment Juana did not respond to the name, and then
she recollected herself and lifted her head sharply from Doña Jerónima‘s
shoulder. ‗Yes, of course,‘ she answered weakly, ‗but I - I cannot
understand it. I never faint.‘

         
‗Sit here for a while, and then when you can stand I
shall take you out of this crowd. You will recover faster away from this
hubbub.‘

         
Juana drew a deep breath and forced herself to her feet.

         
The covert gazes that surrounded her seemed to barb her
skin like tiny arrows, and suddenly she could not endure them any longer.

         
‗No need to linger, señora, I had rather go now; as
you say, it must have been the heat.‘

         
She wondered whether Felipe Tristan had seen her swoon; but
no, Don Diego had said he must have gone, and in any case he would not have
been concerned; still less would be have risked revealing any connection
between them in front of so many watching eyes. He would not risk his secrecy,
nor his Elena's affection, if she were to fall dead before him, she thought.

         
‗Then come.‘

         
Doña Jerónima regarded her with a tinge of admiration as
she went with her to the door. That powder had never failed yet, she was
thinking; the little fool looked as white as a ghost, yet she did not cling to
her arm or mutter pettishly as many had. She accorded Juana a mental nod of
respect, for in that at least the girl had proved stronger than many men.

         
Juana, catching sight of her face as she turned to smile at
her, could only wonder why Doña Jerónima‘s small, almost ascetic face had
suddenly reminded her of Eugenio de Castañeda‘s. It was something about the
eyes, a look of cold relish... but the thought made no sense, for Doña Jerónima
had shown her nothing but kindness.

         
The faintness passed rapidly as soon as Juana left the
grand salon, and she began to revive with every breath she drew. Doña Jerónima
did not speak to her but seemed content; merely to guide her along the quiet
corridors. It was not for a minute or two that Juana noticed that they were
not, as she had numbly assumed, going towards her bedchamber. ‗Señora,
where are we going?‘

         
She thought that the widow stiffened before she answered,
but the elder woman‘s tone was bland. ‗Recovered so soon, my dear? I am
taking you to see the pictures in my gallery - I must have said I would do so
one day, I am sure. No?

         
Well, it is no matter. I believed when you came that there
was plenty of time for you to see them, but since you will be leaving me so
soon.... No, we will not talk of it tonight. Rest here and look at the
paintings, and when you feel fit you can rejoin the guests below. Look, here is
the gallery.‘ Her voice had changed subtly.