Meeting in Madrid (15 page)

‘I’m sure he wouldn’t wish to forget,’ said Catherine, feeling that the whole thing was becoming embarrassing. ‘He—wants to marry you. I think you said you would be engaged quite soon.’

‘Yes! Yes, that is true,’ Lucia said emphatically. ‘I have full control in this house, you understand, even now?’

As Catherine preceded her to the door the painted eyes of Eduardo de Berceo Madroza’s first wife seemed to follow them out.

Teresa was late coming back from Santa Cruz.

‘I met someone,’ she said mysteriously. ‘An old friend of the family.’ She flung her leather music-case to one side. ‘How exciting it is in a city!’ she exclaimed. ‘Even in Santa Cruz. We had tea at one of the new hotels on the beach. Where is Lucia?’

‘In the kitchens, I think.’ Catherine felt slightly uneasy. ‘You’d better hop upstairs quickly and change. It’s after six o’clock.’

Teresa laughed.

‘It would be to no purpose,’ she decided. ‘Manuel will tell her, anyway. I feel sorry for Manuel, you know,’ she went on. ‘He is so slavishly devoted to my
madrastra,
yet she cares nothing for him. One day I think he will see how it is and then he will go away to break his heart in secret somewhere else.’

‘You talk too much,’ said Catherine, moving towards the stairs.

‘I see far more than anyone thinks,’ Teresa returned positively. ‘But tell me what you will wear for
fiesta
tomorrow,’ she added lightly. ‘Have you any special dress? We must all look really beautiful so that we do not disgrace Don Jaime!’

When she gave her uncle his full title she was generally teasing.

‘You do not answer!’ she protested, turning at the branch of the stairs. ‘Have you nothing to wear?’

‘I didn’t think I would be going to a
fiesta
.’

‘It is only a minor one. Nothing like Corpus Christi, you understand, but everyone wears their prettiest dress and there is dancing in the streets.’ Her eyes lit up. ‘It can be great fun. You will ride in a carriage, of course, with Alex Bonnington, but I will go on horseback with Ramon and Jaime.’

‘And Lucia?’ Catherine asked involuntarily.

‘I don’t know. She rarely goes to
fiesta
and never to a
feria,
but this time I think she will be there.’ Teresa gave her a sidelong glance. ‘She looks magnificent on horseback, but she will not ride. That would be undignified. Besides,’ she added, her face darkening, ‘she would not be able to wear my mother’s ruby if she went on horseback.’ The ruby was a sore point with Teresa, who coveted it because it had once belonged to her mother. Catherine steered the conversation back to the less dangerous subject of what she should wear for the
fiesta.

‘That pretty dress you had on the other evening,’ Teresa suggested, her mood changing dramatically. ‘You could dress it up with a brightly-coloured sash. I have many of them in the
baul
in my room. You must come and choose.’ The ancient leather trunk with its studded corners proved a veritable goldmine to be explored with much enthusiasm.

‘You could have this,’ Teresa suggested, holding up a beautiful
mantilla
which Catherine had been admiring. ‘It will look nice, but it will also keep you warm if the wind blows too strongly. Or this,’ she added, running a bright pink sash through her fingers. ‘Choose quickly and we will try them on!’

Vividly intense, she was already half-way to the
fiesta,
eyes sparkling, red lips parted in anticipation, her eager feet too impatient to stand still for long, and in that moment she looked really beautiful. She was Carla’s daughter all right, wilful and restless as her mother had been even after she had married and borne a child. All the potential dangers were there, mirrored in the dark eyes for anyone to see, but Madroza blood also ran in her veins.

Catherine took a certain amount of comfort from the fact, although she was strongly reminded of Ramon who was determined to take life by the horns in true
torero
style.

She rejected the vivid pink sash in favour of the lovely
mantilla,
unaware that it had been worn by Don Jaime’s mother on her wedding day in far-off Andalusia.

‘You must dress your hair high and wear a comb,’ Teresa declared. ‘It holds the
mantilla
in place. Otherwise it will slip down over your forehead and be a nuisance when you dance.’

‘
If
I dance!’ said Catherine. ‘And I haven’t enough hair to wear a comb. Not like Lucia.’

Teresa considered the point.

‘Perhaps you are right,’ she allowed. ‘Then you must wear the
mantilla
like a shawl to keep you warm.’

The finer points of their wardrobe settled to her satisfaction, she bundled the other heirlooms back into the leather trunk and closed the lid.

‘It was made in Toledo,’ she explained, running her fingers over the thick, smooth hide. ‘It must be very, very old. Really old things can be amazingly beautiful, don’t you think, with all the history of a country caught up in them. Just supposing this trunk had once belonged to a
conquistador
who had travelled all over the world to gain new territories for Spain. Can’t you see him, Cathy, riding out on his splendid Arab horse to sail away to the Americas, perhaps, or distant Peru, and always returning to the Court with the gift of new lands for his king and queen?’

Catherine looked down at the trunk, aware that she was seeing Teresa in yet another mood, aware, too, that the image of the valiant
conquistador
had also become her personal image of Don Jaime. He had fought to maintain Soria for the people who lived there, for the family which was now his special responsibility, and if he had won and his quest was nearly over she should be glad.

Folding the lovely
mantilla
over her arm, she walked to her own room where she stood gazing at it for a long time before she laid it over the chair beside the window.

In the morning she was wakened by Teresa complaining that it was raining. El Teide was obliterated and a thin mist hung like a veil over the nearer hills.

‘We cannot go!’ Teresa moaned. ‘At least, not to the
fiesta
!’

‘Will it be cancelled?’ Catherine asked, sharing her disappointment.

Teresa crossed the bedroom floor to hang out of the window.

‘It may just be a little shower,’ she decided hastily. ‘Manuel is the best one to tell us about the weather conditions. I will go in search of him.’

Perhaps Lucia would put her foot down and forbid the excursion altogether if the rain did not stop, Catherine thought, following her downstairs when she had dressed, but it did seem unfortunate that the weather should have changed so dramatically.

‘It will ruin the flower-carpets!’ Teresa wailed. ‘And I so much wanted you to see them!’

‘What did Manuel say about the weather?’ Catherine asked.

‘I could not find him. He is sulking, perhaps, or he might even have gone away. For good,’ Teresa concluded with a dark look in the general direction of the staircase where she expected her stepmother to appear at any moment.

‘I thought you said he would drive us to Orotava.’

‘Lucia will drive if he does not return, or Ramon. I cannot understand Manuel wanting to stay here, anyway,’ Teresa rushed on. ‘I would not stay for one minute to be scorned by the person I loved.’ She considered the hypothetical situation for a few seconds. ‘Perhaps I would try to punish them, but Manuel is too docile for that.’

By eleven o’clock the rain had cleared and El Teide looked down at them from a brightly-washed sky. Teresa’s spirits soared in response to the sunshine.

‘Now we can dress and prepare to go!’ she exclaimed. ‘Oh—’

Catherine turned at the sharp expression to find Lucia descending the black oak staircase and coming towards them. She looked magnificent dressed simply in palest grey which suggested that the austere black of her widowhood had finally been laid aside, and her only ornament was, as usual, the beautiful unmounted ruby hanging from its short chain in the hollow of her throat. Her superb height gave her an added elegance which Catherine envied as she noticed the lovely tortoiseshell comb thrust into the coronet of her dark hair.

‘Are you not ready?’ she demanded. ‘It is very bad manners to be late.’

Teresa said: ‘We wondered about the rain, and Manuel is not here to drive us.’

Lucia’s eyes sharpened.

‘He must be here! I have spoken to him only this morning. But no matter!’ she decided. ‘We will go without him. Ramon will drive us.’

Catherine and Teresa hurried upstairs.

‘Don’t be long! She’s already in a bad mood,’ Teresa whispered.

Catherine followed her downstairs again with the
mantilla
over her arm.

‘Where did you get that?’ Lucia almost pounced on her.

‘Teresa thought I might wear it,’ Catherine explained. ‘It seemed just right for my dress, but if you don’t think it’s suitable—’

‘Of course it is suitable!’ Teresa interrupted disdainfully. ‘You are only wearing it as a wrap.’

Lucia’s eyes were still fixed on the
mantilla.

‘You had no right to give it to anyone,’ she pointed out. ‘It does not really belong to you.’

‘I haven’t given it away,’ Teresa returned with dignity. ‘Cathy knows it is only on loan. It creates a better atmosphere, something that is just right for
fiesta
.’

‘It is vulgar to overdress,’ Lucia reminded her, touching the discreet comb in her hair. ‘That is best left to the
canalla.
I can’t imagine Jaime appreciating any flamboyant gestures on our part.’

Catherine wished that she had left the controversial
mantilla
in her room, and then, suddenly, her fingers tightened over its soft folds and she was walking determinedly towards the door.

‘It will serve two purposes,’ she said. ‘To make me feel beautiful and to keep me warm.’

‘We’ll wait here,’ said Teresa, parading along the
patio
like a peacock in her blue, dress. ‘Let Lucia sort out the problem of who shall drive the car.’

Ten minutes later the big black car came round the end of the house with Ramon at the wheel.

‘All aboard!’ he grinned cheerfully. ‘I’ve been given leave of absence for the whole day.’

Nothing further was said about Manuel’s disappearance until they reached Alex Bonnington’s bungalow on the outskirts of Orotava. Built high, it was an old house practically hidden in vines but with a wonderful view right down to the
puerto
which it overlooked. An ancient gardener, who had obviously lost his battle with nature some considerable time ago, waved them into a cleared space at the side of the house as Alex herself appeared through a screen of scarlet bougainvillea.

‘Everything is ready,’ she declared, smiling her welcome. ‘I thought we would eat in the garden since the sun has come out again. Lucia,’ she added, ‘what a beautiful dress! You look superb.’

Lucia permitted herself the faintest of smiles.

‘It is one my husband was particularly fond of,’ she admitted, fingering the jewel at her throat. ‘Eduardo always thought this pale colour enhanced the ruby, but he was perhaps over-dramatic in that respect.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Alex, hastily untying her paint- stained overall to reveal her own scarcely-inspired choice of white shirtwaister and red knitted cardigan. ‘It’s nice to look distinguished.’

She turned to Ramon, who was getting out of the car. ‘Greetings!’ he said. ‘Was I expected for lunch?’

‘You’re welcome, whether you were expected or not,’ she told him generously. ‘Jaime has just phoned, by the way,’ she added to the company in general. ‘He’s booked dinner for this evening at one of the seafront hotels.’

‘Where we can dance?’ Teresa asked excitedly.

‘I expect so. All the hotels will be very full, but he’s well known in the
puerto
and would be able to book a table easily enough.’

‘Is he coming here for lunch?’ Lucia asked.

‘He excused himself. He has someone to meet.’

They ate the simple meal Alex had prepared sitting in the shade of a floss-silk tree which shed pale pink petals down on their heads whenever the wind blew. Alex had provided a perfectly-made
paella,
a savoury offering of saffron-flavoured rice mixed with titbits of prawns and flaked fish and tender pieces of
calamares
and small clams, decorated on top with strips of sweet red pimento and green peas. It was served in the shallow iron pan in which it had been cooked, and with it they drank a medium golden wine that seemed to trap all the light of the summer’s day.

At four o’clock they made their leisurely way down to the
puerto
where the spirit of carnival had spilled out into the streets and along all the narrow ways between the houses and the grand hotels towards the unspoilt heart of the little port where most of its inhabitants were now gathered. Flowers which had initially formed a lovingly- constructed carpet from the nearby church to the plane- fringed square were now trampled underfoot, but fresher blooms had taken their place on draped carriages where elegant
senoritas
sat in twos and threes flanked by handsome escorts on their mettlesome steeds. Here and there a more intrepid girl rode behind her current beau, laughing and throwing kisses to the crowd. The horses, too, were decorated with carnations and scarlet hibiscus twined in their harness and on the fine leather saddles which seemed to be a feature of the Islands.

Catherine’s heart stirred with a wild excitement as she watched, and Ramon’s arm went swiftly round her waist.

‘Come, dance with me!’ he said, whirling her away into the happy throng. ‘There’s nothing wrong with enjoying yourself!’

They were parted from the others, cut off by the noisy revellers as they danced in the cobbled
plaza,
in and out between the trees, and once Catherine imagined that she saw a familiar figure in a red and green
poncho
sitting at a table on the crowded sidewalk with a glass of
cam
in front of him and a black
sombrero
pulled down over his eyes.