The Guardian of Secrets: And Her Deathly Pact (30 page)

After
the
cathedral,
we
went
to
La
Lonja
de
la
Seda.
That’s
the
silk
trader’s
building.
Inside,
corridors
of
great
marble
pillars
and
high
dome-shaped
ceilings
dominated
the
entire
building.
The
ceiling
was
so
high
that
I
thought
my
neck
was
going
to
break
just
looking
at
it.
There
were
fifty
or
more
small
wooden
desks
with
one
chair
on
either
side
dotted
around
the
vast
floor
space,
and
Ernesto
told
me
that
in
the
days
when
silk
was
a
major
export,
every
clerk
had
his
own
desk
to
barter
and
negotiate
prices
with
the
silk
producers.
Outside,
the
noise
of
building
works
filled
the
air.
To
the
left
and
right
of
La
Lonja,
new
tower
blocks
sat
tall
and
proud
in
the
Valencia
skyline
and
Ernesto
told
me
that
the
largest
insurance
companies
owned
them;
they
became
even
richer
because
of
the
expanding
citrus
trade.

Then
we
met
once
more
with
Marta
and
Rosa,
and
I
was
sorry
that
my
time
alone
with
Ernesto
had
ended.
Why
do
I
feel
this
way?
I
love
the
way
he
talks,
the
way
in
which
he
gestures
animatedly
with
his
hands.
He
is
intelligent
and
funny.
He
makes
me
laugh
and
makes
me
feel
so
alive.
No
one
has
ever
made
me
feel
this
way!

Last
night
we
stayed
in
Valencia.
My
goodness,
what
a
house
I
slept
in!
No,
not
a
house.
It
was
a
palace
belonging
to
the
Marqués
de
Dos
Fuentes,
who
is
Ernesto’s
uncle.
It
was
probably
the
most
magnificent
building
I’d
seen
all
day.
An
architect
called
Hipólito
Rovira
built
the
palace,
and
it
was
in
Gothic
style.
The
alabaster
doorway
was
the
most
amazing
piece
of
workmanship
I’ve
ever
seen.
The
hallways,
with
ceilings
decorated
in
gold
leaf,
paintings,
and
ceramic
mosaics
dating
back
to
the
seventeenth
century,
left
me
breathless.
It
was
truly
exquisite
but
maybe
a
bit
too
grandiose
and
eccentric.
I
wasn’t
surprised
to
learn
that
its
illustrious
designer
had
died
insane.

We
dined
at
a
wonderful
restaurant
last
night,
right
in
the
centre
of
the
city.
The
diners,
elegantly
dressed
in
dinner
suits
and
gowns
sparkling
with
diamonds,
laughed
and
danced
in
a
way
I’d
never
seen
before,
and
although
I
never
said
so,
I
surmise
that
these
people
are
not
tied
to
the
confines
of
the
strict
religious
protocols
for
which
Spain
is
famed.
They
seemed
to
be
enjoying
themselves
with
an
abandonment
of
all
rules
governing
behavioural
correctness.
The
ladies
danced
so
close
to
their
partners
that
their
bodies
touched
at
the
most
intimate
places,
and
when
they
kissed,
it
was
in
a
way
that
would
most
certainly
be
frowned
upon,
even
in
London.
All
the
books
I
read
before
coming
to
Spain,
about
Spanish
culture,
stated
that
unmarried
ladies
dare
not
even
talk
to
or
dance
with
gentlemen
to
whom
they
were
not
betrothed
for
fear
of
the
permanent
destruction
of
their
reputations.
Maybe
the
Spanish
aristocracy
lives
by
a
set
of
rules
governed
entirely
by
them.
It
reminds
me
of
the
hypocrisy
of
King
Edward
VII.
He
preached
family
values
yet
cheated
on
his
wife
on
a
regular
and
very
public
basis,
and
many
blamed
him
for
setting
an
example
of
low
moral
standards.
But
what
do
I
know
of
such
things?

And
the
food!
In
addition
to
lobster
and
caviar,
there
were
dishes
with
large
fish,
their
heads
still
attached
and
their
dead
eyes
still
wide
in
shock.
There
were
racks
of
lamb,
chickens,
pig,
and
venison,
but
what
held
my
attention
was
the
great
paella
pan
filled
with
rice,
meat,
shellfish,
and
vegetables.
Red
prawns,
black
mussels,
pieces
of
chicken,
and
green
beans
were
nestled
on
top
of
a
bed
of
yellow
rice.
someone
must
have
spent
a
great
deal
of
time
designing
the
pan,
as
all
the
ingredients
were
so
perfectly
placed.

I
danced
with
Ernesto.
I
must
admit
that
I
didn’t
relish
the
thought
of
making
a
fool
of
myself
in
such
distinguished
company,
but
Ernesto
propelled
me
around
the
room
and
knew
exactly
where
my
feet
should
be.
We
danced
all
night,
and
it
was
a
magical
evening,
one
I
will
never
forget.