Meeting in Madrid (12 page)

‘Cathy, are you feeling ill?’ he demanded.

‘No,’ she lied. ‘No, I can go on.’

He looked beyond her, calculating distance, and then his eyes narrowed.

‘I’ve a fair idea where we might find her,’ he said. ‘It isn’t very far and it’s on our way to Las Rosas.’

They saw the encampment from the top of the next ridge. In a natural hollow in the mountainside, sheltered by a group of stunted trees, several gipsy caravans had been parked by the side of the narrow road. They had been placed strategically in a rough semi-circle, leaving the road and a shallow stream open to access, and in the centre a fire burned, the white wood-smoke rising straight into the windless air.

Grouped around the fire or sprawling on the wooden steps of their vans, the gipsies were enjoying the added warmth of the sun and the impassioned dancing of the younger members of the community whose wild gyrations were inspired by a dark-skinned youth with a guitar.

Don Jaime’s jaw tightened in anger, and then Catherine became aware of a horse and rider on the far side of the camp-fire. Teresa was still mounted on her pony, looking more like an equestrian statue carved from stone than any flesh-and-blood creature as she watched the quick heel movements and hand gestures of the gipsy dancers. Oblivious of everything but the music and the fiery execution of
flamenco
, she gazed down at the gipsies, although she made no immediate attempt to join them. If she had done so they would probably have melted away in confusion, shyly suspicious in the presence of a stranger. Unless she had been here before and they were now her friends!

The music ceased and Don Jaime urged the white Arab forward, riding round the edge of the encampment until he came to where Teresa stood, and almost reluctantly Catherine followed, with Manuel bringing up the rear.

As they reached the grassy bank which Teresa had used for her grandstand view she was almost in tears.

‘Now you have spoiled everything!’ she cried. ‘Why do you follow me? I am not in any trouble. All I want to do is watch these people who dance like no one else.’

Don Jaime got down from the saddle, slipping the Arab’s rein over his arm as he approached her, and there was no longer any sign of anger in his face.

‘Come home, Teresa,’ he said quietly.

Teresa’s dark eyes filled with tears.

‘I would have returned eventually,’ she said, allowing him to lead her pony back on to the path.

When she came nearer she looked at Catherine with the faintest of smiles curving her lips.

‘I should have taken you with me,’ she said, ‘then there wouldn’t have been all this fuss.’

Catherine tried to smile in return, but the vision she had of Teresa and the pony was suddenly blurred. The ball of the sun seemed to spin round in the sky, its long rays slanting crazily towards her as she heard Don Jaime’s familiar voice.

‘Let go the rein and leave everything to me.’

She obeyed him automatically, and after that his orders seemed to reach her from some vague distance into which he had evaporated in the light of the sun. She felt her feet touch firm ground, but almost immediately she was lifted again into the saddle. Another saddle, she realised, conscious of her greater distance from the ground. She was sitting high on the Arab’s back. The big horse pawed the ground in a spirited desire to move on, but Don Jaime checked it as he gave his instructions to their companions. Catherine heard Manuel say: ‘
Si, senor
!’ and knew that Teresa had come to put a reassuring hand on her arm, and then Jaime vaulted into the saddle behind her and took up the rein.

‘We must get her to Las Rosas,’ he said. ‘It is the only way. To ride back to the
hacienda
before she is rested would be madness.’

Catherine had passed beyond argument, even if it did seem that he might not want them at Las Rosas, which had once been his home. Her head was throbbing now with a red-hot intensity and only his arm about her kept her upright. She leaned back against him, conscious of the hard, taut body beneath the silk shirt and the firm muscles along his arm. Here was sanctuary when she most needed it; here was security and an untold peace. That was all she was going to think about.

The journey down the other side of the ridge was only a blurred memory by the time they finally reached Las Rosas. The little house stood in a grove of eucalyptus trees, their pungent scent rising into the still air as they approached, and Catherine was lazily aware of yellow stucco walls and grilled windows in the Moorish style and a roof of rose-red tiles. It was a small house but perfectly proportioned, looking down across its unkempt terracing to the sea.

From somewhere beyond the overgrown garden a stout figure in rusty black came to inspect them.

‘Ah, Maria!’ said Don Jaime. ‘We are in trouble. We have come to shelter from the sun.’

A flood of rapid Spanish greeted his announcement, interlaced by Maria’s toothless smile. She was a very old woman and spoke a patois which only Manuel and Don Jaime could understand, but there was no doubt about her welcome. Rapidly beckoning to an even older man who had hobbled in her wake as far as the gable end of the house, she rushed on ahead of them to chase a gaggle of geese away from the door. Several brown goats had gathered at a respectful distance to study them, their velvet ears pricked in surprise.

‘They’re not used to intruders,’ Don Jaime said as the man chased them off into the surrounding scrub.

And neither are you, Catherine thought vaguely. This is the place where you come to be alone when the intrigues of Soria become too much for you.

As he lifted her down from the saddle his hands were curiously gentle.

‘Can you walk?’ he asked.

‘Yes—of course.’

He led her towards an arched doorway where the old woman stood waiting. She had long, bedraggled hair and rough hands from grubbing around in the soil, but she had the kindest eyes Catherine had ever seen.

‘Take care of her, Maria,’ Jaime said.

Beyond the door a dim, cool passageway seemed to stretch into infinity with shuttered windows on either side which shut out the torture of the sun. There was very little furniture, but the tessellated floor was highly polished, making it shimmer like a lake. Catherine stood quite still on the threshold of Las Rosas, drowned in the relief of shade and conscious of a warmth that she had yet to find at Soria.

‘
Muchas gra
ci
as
,’ she said, allowing the old woman to lead her forward.

Don Jaime came up behind them, issuing a string of rapid orders which Maria hastened to obey.

‘Sit down, Cathy,’ he said when they reached the long room at the end of the passage. ‘You will soon recover now that you are in the shade. It is a discomfort that passes quickly, you will see.’

She could have wept at his kindness when he had every right to be angry.

‘Don’t blame Teresa too much,’ she managed in a shaken whisper. ‘She didn’t mean to cause—all this upheaval.’ She glanced about her, realising that what furniture there was in the room was shrouded in blue-and-white dust covers. ‘I’m quite ready to go back to Soria.’

‘I think not,’ he decided, looking at his watch. ‘You will lie down for an hour and then we shall see about your return. If need be, you can stay here overnight, with Teresa to keep you company.’

‘There’s no need,’ she protested, although her head still ached and her mouth felt dry. ‘If I could have something to drink—’

Her voice trailed away and, suddenly, she was swaying on her feet. Don Jaime lifted her in his arms as if she were a baby, carrying her purposefully from the room and down another passageway where Maria was waiting at an open door.

‘In here,
se
n
orit
o
,’ she said. ‘It is the room I always keep ready for you.’

She must have known Don Jaime from infancy to have used the diminutive title so naturally, and it spoke of deep affection and pride.

Lying on Don Jaime’s bed with her eyes closed, Catherine allowed the world to pass her by. She was vaguely aware of the old woman moving about the room and of Teresa coming to stand beside her for a moment, and then she knew that Don Jaime had returned.

‘Drink this,’ he commanded, putting strong fingers across her brow. ‘It is something to make you sleep for a while.’

Vaguely she wondered what time it was—how long they had taken to reach the gipsy encampment and come on to Las Rosas—and then she drank the cool, clear liquid he had poured into a glass for her and went to sleep.

The light had faded when she opened her eyes again and gradually she realised that the peace of Las Rosas had been rudely shattered. Outside the window a woman’s high-pitched voice was raised in angry complaint, and it did not take her long to realise that it was Lucia. Teresa’s stepmother had come in search of them.

Dazedly she struggled to her feet, glad that her head had stopped aching and her limbs were now her own, although she had to support herself by holding on to one of the high, carved posts at the foot of the bed for a moment before she could cross the floor.

‘You are to blame,’ Lucia was saying. ‘You encourage her!’

She could not hear Don Jaime’s reply, but it seemed that Teresa had dissolved into a flood of tears.

‘Crying is of little use,’ Lucia told her, ‘but perhaps you thought you could stay here, away from my influence. Well, now you know better. You will ride to Soria with Manuel before the light fails and you will send the car back here for your irresponsible tutoress, who will now have to go!’

The elation in the last few words was unmistakable, and Catherine stood tensed, listening for Don Jaime’s reply.

‘We must wait till we have calmed down before we make any decisions,’ he said. ‘I do not consider this entirely Cathy’s fault. It was an accumulation of circumstances which unfortunately went wrong. When we get back to Soria we will discuss it.’

The finality of his decision was something which Lucia could do nothing about. She came to stand in the bedroom doorway while Catherine brushed her hair into place.

‘You understand, of course, that you will be held responsible for this—insurgency,’ she announced. ‘You knew quite well that you were not to ride outside the
hacienda,
whatever Teresa decided to do. She is not to be trusted. She is wild and wayward and ready to take any risk, but you should have known better. My brother-in-law has sufficient responsibility to shoulder without you adding to it by fainting from heat on his doorstep.’

Catherine turned from the mirror to face her.

‘I did my best,
se
n
ora
,’ she said quietly. ‘I followed Teresa as quickly as I could and I didn’t ask to have sunstroke.’

‘No, indeed,’ Lucia agreed. ‘You look terrible, but I think you are ready to travel the short distance back to Soria by car. There can be no question of your riding back,’ she added, ‘even if Don Jaime was foolish enough to bring you here on his own horse.’

She knew so much that Catherine could only assume that she had questioned Manuel, who was her obedient servant.

As she stood framed in the doorway dressed in her conventional outfit of white breeches, white silk shirt and black riding-boots, with her wide-brimmed black hat slung over her shoulders, she was a commanding figure, not beautiful but certainly distinctive and with an unmistakable air of authority that chilled Catherine into silence.

‘Some food is being prepared for us,’ she said, ‘at considerable inconvenience. Las Rosas is no longer occupied, since both Ramon and Don Jaime live at Soria at the moment. Should either of them marry, naturally the other would move to Las Rosas. That is why Maria and her husband are kept in employment, to look after the house and see that it is aired. They are too old to do a good job, but Jaime insists that they should stay. They live in a
cabana
further down the hill.’

Catherine moved towards the door.

‘I am ready now,’ she said. ‘I won’t keep you waiting.’

Lucia made no effort to move away. She had effectively blocked the doorway and she stood looking at Catherine with ice-cold eyes.

‘I think you should know that it is only a matter of weeks before Don Jaime and I will be announcing our engagement,’ she said. ‘It is something we have kept to ourselves because of Teresa who, of course, will not approve. You do not say anything. Miss Royce,’ she went on. ‘Is it because you are so surprised or because you had aspirations of your own, even after so short a stay at Soria?’

Catherine, who had been shaken by the unexpected announcement, looked back at her in disbelief, thinking about Manuel and that clandestine meeting on the moonlit terrace no more than a week ago.

‘You do not credit what I say?’ Lucia came a little nearer. ‘But that is foolish, since I could dismiss you on the spot. You are only here to teach my stepdaughter, not to fall in love with every man who may look your way.’

‘I am not in love—’

‘Already you are doubtful about it?’ Lucia’s gloved hands were suddenly clenched on the whip she carried. ‘You would be very foolish. Miss Royce, to set your sights too high. Of course,’ she added, ‘if you were to tell me that it is Ramon who has taken your fancy I would understand. He makes himself deliberately attractive to everyone.’

Catherine drew in a deep breath.

‘Aren’t we being just a little ridiculous?’ she suggested. ‘I have been here so short a time, as you have just pointed out, that I could not possibly have fallen in love with anyone.’

Lucia’s brilliant white teeth flashed in a mocking smile.

‘How truly English!’ she exclaimed. ‘No doubt it is your way to measure love or passion by time, but who is to say when we fall in love, Miss Royce, or how long it takes? One day—two, or half a lifetime. You are inexperienced in these things, I see, but I have given you a warning. I will not allow you to stay at Soria if you do not concentrate on your work and forget about falling in love. Yes, I will see that you leave the
hacienda
before you cause any damage in our lives!’

Malice and determination struggled in her eyes as she turned away, and Catherine stood in the darkening bedroom when she had gone, wondering what would happen now. She had been employed by Don Jaime and his grandmother to teach Teresa, and the Marquesa, at least, had accepted her with warmth, but how could she remain at Soria in the face of Lucia’s evident disapproval? In a few weeks, Lucia had said, she would announce her engagement to her brother-in-law and after that she would be in supreme command, as she had been when Eduardo was alive. Mistress of Soria again!

With so much ambition in her heart, did it matter whether Lucia loved Jaime or not? Did it even matter about Manuel who could so easily be sent away? Lucia would dismiss her lover with as little thought as she would give to any other servant who had ceased to please her.

It was all wrong! Catherine turned back into the room where she had slept so peacefully for the past two hours, thinking how clearly it reflected the personality of its owner. Jaime was so forthright, so honest in every way, and Lucia had no right to trick him in any way, Lucia and Manuel, who could not help being in love with a ruthless mistress who wanted nothing but power. But perhaps it was the Spanish way—a little romance here and there, a little loving to pass away the warmth of a summer’s afternoon!