Indiscretion (37 page)

‘Then I hope this one will not disappoint you.' He fixed her with a suave smile.

‘I'm sure it won't. I love to hear them.' She relaxed against the low-backed leather squab, letting the
torero
's silky voice wash over her.

‘When winter came, this fair lady took to her bed,' continued Don Felipe, his hands loosely on the horse's reins as the carriage jogged
along. ‘She pined and seemed to be fading away. No amount of cajoling, potions or entertainment seemed to do the trick. The Sultan consulted his viziers, his doctors and his magicians, but no remedy could be found.

‘One day, a wise man from the East was passing by. As he sat in the town square, he heard the story of the ill-fated sultana. He presented himself at the palace and asked to meet with the desperate King. “May I suggest, your Majesty, that the Queen is yearning after the wintry ice and the snow of her native land,” he said. The Sultan was surprised at such a suggestion. How could anyone prefer the bitter cold of the northern countries to the languorous air and warmth of Spain?' Don Felipe broke off, glancing at Alexandra.

She nodded and gave a half smile. ‘Yes, indeed.' She went back to studying the sweep of vineyards they were passing.

‘Nevertheless, he would do anything to save his beloved wife. According to the wise man there existed a tree the blossom of which, when in flower, would give the impression of snow. So the Sultan gave the order that almond trees should be imported from the East and planted on every inch of ground visible from his wife's windows. One morning in spring, the fair Sultana woke to a vision of purest white, a spectacle of snow-white blossom that reminded her of the icy flakes of her country. From that moment, she no longer yearned for the snow-mantled lands of Scandinavia and the almond tree became a popular species, planted all over Spain.'

When Don Felipe finished his story, they both fell into silence again, though Alexandra could feel the bullfighter's eyes on her frequently. She gazed out over the hot, intensely foreign landscape, thinking about the sad queen and the life that she herself had left behind in England earlier that year. So much had happened, where did she fit in now? She wasn't the same person who had left London in the spring, but still she wondered if she would ever truly belong in this strange country. The thought disturbed her.

They went through Puerto's main street, on either side of which the rich wine-merchants' mansions stood shuttered in the shade of
acacias and jacaranda trees. In the reddish glow of the afternoon light, the sun-baked town seemed to bear the amber hue of Spain's famous sherry. Scattered about the town, the
bodegas
gleamed a spotless white in vivid contrast to their red-tiled roofs and emerald-green shutters, their arcades opening on to shady patios. Some of these wineries covered areas of several acres, forming whole districts.

It was a beautiful sunny afternoon and at Alexandra's side sat one of the most attractive and sought-after men in Andalucía. That she must be the envy of many women, Alexandra was in no doubt. Yet deep down, she felt disillusioned. No matter how hard she tried, she was unable to drive Salvador from her thoughts. He seemed to delight in hurting her and she couldn't block out the questions about him that circled obsessively in her mind.

Freshest in her thoughts was Marujita's alarming presence at the house. The gypsy girl seemed so sure of her hold over him. Could there be some truth in her words or was Salvador one of those men who had mistresses rather than a wife? That would explain his changeable and irascible attitude towards her, especially if he felt the tightening web of the
Duquesa
's matchmaking plans looking to force him into finding a suitable wife to run El Pavón. Wasn't that what her father had intimated?

Equally as unsettling as Marujita's presence on the terrace that morning was the conversation she had overheard in the grove. Suddenly, events appeared to be conspiring against her in a way she was finding almost impossible to cope with.

Why was life not simpler? Or rather, why were people so complicated? She liked Don Felipe; in fact, in many ways she liked him a lot. He was handsome, smart, well-read and well-travelled, brave, with a good sense of humour. Furthermore, he'd been courteous and attentive to her needs. Why then could she not find it in her heart to enjoy the present?

‘You're very pensive today,' remarked her companion, shaking Alexandra from her reverie. She smiled faintly, unable to answer. ‘Is there something worrying you?' Don Felipe continued with concern.
‘I can't believe that a young lady as accomplished as you doesn't have all she wishes for.'

Alexandra gave a little hollow laugh. ‘I wish …' she sighed.

‘We'll put an end to those worries right away,' he said determinedly, as the carriage turned into one of the narrow, twisting lanes that led towards the sea.

As the briny smell of the coast became stronger, memories flooded back to Alexandra of the picturesque fishing village, Puerto de Santa María, that first morning when she'd arrived at the railway station. She felt a pang of nostalgia tugging at her as she remembered the hope and excitement that had filled her at the idea of meeting her estranged family. How very differently things had turned out.

‘We've arrived, and there's nothing a glass of our marvellous Jerez won't cure.' The bullfighter's voice, coupled with the jerk of the halting carriage, once more roused Alexandra from her grim thoughts. Don Felipe leapt out on to the roughly paved drive and went round to help her down. ‘Welcome to the
bodegas
of Vincente Herrera and Son,' he said, bowing courteously and waving his arm in a wide flourish towards the building.

The
bodegas
of Vincente Herrera consisted of a huge warehouse and rows of outbuildings stretching as far as the eye could see. Alexandra could tell from the style of its architecture that the main building was ancient; it looked as if it had formerly been a convent. The present owners had gone to great lengths to preserve its unique character, down to the smallest detail. The passage of time had imprinted itself on each pillar, arch and flagstone.

‘This place has such presence,' Alexandra murmured, looking around the walls, her voice echoing back to her. In fact, it felt slightly spooky, though she didn't admit that to her host. ‘How old is it?'

‘It was built in the seventeenth century, originally as a nunnery.' He glanced at her, as if reading her mind again. ‘They say that it's haunted by the ghost of a nun who broke her vows of chastity with a monk. After the sentence of “
in vade pace
” was passed upon her, she was walled up alive in her cell.'

Alexandra's eyes snapped back to him. ‘God, how grisly!' she declared.

‘Yes, but fascinating all the same, wouldn't you say? That this young nun would risk such a fate for sexual gratification …' Don Felipe's eyes had darkened curiously.

‘Has anyone ever seen her ghost?' Alexandra couldn't help asking, intrigued and appalled at the same time.

‘No, but some people have heard scraping noises and despairing wails echoing around the old part of the
bodega
. Just think how long it would have taken her to die of starvation.' For a long moment he stared intensely into space. ‘“
Vade in pace
”, “go into peace” …? I think not. Fascinating …'

Alexandra felt the stirrings of unease but then the
torero
flashed her a brilliant smile. ‘I'm sure you don't wish to dwell on such macabre things. Besides I have much to show you.'

Don Felipe led the way into the nave. An atmosphere of gloom and mystery reigned, created by eternal dust accumulated over the years and of long-woven cobwebs. Along the whitish side aisles, piled one on the other, lay thousands of venerable casks of seasoned grey-brown oak, inside of which was the clear wine that filled the air with its delicious aroma. The floor of the cellar was damp calcareous soil and a chill rose from it. In the semi-darkness, a dozen workmen handled with great care the butts of this prestigious vintage, each containing more than a hundred gallons of the valuable sherry.

At the head of the group, an older man in a brown cotton overcoat was holding an
avenencia
, a ladle with an extremely long whalebone handle, at the end of which was a thin silver goblet. He moved among the rows, from barrel to barrel, giving an order here, adjusting a row there, tasting, muttering indistinctly, and spitting the wine into the dust.

Don Felipe took Alexandra's elbow. ‘Come and meet Toma. He's nicknamed “
El Colonel
” because he rules this
bodega
like an officer leading an army,' said the
torero
with a grin. Alexandra noticed he was still carrying the horsewhip and she wondered why he hadn't left it in the gig.

Don Felipe beckoned the foreman over. A broad smile creased the man's weatherbeaten face into a hundred small wrinkles. Toma was in his sixties, yet in spite of his mop of grizzled hair, he retained in his muscular body and dark magnetic eyes all the vigour of a man still in the prime of life. There emanated from him a kind of innate nobility and elegance, which, had he been in another setting and dressed differently, would have allowed him to pass for an aristocrat.

Toma gave them a courteous nod. ‘
Señor
,
señorita
.'

‘When the wine arrives at the
bodega
, and during this first phase of life, it is Toma's responsibility to classify and blend it in each barrel to reach the best quality and the finest taste,' Don Felipe explained.

Alexandra smiled at Toma. ‘That sounds awfully involved, how do you do that?'

Though her question was directed at the foreman, it was Don Felipe who answered. ‘We use an elaborate system called
solera
,' he said, his gaze fixed on Alexandra. ‘This process requires great care and experience. I am a mere bullfighter, I enjoy a good glass of Fino, but I am totally ignorant of the complicated methods used to produce it.' Turning to Toma he added, ‘Would you explain to the
señorita
this marvellous system that allows us to produce wines of such quality?'

Toma did as he was bid. In his gruff but melodious voice he described in detail the method used at the Herrera
bodegas
, which required that sherries of various ages be left to ferment and mature spontaneously in six tiers of barrels, without being disturbed for a number of years. ‘During this process,' the foreman explained, ‘a minute bloom grows on the surface. It's called the
flor, e le da un sabor de nuez al vino
, and gives the nutty flavour to the wine. The
flor
is formed twice a year, usually over a period of six years. After that it sinks to the bottom, leaving a clear wine. This is the wine we draw from for blending. It is then replaced in the barrel by the next oldest wine directly above it, and a younger wine is added at the top tier, and so on.'

‘Gosh, that sounds like a long and painstaking process,' said Alexandra, genuinely impressed. ‘How long does it take?'

‘The time of fermentation depends on the type of grape, its ripeness and how much natural sugar is in it,' replied Toma, clearly pleased that Alexandra was taking an interest in the art of his sherry making. ‘Once this is done, it's up to us to develop the character of the sherry by introducing the properties of an excellent established wine into the new ones.'

Don Felipe interjected. ‘At the end of the seventeenth century, three brothers, my ancestors, developed our mother wine. For two hundred years we have drawn on it to blend and improve the production of our young sherries, that is what gives them their unique flavour,' he proudly informed her. ‘Classification is a real art: the casks are carefully labelled by category. These labels say whether they contain a young wine or one less young, whether it's a pale wine or one with more body, if it's considered a good wine or not such a good one,' he explained.

Alexandra couldn't help comparing his passion for the family business to that of Salvador when he had spoken of his horses. And yet, there was something more of the obsessive perfectionist in Don Felipe. Where Salvador's eyes held the deep warm glow of fiery passion, those of the other man glittered with a darker flame.
He must be like this inside the arena too
, Alexandra thought as she watched the
torero
.
Without that kind of keen eye for detail, a matador could easily lose his life
, she reflected.

She noticed too that, increasingly, his mood was tinged with an edgy, pent-up energy. Every now and then he absentmindedly coiled and uncoiled the whip as he spoke, flicking it gently across the floor. Ordinarily, Alexandra might have found such a gesture unnerving but instead she dismissed it as the strutting affectation of a
matador
.

Tomas led them to a dark corner where a single barrel stood in the dusty darkness, dramatically adorned with garlands of spider webs. ‘Solera 1800,' he announced proudly. Taking out the bung that sealed the enormous cask, he solemnly plunged his
avenencia
into the dark depths of the receptacle, dipping below the frothy top layer to reach at the cool wine beneath. Then, holding the ladle high in the air,
he transferred a thin golden stream of liquid to two small glasses without spilling a drop, all at once freeing the heady aroma locked in the wine.

Don Felipe took his glass from Toma, lifted it to his nose and breathed in. Alexandra followed suit, taking in the strange fragrance. Hesitantly, she ventured a sip. The taste was even more surprising than the scent. There was about it an almost dusty dryness that was not unpleasant; it carried with it the distinct flavour of grapes but without being too sweet.

‘It has an unusual taste but it's quite delicious,' she observed, taking a second sip, then a third. In seconds, she had drained her glass. Normally, she wouldn't have consumed alcohol so quickly but again she was rebelliously ignoring her usual rulebook. Don Felipe seemed to exercise this effect on her, she noticed. Gripped by a longing to be free of her previous dark mood, still stalking her insistently, she threw herself into the proceedings with heedless recklessness. Her head had begun to spin slightly and, by the time she emerged from the temple of Bacchus half an hour later on Don Felipe's arm, she was filled with a gentle euphoria and an overwhelming, but not unpleasant, feeling of dizziness.