The Golden Madonna (2 page)

'I don't
need
a—a guardian,' Sally objected, her blue eyes glowing angrily at him. 'I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Senor Cordova!'

His straight mouth tilted a little at one corner for a moment in a smile of disbelief and he raised one black brow to emphasise his opinion. 'I will take no chances when your father has put you in my care,' he informed her, and Sally stared at him for a moment unbelievingly.

'Father?' she said then. 'You've been in touch with my father?'

'More accurately,' Miguel Cordova informed her, 'your father has been in touch with me, Miss Beckett, and requested that I—keep an eye on you.'

His pedantic tongue managed the colloquialism with some hesitation, but Sally was much too dismayed to notice it. Her father could have no conception of what he had done by making that simple, and to him quite metaphorical, request. Miguel Cordova would interpret his words literally, if his present behaviour was anything to judge by, and she looked like spending most of her three months' stay in some form of Spanish purdah, which did not appeal to her at all.

Too stunned to think of a reply for the moment, she followed him obediently when he walked out to a small open square behind the railways building, mtrcifully shaded by one of the tall palms that she was, in time, to accept as an inevitable part of the landscape. The rest of the party tagged along behind her, and a short, stocky man appeared as if from nowhere, out of the shadows, to assist the lone railway official with their luggage.

There were more palms on the other side of the square, and parked under their shade were a gleaming grey Mercedes and the more English luxury of a Bentley. It seemed no expense was to be spared on the last part of their journey.

'Miss Beckett!'

She was given no opportunity to climb into the Bentley beside Michael, but was ushered, politely but firmly, into the front seat of the Mercedes. Her host, it seemed, intended keeping as close an eye on her as possible, and she was already planning in her mind to ring her father and tell him what he had let her in for.

With two of her fellow travellers installed in the rear seat, Miguel Cordova slid into the driving seat beside Sally, and she felt herself instinctively curl her fingers into her palms as she watched those long brown hands manipulate the controls of the big car effortlessly. There was an aura of masculinity about him that she found almost overpowering in the close proximity of the car seat, and she sensed, rather than saw. the black-eyed gaze he directed at her as they drove on to the road, followed by the Bentley.

From thereon, for a while at least, she became so absorbingly interested in new things to see that it kept her from feeling too dismayed at her own reaction. The road climbed fast, initially, steep and breathtaking, so that she gasped almost audibly once or twice and hung on to the door of the car with one » hand.

The road took them through a small village and after that down into a valley, turning for the coast at the same time and meeting a slightly cooler breeze that she welcomed with half closed eyes as it cooled her hot forehead.

The long, low valley, she thought, looked so much more Eastern than European that she was again reminded of those hundreds of years that Spain had been under Moorish rule. The houses betrayed it in their high walls, with iron grilles and arched gateways, built round a central
patio,
or small courtyard, that looked blessedly cool and inviting with the shade of lemon and orange trees, and the inevitable palms.

Small brown children played in the hot sun with nothing to shade their heads and little enough on their little brown bodies either. The vineyards, with their complicated irrigation systems, were busy with men and women working with a slowness that was deceptive to the untrained eye. It was all so new and exciting that Sally turned suddenly Without hesitation to smile at the man beside her, her wide blue eyes shining with the excitement of it all.

'It's wonderful!' she said impulsively. 'Absolutely wonderful!'

Miguel Cordova's black eyes met hers for a brief moment and he smiled. 'I am glad that we have something you approve of, Miss Beckett,' he told her, and she flushed at the unmistakable sarcasm, her delight at the countryside banished for a moment in a frown.

'You said it was beautiful,' she reminded him.

'And now you see that I was right, yes?'

As he no doubt always would be, Sally thought ruefully, and gave her attention again to the scenery. They were climbing again now, high above where the Atlantic hurled huge waves at the rocks and received them back shattered into a million glistening fragments that glistened in the hot sun like the spray from a fountain.

It was not the grey Atlantic that she knew at home, but the deep, bright blue of its southernmost point just before it mingled with the Mediterranean in the Straits of Gibraltar. It was all so wonderful and so exciting that she would refuse to let Miguel Cordova, or anyone else, spoil the mythical enchantment of Spain for her.

'Is it far to go now?' she asked, without turning her head, and he answered promptly and without hesitation.

'Less than one kilometre.'

'Oh!' It was wonderful to think that Casa de Principes was situated in this magnificent part of the country, but at the same time she was not at all sure that travelling would not prove to be the better part of the experience.

Despite his preoccupation with the twisting, tortuous road, he turned his head briefly and looked at her. 'You have never been to Spain before, Miss Beckett?' he asked.

'Never,' Sally agreed. 'It's—it's so different, some- - how. I mean,' she added hastily, 'different even from what I expected.'

'Oh? How is that?'

The question was premonitory, as if he suspected criticism and was prepared to defend his country at any cost. Sally could not resist a smile as she chose words carefully to try and explain just what she meant.

'I'm not quite sure,' she said at last. 'It's just that it seems so much more—foreign, somehow.'

'Foreign?' He turned the car as he spoke and they passed through a gateway flanked by tall wrought- iron gates, driving along a narrow driveway between sweet-scented shrubs and palm trees, interspersed with orange and lemon trees that made the breathtaking view of the blue Atlantic below spasmodic but none the less impressive. He drove as far as another gateway and braked the big car to a halt before passing an opinion on her remark. Turning in his seat, he regarded her for a moment with a glitter in his black eyes. 'Here, Miss Beckett,' he told her,
'you
are the foreigner.'

'Oh yes, I know,' Sally said hastily, 'but I meant--'

She was given no time to explain her meaning, for he slid from his seat, swift and lithe as a cat, and in a few strides was standing with the door of the car open and a hand extended to help her to alight. After a brief hesitation Sally accepted the offer and the long, strong fingers curled over her hand with what she felt was unnecessary force, as she swung her feet to the ground. She was left with the impression that the strong, almost cruel grip was meant as a reprimand for her temerity, and she felt her pulses respond by fluttering urgently, as if in fear.

The gates before them led into one of the most beautiful gardens Sally had ever seen. Strictly speaking it was a much larger version of those shady little
patios
she had so admired along the road through the valley.

This house was bigger than any she had seen so far, and far more beautiful too. But its setting was something quite breathtaking so that she felt a thrill of excitement run through her right down to the soles of her feet as she looked at it.

Miguel Cordova swung open the gates and, without a word, invited her to step inside, into the courtyard, his black eyes watching her reaction. It seemed as if the shaded arches and balconies literally grew out of the profusion of flowers.

They grew in every conceivable corner, trailing and twining everywhere, from pillars and huge earthenware pots, even tumbling over the borders of the central fountain that sounded so softly cool in the heat of the afternoon.

Jasmine, red and white roses, scarlet geraniums and purple bougainvillaea, sweet scented orange trees and the shady, ubiquitous palm, all combined to delight the eye and stir the senses with their profusion and their perfumes. It was all so incredibly beautiful that Sally could only gaze at it with wide, shining eyes.

'You find it attractive?' The deep quiet voice spoke close beside her and she turned for a moment to acknowledge the truth of his words.

'It's quite incredibly beautiful,' she told him, a little breathlessly. 'I never dreamed anything could look like this, not in real life.'

For a brief second she felt the brush of those long fingers against the back of her hand, and he smiled, as if her response pleased him. But he made no reply, and a moment later two menservants appeared. They bobbed their heads briefly to Miguel Cordova, then bent and took up several of the pile of suitcases taken from the two cars.

An elderly woman stood in the background, sharp black eyes watching the men's labours critically, then she too came forward, bobbing a slight bow to her employer. Curiosity glinted sharply in the brief gaze she cast at Sally, and left an impression of not quite approving.

'My housekeeper, Ana.' Miguel Cordova performed the perfunctory introduction with a wave of one hand. 'She will see that you are all comfortable and have everything you require. Ana,
haga usted! el favor.'

'Muy bien, senor.'

The housekeeper led the way across the courtyard, followed by the whole party, including their host, while Sally still looked around her, dazzled by the novelty of it all. Even the ground they walked on was tiled with colourful Moorish style mosaics so that she felt it was almost a sacrilege to walk on them.

On the right-hand side of the courtyard an arched doorway gave access to the house, though it was not the main entrance, that was obvious. But it was there that their little procession came to a halt, except for the two menservants who continued on through into the cool dimness of the house with their burden of suitcases.

'Un momento,
Carlos!' Miguel Cordova's peremptory command stopped the second man in his tracks and he came out into the courtyard again, looking at his employer curiously.

A brief exchange in Spanish followed, of which Sally could interpret only her own name, then the man set down her suitcases and carried on into the house with only one, belonging to one of her companions, while Sally looked at her host suspiciously.

'Gentlemen,' Miguel Cordova said with a smile, ignoring her frown, 'the rooms in the north side of the house have been put at your disposal for the duration of your stay here. I think you will find it cool and comfortable, but please do not hesitate to say if there is anything else you require. The dining- room is in the main part of the house and Ana will show you the way when you are ready.'

He smiled briefly. 'You may find our mealtimes a little strange at first, but after a day or two in my country you will appreciate the reason for the arrangement.'

'I read something about that before we came,' Michael told him, sending a satisfied smile at Sally. 'Breakfast only if one asks for it, lunch any time between two and four and dinner some time between nine and ten. Isn't that right, Senor Cordova?'

His knowledge drew a smile. 'Approximately right, Mr. Storer,' he agreed in his pedantic English. 'This household is well ordered, however, and there will be no need for you to go hungry if you cannot at once adjust to the new times. However, I am sure that even Miss Beckett will see the reason for our different hours, once she has sampled the Andalusian sun.'

So he had not missed Michael's smile of triumph, evidently, and had correctly interpreted its meaning. She had stated pretty firmly, before they had left England, that surely no civilised country would think of eating dinner at ten o'clock at night. Now, it seemed, he was right. She refused to be drawn at the moment, however, and seeing her silent, Miguel Cordova returned his attention again to her companions.

'If you will be good enough to go with Ana, gentlemen,' he said, 'she will show you to your rooms and see that you have everything you need. Miss .Beckett, you will come with me, if you please.'

Sally stared at him for a moment, then stuck out her chin. Not for anything would she consent to be parted from her companions. She preferred the company of her fellow travellers to that of her host, and she intended that he should know it - politely if possible. She looked up at him with a determined gleam in her blue eyes, her usually soft mouth set firmly.

'I would prefer to stay with the rest of my party if you don't mind, Senor Cordova,' she stated firmly. 'I expect no special privileges, just because I'm a woman.'

'It is because you are a woman alone that you are being accorded special treatment,' he told her. 'I cannot allow you to share the sleeping quarters of five young men, without suitable supervision. There are two other ladies in my household, and it will be much more suitable in the circumstances, Miss Beckett, if you are near them, in the main part of the house.'

'You seem to have a very poor opinion of my morals, Senor Cordova,' Sally retorted, and was not at all surprised when the firm, straight mouth tightened and a dark glow of anger showed in his black eyes as he looked down at her.

'Not at all,' he denied coldly. 'I merely have a sense of propriety. Now will you please come with me?'

'But I don't
want
to be——' Sally began, only to be silenced by a raised hand and a look that would have quelled a much braver soul than herself.

'It is arranged,
senorita,
please do not make things any more difficult than they already are. Your father approves of my arrangements, and I am sure you would not consider defying his wishes.'

If only he knew just how often she had done justthat, Sally thought wryly, but her father was neither as strong-willed nor as autocratic as his self-appointed
in loco parentis.
She debated for a moment on the wisdom, or use, of sticking to her guns, but it seemed to be deadlock, and the rest of the party, including Michael, were waiting curiously to see what the outcome would be.