Indiscretion (35 page)

‘It's very kind of you to say so.' Alexandra endeavoured to give a gracious smile, determined not to allow Doña Isabel the satisfaction of thinking that her spiteful words had hit home.

‘I will be in touch soon about the visit to our
bodegas
.' Felipe dropped his voice a little and fixed her with one of his salacious looks, before turning to Salvador. ‘I have spent a most enjoyable evening,
señor
. You're very lucky to have such talent in your family,' he stated emphatically. Salvador acknowledged his comment with a nod and the shadow of a smile. His eyes flicked across to Alexandra but the expression in them was unreadable. ‘I'll walk you to your car,' he offered, giving Doña Isabel his arm. Together they strolled into the garden and Alexandra hurried up to her room without a word.

* * *

Alexandra woke up with a start, shuddering from an incoherent and confused nightmare in which gypsies were guests at a masked ball in a strange castle and a
torero
was chasing her into the dungeons. Her chest felt constricted. Panting, she reached for the lamp on the bedside table and turned it on. A pale shaft of light flooded the room. Dazed and half-asleep, her screams still echoing inside her head, she slid out of bed and staggered to the window. Outside, a crescent moon was faint in the half-light of morning and the first sounds of the dawn chorus had begun.

Alexandra stepped out on to the small balcony. The distant accents of a string adagio trembled in the air. She strained her ears; the music was barely audible, its sad melody a sultry whisper in the silence. As she leaned over the balustrade, she saw light spilling out on to the terrace from the drawing room below. Who could be playing the violin at this hour?

Alexandra went back into her room and glanced at the clock. Half past four. She wouldn't get back to sleep now: the fresh early-morning air had caused her to feel wide awake. On impulse, she slipped on her dressing gown and crept down the staircase. By the time she reached the bottom, the music had stopped. Though the drawing-room door was shut, a weak bar of light shone underneath it. Alexandra moved forward and paused, her hand resting on the doorknob, uncertain whether or not to breach the privacy of the person on the other side. She opened the door but didn't walk in.

Straight away she saw Salvador. His back was to her and he was leaning against the frame of the open window, smoking quietly, gazing into space. His head shifted a little as the door creaked, but he didn't turn.

Alexandra stood on the threshold staring at him. He obviously hadn't been to bed as he was still wearing the same clothes he'd worn at dinner, though he had shed his suit jacket and tie. She couldn't help but admire the strong lines of his profile, his long, straight, masculine back and broad shoulders clearly visible beneath the white
shirt. Suddenly she felt at a loss, not knowing whether to leave or what to say if she stayed.

Salvador remained motionless for a few moments more, looking out into the budding morning. The cigarette in his hand was no more than a stub. After tossing it brusquely on to the grass outside, he turned at last.

He was pale, his features drawn and his brow furrowed with fine horizontal lines that she didn't remember noticing before. His eyes had the same glazed, desperate look they'd had on the night of the wake and his mouth was set in a thin, hard line. If there had been any residue of anger in her, it melted when she saw his expression. She ached to run to him, to take him in her arms and relieve him of his demons. But just as suddenly as she had felt that urge, she felt helpless again. Salvador, with his baffling silences and offhand behaviour, had built such high walls and barriers between them, so many insurmountable obstacles, that she stood there, paralysed. Once more, her own pride, and the fear of rebuff, left her tongue-tied.

They stared at each other across the room. Salvador didn't seem surprised by her presence. Nor did he seem to feel the awkwardness hanging so palpably in the room. Finally she found the courage to speak.

‘You never told me you played the violin,' she said, unsteadily. ‘What a beautiful melody, I don't think I've heard it before. Who's the composer?'

‘He's unknown,' Salvador answered flatly, shutting the window and placing the violin in its case.

What should she do?
Standing there alone with him in the small hours, she had to find something to say, some way to ford this chasm, she told herself. But what was the use? The dark, impervious look on his face suggested that he was far from approachable.

‘Speak to me, Salvador,' she said softly, instantly regretting those words the moment they left her lips.

But he shook his head obstinately. ‘It will do no good,' he sighed, without looking at her. ‘I've endlessly repeated all there is to say.
I have nothing more to add.' His tone was final, his eyes shuttered. Alexandra moved tentatively across the room and stood next to him as he put the violin case in a cupboard.

‘So we're back to where we were … again?' She took a deep breath. ‘But why then, all those times … what about the night at Ronda and this morning?' she whispered, trying to get him to look at her, once more her deep-green irises searching his face for some clue.

‘They meant nothing.' Salvador leant an arm on the cupboard door and ran the other hand through his unruly hair.

‘Nothing?' Alexandra stared in disbelief.

‘Why must you always challenge me, Alexandra?' He spoke without looking at her. ‘You're a very beautiful woman. No hot-blooded man would be able to resist you. Can't you see that?'

He turned on her, his eyes blazing, and with his free hand pushed her firmly by the waist against the cupboard. She gasped, her pulse leaping. Their bodies were so close now that she could feel the heat radiating off him, his warm breath against her mouth, his eyes searing her own. It brought back to life all the yearning she had strived to keep under control. Her breasts were rising and falling unsteadily against his chest as his gaze travelled over her lips.

‘Don't pretend you're not aware of how provocative you are,' he growled, his hold tightening on her waist. Alexandra's pupils widened and he gave a bitter laugh. ‘Don Felipe could hardly keep his hands off you tonight.' Scorn twisted his mouth but the look he gave her was sharp with tormented desire and some kind of deeper pain. He looked down at her flimsy dressing gown and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, his expression had become cold and aloof. He stepped away from her. ‘The flesh is weak, Alexandra. Forgive me if I gave you the wrong impression.'

His answer was so brusque and unexpected that Alexandra looked at him blankly, her heart slowly breaking. She shook her head. ‘You're lying,' she muttered, forcing back a sob.

‘Perhaps I am.' Salvador met her accusing gaze impassively. ‘But that is my prerogative.' His voice roughened. ‘You don't look well.
You should go to bed, get some sleep. You'll feel better in the morning.' He crossed in front of her and briskly left the room.

Trembling, her back still against the cupboard, she finally caved in and began to cry.

O
nce in her room, Alexandra knew it was pointless to go back to bed. A soft, luminous brightness bathed the garden. Dawn burned through the trees at the edge of the hacienda and over the orange and lemon groves. The happy choir of birdsong had given way to the incessant hum of cicadas, heralding a scorching day. At this hour, the garden glowed with timeless enchantment. Alexandra wondered how many generations had stood at the same window, year after year, enjoying the tranquil view at daybreak, and would continue to do so for aeons to come. People would come and go but nature's meticulous clock ticked on eternally, unchanging and immutable. She sighed. Much good it did her to philosophize.

He can't treat you like this
, she thought.
Where is your pride?
The encounter with Salvador the previous night had wounded her in ways she could not begin to understand. Angry, but most of all hurt, she gave in to the wave of self-pity that swept over her. A bleak sense of desperation filled her heart; the memory of her mother's abandonment surfaced with the pain of a wound being reopened. Desertion seemed fated to be her lot in life: first her mother, then her father, and now Salvador.

Still, with Salvador she felt trapped in a hopeless situation and she was beginning to believe it was of her own making. Tears of humiliation welled in her eyes. She had been wrong, utterly wrong from the start. Salvador didn't need her, let alone love her. He was physically attracted to her; that she could see. However, she had mistaken the drive of his libido for deeper feelings, conjured by her
own fertile and romantic imagination. After all, it was common knowledge that sex drives were totally different, she told herself. A man's was not only stronger but much more straightforward; certainly this was so with Salvador. Alexandra, like most young women of her age, had always been led to believe that sexual desire in a woman was mostly emotional, rather than physical; though if this were true, the frightening power of her own newly discovered needs and desires caused her even more confusion and guilt.

On top of this, Salvador had now made it perfectly clear that he considered her an argumentative and immature female who had obsessively thrown herself at him, and he would be much relieved if she kept out of his way, and yet …

There were times when she had been aware of a harmonious bond between them, as well as moments when he had vibrated with an intensity of feeling that equalled her own. Only yesterday he had displayed an ardour that belied his indifference. Still, she had to admit that, right from the start, her spells of happiness with Salvador had been made up of fleeting moments and were always punctuated by far longer bouts of aloofness or outbursts of anger on his part; and always by regret.

He had made it quite clear the first time they'd met, on the night of the masked ball, that she had no place in Spain. She should have taken his advice then and fled; but already she'd fallen under his spell, even back there on the terrace; she knew it now. The setting, the scenery, the atmosphere, the ambiguous personality of the man had all conspired to create a situation that appealed to the passionate and adventurous side of her nature.

She had blinkered herself, clutched at every cliché, wanting to believe in the big romance. Now she herself was captive of those same circumstances in which the heroines of her novels had so often found themselves, with all the pitfalls and dramas that made her own books bestsellers. How ironic … What a fool she'd been. Her anger rose again, and with it new resolve.
I am a woman, not a child. I won't run away.
Besides, a deeper feeling had been triggered inside her and she
could not ignore it now; it kept her here, waiting for something to happen that she could not understand yet. Time passed as she sat there in the sanctuary of her bedroom, lost in introspection, musing on how the events of the past few months had changed her.

The sun was up, a swollen golden globe above the treetops. Gradually, its warm rays crept into the room, banishing the purple hues of night and with them Alexandra's sombre thoughts. She breathed in the morning air, trying to absorb some of its tranquillity. How invigorating it felt.

Alexandra shrugged; it was pointless to brood, she would dress and go for a walk. No doubt that would help untangle her emotions and clarify her confused thoughts. Perhaps there was a way for her and Salvador to be friends, if she could only set aside her romantic notions and become less sensitive to his mercurial ways. Besides, he'd always indulged in these childish moods so what was different this time?

She put on a pair of jeans and a white cotton blouse and slipped her book into her bag. Almost used to the Spanish sun by now, Alexandra decided against a hat. Missing breakfast was a good idea too, even if that meant breaking the sacrosanct ‘meals rule'. For once, she would be the elusive, moody one; it would teach Salvador a lesson. Then, perhaps, he would be loath to play silly games in the future.

There were charming corners of the hacienda Alexandra had not yet explored so she drifted down to the east side of the grounds. She turned into a pathway shaded by jacarandas and planes, where orchards and gardens extended on either side as far as the eye could see. Roses, wild jasmine and sweet-smelling herbs filled the morning with their aromatic scent.

The day was heating up; it was still quite early, but already the sun was blazing down, like most mornings in the south of Spain in late spring. There wasn't a ghost of a breeze. Alexandra took her time winding her way through the exquisite gardens, edged with elegant cypress trees, often stopping to sit and read her book or scribble
down a few notes in her notepad. After that, beyond the borders of the gardens, she walked for more than an hour, meandering back and forth across acres of fruit trees, soaking in the beauty of the light and heady fragrance of orange blossom in the air.

But she was becoming hot and weary. Maybe leaving her hat behind was not such a good idea after all, she thought, as she crossed an unshaded path and walked down the side of one of the apple orchards. She paused just long enough to catch her breath. This was a place to laze and abandon all idea of exercise. The air itself was persuasive, and it took an immeasurable amount of effort not to surrender to its wiles; but the walk was doing her good, clearing her mind of the shadows that often accumulate in the silent darkness of night. Indulging in a short siesta this afternoon would be just the thing to recuperate.

Soon, a little ahead on the right, the ground dropped slightly into a small grove. Through the foliage Alexandra noticed a tool shed, its walls covered in a huge crimson rambling rose, dazzling under the beating sun. Carefully, she made her way down the steep slope of red soil. The floor of the glade was covered in white blossoms that exhaled a tart fragrance as she walked. Spying an old bucket at the foot of a tree in a patch of shade, she sat down on it and leant against the tree trunk, watching a solitary puffy white cloud drift slowly into the distance. Except for the rasp of the cicadas, it was totally silent. A hawk, his wings spread wide, hung in the blue sky, gliding smoothly round and round until he too disappeared out of sight.

Alexandra was about to get up and resume her walk when she heard a rustling of leaves and the faint sound of muffled voices coming from the other side of the tool shed. She looked around in a panic, not knowing what to do. Eavesdropping was not a habit she wanted to acquire, but she was trapped. To get back on to the pathway or go deeper into the grove meant that she would have to come out into the open. Either way she would be seen and intuition told her that wasn't a good idea.

‘This time there should be no accidents,' said a woman's voice. ‘The aim is to make her life unpleasant and force her to go back to England, not kill the girl.'

‘Leave it to me,' snorted her partner.

Although they spoke in whispers, Alexandra could easily hear what was being said. Furthermore, she was in no doubt as to the identity of the pair. Clearly she had come upon a conversation not meant for her ears.

‘The last time you told me to leave it to you, a disaster almost happened. Don Salvador got involved and it was only by sheer luck you weren't discovered,' retorted Doña Eugenia icily.

‘Bah!' the man's laugh jarred against Alexandra's ear. ‘That was all exaggerated. The young lady came to no harm, as far as I know.'

‘None of this concerns me,' hissed her stepmother. ‘I am only warning you that should anything unfortunate happen, should somebody get hurt for any reason, you, and you alone, will suffer the consequences. This conversation never took place.'

‘Of course it didn't,' sneered the steward. ‘Perish the thought that the aristocracy should be seen to get their hands dirty!' ‘Spare me your impertinent comments. If it wasn't for me, you'd have been sent packing years ago. And I've made sure you're well paid.'

‘Not
that
well,' he retorted derisively. ‘But I'm not a greedy man. Perhaps you could let me have a little payment on account, to help me overcome any scruples I might have.'

‘Here, this is the last you'll receive before the job's done. Don't waste it and, remember, be careful this time!'

After this, Alexandra heard Doña Eugenia hurrying off into the grove. Seconds later, Lopez appeared from behind the tool shed, making his way nonchalantly towards the pathway she had earlier ventured along. He stopped and pulled a wad of banknotes from his pocket. Breathless, she was suddenly aware that she was in full view; if he turned, she would be discovered. Lopez counted the money avidly before replacing it in his pocket. ‘
Las brujas
, bitches,' he muttered under his breath but loud enough for her to hear. ‘Young,
old, rich, poor … they're bitches, the lot of 'em.' Then he took a packet of cigarettes from the top pocket of his shirt. Lighting one, he drew a few puffs and then, to Alexandra's relief, strolled off.

Still shaken, Alexandra pressed her fingers to her throbbing temples. Her head ached and she felt sick at heart. What was she to do now? Would anybody believe her story? Without proof that Lopez and Doña Eugenia were behind the arrow incident, it would be her word against her stepmother's. It was obvious she didn't stand a chance. If she said anything, the family would put it down to her overactive imagination. Worse still, they might accuse her of maliciously trying to drive a wedge between her father and stepmother. Still, Alexandra refused to be beaten and had no intention of running. Had she been tempted to leave Spain after the previous evening's episode with Salvador, now, more than ever, she was determined to stay.

Nevertheless, she knew she needed an ally at El Pavón, if only to have someone she could trust to watch her back. But for that she must tell her story, which meant making accusations. She would need to tread lightly.

Alexandra made her way back to the hacienda, mulling over the various members of the family. The first person to eliminate was Doña María Dolores. Strangely enough, she thought her grandmother would be the most likely person to lend a sympathetic ear without accusing her of spinning a tale, but she was loath to burden the old lady. She considered telling Salvador but instantly dismissed the idea. In taking him into her confidence, she would only be giving him proof that his fears for her safety had been well-founded all along, even if he'd been mistaken about those threatening her. It wasn't
la veganza de Calés
of which she should be wary but her father's second wife. Either way, Salvador would be perfectly within his rights to put her on the first plane to England and then he would have won. It was no use speaking to Esmeralda either. Alexandra was sure that, on this occasion, the young woman would have no qualms about going straight to her brother.
Then there was Ramón. Of all the family, he had been by far the nicest but, in such a serious situation, she very much doubted he would be reliable.

So it would have to be Don Alonso. After all, it was his own wife hatching plots, his own daughter in peril. Wasn't a father the most natural and obvious protector? Hadn't Alexandra every right to call on his support? She didn't believe he could have been involved in the shenanigans, even slightly. In fact, she was convinced he had not the barest inkling of what was going on. It was true, since her arrival in Spain, that he had not given her much of his time or attention; he had so often been away and, whenever he was present at mealtimes, he spoke little and usually took the first opportunity to hole himself up in another part of the house. He was weak, and for a quiet life would let his wife have her own way more often than not. Nevertheless, Alexandra was convinced that he loved her deeply and was incapable of being party to such malevolent games.

Alexandra reached the house just in time to change for lunch. Everyone was present at the dining table except for Salvador, which didn't surprise her. She managed to get through the meal without manifesting any change in her behaviour and avoided looking at her stepmother in case her eyes gave her away.

Immediately afterwards, when everyone had retired for their siesta, Alexandra went looking for Don Alonso. During the afternoon usually he shut himself away, either in his office when he had letters to write, or in the library, where he most of the time remained until dinner, reading enormous old history books. She found him there, sitting in one of the large wing-backed chairs, engrossed in a great leatherbound volume. His face lit up. ‘Ah, Alexandra!' He seemed truly happy to see her. ‘Are you looking for a book?'

‘No,
Papá
, it's you I was looking for,' she said, coming straight to the point.

‘I see.' He smiled and then peered more closely at her. ‘You seem upset,' he remarked. ‘What can I do for my little girl?'

Encouraged by his tone, Alexandra relaxed.

‘
Papá
,' she said, seating herself on a leather pouffe at his feet, ‘there's something unpleasant I need to tell you but I don't know quite where to start.'