Secrets of Castillo del Arco (14 page)

She wanted to follow the woman, but right now she was probably already in the arms, if not the bed, of Marco. Did she really need to interrupt them in the act of love-making? Did she really need to remind herself of what she herself would have been doing—
should have been doing
—if only her husband had not decided to abandon her on their wedding night?

What would they think of her? The lonely bride, still in her wedding gown, searching desperately for her husband.

She had seen the pity in Natania’s eyes. Did she really need to see more?

The rain pelted down on the roof and walls until the pounding itself sounded like thunder. She shivered. It was freezing out here in the dark passageway; her head was thumping and she was tired beyond measure. Bone weary. Across the room the fire crackled in the hearth;
the bed looked cosy and inviting. And down the end of the passage the thin, grey light was just a shade lighter. It was later than she thought. It would be dawn soon.

No wonder she was so tired. She would lie down for a while to get warm. And maybe Raoul would come to her when he had finished his work like she had asked him to. She would wait up for him.

And tomorrow—
today
—things would make more sense. They had to.

He stood at the rain-streaked windows, looking out into the bleak nothingness of the storm, wishing bleak nothingness for his mind to erase all thoughts of the woman lying upstairs waiting for him.

Right now she would be confused and angry. He could deal with those things, he expected them. It was the hurt he could not deal with; the hurt he knew she must be feeling.

But she was tired, she would sleep. And soon she would understand that this was the way it had to be.

‘It is done, Umberto,’ he said, gazing unseeingly into the night through the rain-streaked windows. ‘And I hope you are satisfied.’

H
E HADN’T
come
.

It was after midday when she awakened to the sound of Natania bringing in a tray, and the sickening, hollow feeling that Raoul had not come to her bed.

Natania swished open the long curtains with a flourish to reveal a bright blue sky and turned to watch her through hooded eyes. ‘Raoul asked me to check on you.’

‘That was very considerate of him,’ Gabriella said snippily, her disappointment turning to anger, thinking it might have been just a tad nicer if Raoul had come to check on her himself. ‘And how is my husband today?’

The woman gave a lazy shrug. ‘I have learned not to ask such questions.’

‘Because you don’t like the answers?’

‘Because sometimes it is better not to know.’

Gabriella didn’t agree. She had a few questions she intended to ask, and she wanted to know the answers. She padded to the window while Natania poured the coffee, and her gaze was met by a scene of staggering beauty. The castle was built on some kind of rocky headland with a small sandy cove off to one side. Below them the sea foamed white onto the rocks at the foot of
the cliff, a sea lit with sparkling diamonds and so dazzlingly blue, it rivalled the brilliant sky for supremacy. Everything looked bright and calm and perfect.

So different from last night with the fog and the storm; maybe she had been overly tired and feeling melodramatic with it. Already she felt better, brighter, just for feeling the warmth of the day through the glass. She would feel much better again when she had talked to Raoul.

Armed with Natania’s directions to the library, and feeling refreshed after breakfast and a bath, she wandered the passageways of the labyrinthine castle. Even in daylight it was a gloomy place, filled with dark timber furniture, beams and heavy wall-hangings, all seemingly impenetrable to the outside sunshine. She shivered in her sundress and light cardigan—a choice inspired by the sunny view from her window rather than the ambient temperature—and wondered if it ever warmed up inside.

There was hush all around her, no other signs of life, and only the tick of a grandfather clock at the top of the stairs intruded on the silence, jarring her nerves as she wended her way slowly down the long staircase. She treaded lightly, careful not to make any noise herself, feeling like she must comply, and only hesitated when she neared the bottom step, knowing the sound of her low heels on the flagstones would echo in this vast space. So unnaturally quiet it was almost as if the castle, that sleeping giant from last night, was awake and waiting, holding its breath, and she didn’t want to be the one to make it spring into action …

Suddenly there was the creak of a door, a bang. And so lost was she in her quiet world that she jumped and gasped.

‘Gabriella! There you are, at last,’ Raoul said, smiling as he strode towards her. ‘I thought you were going to sleep all day.’

He took both her hands and kissed her cheeks, and she drank in his scent, letting it feed into her soul, letting it comfort her. And here, two steps up, so she could look him in the eyes, she told him, ‘I waited for you.’

He tilted his head, a lock of his black hair falling free from his ponytail and curling around his eyes, his expression truly contrite. ‘I’m sorry, Bella.’ He used his pet name for her again at last, giving her a glimpse of the man she thought she had married. ‘I finished way too late. I didn’t want to disturb you.’

And in the rational light of day her concerns of last night seemed overblown, exaggerated.

‘Come on,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘How about I give you a tour so you can find your way around? And then I suggest lunch down in the cove where the wind will not bother us. Natania has promised to make us a picnic basket.’

It all sounded so wonderful—Raoul sounded so wonderful—that Gabriella just laughed, feeling the weight of last night’s worries float away.

The castle was even larger than she had anticipated, stretching from one length of the headland to the other. One side of the central staircase was given over to a massive feasting room, big-beamed and with a central fireplace on which it would be possible to roast an entire
ox. The library where Raoul had his office set up was an incongruous blend of technology atop antique desks and cabinets, its walls stacked so high with books that he had to practically drag Gabriella out of it, in order to show her the rest of the house, with promises she could visit and explore whenever she wanted.

Upstairs he showed her room after room; there must be a dozen bedrooms and just as many bathrooms, so many with their furniture covered in dust covers. She had to concede she had been given the prettiest of them all, which was still no consolation.
Which one is yours
? she itched to ask;
where do you sleep
? But she wanted him to surprise her and show her and invite her inside and make her his wife …

‘And this one is Natania’s room?’ she said, wanting to speed up the tour in her quest to find his when they reached the end of the hallway.

‘No. Natania sleeps downstairs. There’s an annexe above the garage she and Marco share.’

‘But I saw her last night during the storm. I called out to her but she didn’t hear me.’

Every hair on the back of his neck stood up. She reached for the handle before he could stop her. ‘It’s locked,’ she said, turning to him. ‘Do you have the key?’

‘It’s nothing but a store room,’ he said coarsely, tugging her away. ‘Nobody uses it. Come, let’s go. Lunch will be ready.’

He excused himself at the bottom of the stairs, showed her how to find the kitchen and told her he’d meet her there in a few moments, before striding towards the library.

She found the kitchen where he’d indicated, Natania packing their lunch into the basket, Marco by her side helping. They were a team, the two of them, almost inseparable; she stopped dead, feeling like an intruder again.
Feeling jealous
. Not of Natania, exactly, for she wasn’t interested in Marco. But she wanted to feel Raoul close by her side, wanted to enjoy such simple intimacies with him.

‘So you found him?’ Natania said, noticing her, brushing her hands together and setting her gypsy bangles jangling before she reached for a bowl of salad topped with fat red tomatoes.

‘Thank you, yes; he’s just gone to get something.’

‘You will like the cove,’ she said. ‘It is very private. Very intimate. You can swim naked and nobody will see you.’

If Gabriella blushed any more she was likely to end up in the salad instead of eating it. ‘Good to know. Maybe when it’s warmer.’

‘You would be surprised. It is very protected from the wind. And some men cannot resist a taste of bare flesh.’ She shrugged her bare shoulder, smiling at Marco, whose eyes were glinting with heated agreement. For all their shared secrets, Gabriella got the distinct impression the other woman was giving her advice.

Would she take it? Maybe she wouldn’t need to. Maybe Raoul had been planning sinful seduction for this afternoon the whole time; maybe that was why he’d decided on the picnic. ‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ she said as Raoul joined them.

‘What will you keep in mind?’

‘That the mist and storms blow in quickly,’ Natania said, looking levelly at Gabriella. ‘To watch out for them.’ Gabriella felt almost like she had found an unexpected ally.

‘The weather is perfect. There will be no storms today.’ He picked up the basket. ‘Let’s go.’

Natania pressed a blanket into her hands. ‘Take this. It is not good to get sand in your food.’

The sultry images that advice put into her head had her halfway to blushing again, but then she suddenly remembered. ‘Oh, Natania, Raoul says that door at the end of the corridor is locked, but you must have a key—I thought I saw you go in there last night.’

The atmosphere in the room chilled to ice as the two exchanged glances, Marco standing stiffly alongside; she wondered what it was she’d said wrong.

‘I was not there last night.’

‘But I saw you, after you came to my room. Well, I
thought
I saw you, when the lightning struck. I called your name, but you mustn’t have heard me over the sound of the storm.’

‘No. I went straight downstairs after leaving your room. You could not have seen me.’

‘Oh.’

‘Forget it,’ said Raoul, his voice thick and gruff. ‘It was obviously just the drapes moving in the wind and making shadows, that’s all. Let’s go.’

It was not possible, he told himself as he led her along the path towards the stone steps leading down to the beach. It was impossible, he knew, but still he had needed to
check. There had been nothing in the room to say anyone had been there, let alone her. There was no way it could be possible. Katia was his ghost, his nightmare.

Although not his only nightmare now
.

For now he had another one, and this one was of his own creation.

He’d headed off her questions when he’d met her at the bottom of the stairs. He’d been expecting a fight, or at least some kind of remonstration about her having been expected to sleep alone. It had to come at some time. It would come. Nothing was surer.

And all he was doing now by taking her to lunch and treating her as she deserved to be treated was delaying the inevitable, hoping to draw out this time with her as long as possible. She had to believe this marriage was real, at least until Garbas was put away for good.

But there was a far more selfish reason for wanting to be with her—because it was impossible to abandon her completely, even though he knew that, the way he burned for her, it would be a safer course of action to do so. Maybe this way would draw the pain out longer, cause them both unnecessary torture, but there had to be some benefit for doing what he was doing for Umberto, some pay off other than knowing she was safe from the likes of Garbas.

He wanted her near. He knew he was playing with fire, but he wanted that pay off. He wanted more of those moments with her to remember and to hold with him for ever long after she’d discovered what he was really like or why he had really married her and was long gone. For she would leave him, that was for sure.

And that knowledge alone was enough to clamp his gut.

‘I thought your family used to live in Barcelona.’ They were halfway down the path to the beach before she spoke—maybe because he’d taken off like the devil himself. ‘I’m sure we visited you all there one year.’

He turned, wondering how much she remembered. ‘We did.’

‘You don’t live there now?’

‘No.’

‘You sold it?’

He wished. As it was, he could barely remember that night long ago when he had been so furious with the world and the hand it had dealt him, so unprepared for dealing with his own inadequacies. ‘I lost it in a card game.’

‘Oh.’

‘You win some, you lose some.’ The phrase came nowhere near to describing the pain he’d felt on losing the property at the time. He’d thought himself indestructible. Invincible. That had made him the worst kind of fool. Even now his failure, his sheer recklessness, appalled him. The knowledge of those wasted years was like a millstone around his neck, weighing him down. He had learned to rationalise his loss since then, see it for what it was, a moment in time when he’d made both some bad decisions and some good. But it didn’t make him feel any better about it.

‘Like your apartment in Venice?’

He shrugged, wishing himself a past that was one whole lot more glorious. ‘Exactly like Venice.’

‘And this place? Another card game? Another win?’

He looked back over his shoulder, up at the castle that imposed itself on the clifftop almost as if it were part of it. He realised the truth, maybe for the first time in his life, and only because of what he was doing to her—he hated this place.

Was that why he had brought her here? Not from some noble desire to keep her safe, but so he might taint thoughts of her with this toxic castle and its toxic memories? So it might make it easier when she left?

Or because it was easier for him to remember why he was wrong for her? Because a man who did not hold out a hand to a woman in desperate need …

She deserved better.

She was like a breath of fresh air in a stale room. She was a candle glowing in a dark cave.