Indiscretion Page 16

  And now, as Alexandra’s arms crept about Salvador’s neck, his mouth slowly moved against hers, sensuously to start with before gradually building up into a more purposeful and desperate kiss. As his fire flowed into her, she was seized by a storm of wild feelings. Her innocence feared the strength of her own desire. He was burning through her, like nothing she’d ever experienced before. The power ebbed away from her mind as her body discovered a life of its own, leaping into flames, and her mouth gradually melted beneath his.

  About them, the world seemed to stand still, even though the traffic blared and the pavement thronged with people; they were lost in the crowd, lost in their own crashing sea of emotions. Time hung like a pendulum suspended. Nothing else mattered except the roar of their unleashed desire.

  Alexandra’s head rebelled against logic and caution. With wanton delight, she gave herself up to the rapturous bliss of the moment, startling that part of her which remained detached, that was watching her behaviour with shocked disapproval.

  ‘Beautiful señorita, handsome señor, Paquita will tell you what the future holds for you …’ The voice came sharply out of the blue. A gypsy woman of uncertain age, with hooded eyes, hooked nose and unkempt, thick black hair like a witch’s, had pushed out of the crowd behind them. Salvador almost leapt back in alarm. The gitana grabbed Alexandra’s hand but the young woman pulled away, reeling with confusion at this violent interruption, her mind and emotions still caught up in Salvador’s passionate kiss.

  ‘What? Let go of me, I don’t want to know,’ she cried, glaring furiously at the fortune-teller.

  But the harpy took no notice of her objections. ‘Two paths … I see two paths,’ she went on in her deep, threatening voice. ‘The first is difficult and tortuous, strewn with thorns and tears, but at the end of it you will find the paradise all young women dream of. The second is straight and easy, strewn with rose-petals and pearls. A cruel deception … a castle built of sand. Careful, my beauty,’ she rasped as she drew closer to Alexandra, waving a withered finger at her, ‘do not delude yourself, do not be deceived, the devil is cunning.’

  Turning to Salvador, her face clouded. ‘As for you, my fine Señor with the sad face, wearing the tragic mask of death,’ she hissed, clutching at his arm and digging her claws tightly into him, ‘go, go in peace, and may God help you! Alas, each one of us has a destiny to follow and Paquita can do nothing for you today. The die has already been cast.’ Then, all of a sudden, just as she had appeared from nowhere, she vanished, lost in the hubbub of the crowd milling around against the pink and golden backdrop of the sunset.

  Alexandra was shaking, not so much in alarm at the gypsy’s sinister predictions but more in anger at her forceful behaviour.

  ‘Outrageous,’ she exclaimed indignantly, though her hands were trembling. ‘This is the side of gypsies I’ve heard so much about … these wild-haired witches who distract your attention and then steal your wallet. It’s intol—’

  She stopped short when she looked up at Salvador. His face had drained of all colour; his eyes were wide, for a moment, frozen in horror. Then his gaze clouded over and he shuddered as his long fingers raked nervously through his shock of black hair.

  ‘Let’s go back,’ he muttered in a strained voice. ‘It’s getting late. Besides, Sarita will be waiting for us.’

  ‘Salvador?’ She wanted to know what had unnerved him so much, whether he gave any credence to the gypsy’s words, but he merely shook his head.

  ‘Let’s just get going, Alexandra.’

  They walked in silence along the wide pavement of the waterfront. Still pale beneath his smooth, copper-tanned skin, Salvador seemed lost in his world of ghosts and nightmares. Alexandra’s mind, too, was disorientated by thoughts of the impulsive embrace they’d just shared and, despite herself, the gypsy woman’s warning.

  ‘It’s odd,’ he said in an almost inaudible voice, as if talking to himself. ‘That woman, that gypsy, she always appears to me before some catastrophe. I remember now … she was there on the road to Granada.’

  ‘What happened?’ Alexandra asked.

  Salvador half looked up at the interruption of her voice but instead continued gazing into the distance. ‘She was standing outside a dilapidated caravan … I’ll never forget that shrill voice. “Take care, young horseman! Before the day is out, your pride will be crushed to the ground.” And she was right. A few hours later, an adder bit Centaur, my horse. He broke into a mad gallop and I was thrown into a ravine. They found me the next day, lying there unconscious next to my dead horse, and I was unable to walk for a long time afterwards.’

  ‘That was only a coincidence,’ Alexandra assured him.

  ‘A year later,’ he went on gloomily, paying no attention to her words, ‘I saw the witch again as I was coming out of the Chapel of Santa María. I was still an invalid in a wheelchair and Isabel, then my fiancée, accompanied me. There she was once more, standing at the gate, selling some cheap trash. “Feline eyes, hair of flame, soul of marble, treacherous dame,” I remember what she said. Two weeks later, Isabel broke off our engagement to marry the Marqués de Aguila.’

  ‘How can you be so sure this gypsy is the same woman?’ Alexandra asked, trying to sound logical and ignoring her needling irritation at the mention of Doña Isabel.

  But it didn’t matter what she said; Salvador was getting himself worked up. ‘It’s her, I know it’s her,’ he insisted with stubborn conviction. ‘I wasn’t sure to start off with, I couldn’t quite make out her features, but now I know. I feel it in my bones. It’s like the bell of fate is tolling again, for me.’

  Rather surprised at Salvador’s irrational reaction, Alexandra would have burst out laughing had she not realized how truly devastated he sounded.

  ‘Don’t be so ridiculously melodramatic,’ she exclaimed. They were still walking in the half-light. The shimmering reflections of the waterfront’s lamplights, which might otherwise have lent the river a romantic aura, now gave it a sinister, otherworldly enchantment that unsettled her. ‘What you’re saying is foolish, superstitious nonsense,’ she continued. ‘Surely you can see that? You’re an educated man, Salvador, not an ignorant peasant. Don’t let yourself be influenced by the groundless predictions of some evil hag whose only purpose, believe me, was to frighten us.’

  Salvador gave her a tense look as he tried to school himself, but then grabbed her by the shoulders and wrenched her round, forcing her to stop and face him, his brooding eyes boring into her, imploring her to understand.

  ‘Go, Alexandra! Go while there’s still time. Leave before you’re dragged down too. There’ll be no turning back if you are.’

  ‘What do you mean, Salvador? Why do you keep trying to send me away?’ Alexandra was exasperated but his urgent tone was also beginning to alarm her, his hold on her almost painful. He looked at her intensely and dropped his voice, pulling her to him.

  ‘For a moment I was mad. I thought, I hoped … but I see now that it would be futile and wrong … it’s too powerful …’ He trailed off, his eyes still fixed on her, and Alexandra searched his face, trying to understand, her body beginning to stir helplessly at his touch. Her chest was rising and falling, once more threatening to betray her to him. ‘That witch Paquita is right, each one of us has a destiny to follow and mine has been traced already. Follow your own. Go, Alexandra! Leave El Pavón tonight, tomorrow may be too late.’

  Salvador put out his hand and brushed her cheek softly. He was close, so close to her now that she could feel his warm breath on her face, smell the familiar fragrance of his soap, sense the fierce pounding of his heart. Hypnotized, her thoughts rioted out of control as they did every time he looked at her, touched her.

  She stood on tiptoe and finding his mouth, pressed her lips longingly against his. This time they were still, unyielding. She felt him stiffen, but she didn’t stop. Again she kissed him and again, softly, lovingly. She didn’t care where she was or that anyone might see them. Salvador resisted for a few
seconds more and then, gradually, she felt his strong, lithe body stir, his resisting lips move and claim her mouth in a passionate, fierce, desperate kiss. He held her tightly, crushing her against him, and she clung to him, dizzy and limp, eyes closed, her body vibrating to the furious rhythm of his need. Finally, he let go of her. Silently they stared at each other. His brows pulled together but otherwise his pale, handsome face remained expressionless.

  * * *

  As twilight fell on the city they picked up Sarita at the tram station. Salvador was generally a cautious driver but tonight he raced the car along the road out of Seville recklessly, as if they were being pursued by the devil himself, and in half the usual time the great wrought-iron gates were in view.

  They turned into the drive of El Pavón. Barely a word had passed between them throughout the journey and, by now, the gloomy mood of the last few hours had caught up with Alexandra. She looked out into the night. Shadows of the stooping willow trees loomed on either side of the gravelled lane. In the moonlight, she could imagine their branches shedding lamenting tears into the opaque waters of the canal that irrigated the gardens and orchards of the hacienda. As they drove past, startled night birds flew up with mournful cries and insects, attracted by the light of the headlamps, hurled themselves pitifully at the car’s windows.

  Finally, at the turn of a corner, the ancient residence appeared at the end of the driveway, its imposing silhouette outlined against the horizon. Salvador pulled up a few yards from the house as someone came out of the shadows and rushed up to the car: it was Esmeralda. She snatched the door open and leant in towards her brother.

  ‘Quickly, Salvador,’ she uttered breathlessly. ‘It’s as you feared. It happened tonight, I’m sorry.’ Esmeralda touched her brother’s arm as he leapt out of the car, his expression bleak.‘You must go to her straight away. She’s already there and they’re waiting for you to start the ceremony. They’re angry, they seem to think that this is God’s revenge.’

  ‘Revenge.’ Salvador repeated the word emptily.

  ‘Yes, because in their eyes you’re guilty of a sin that you haven’t tried to atone for.’

  Forgetting Alexandra, brother and sister hurried off towards the back of the house. The young woman was standing there, wondering whether or not to follow them, when she was startled by a voice behind her.

  ‘Doña Alexandra? Just the person I was coming to see … What a marvellous coincidence!’

  It always gave her a nasty jolt to see the steward; he had the uncanny habit of appearing out of the blue.

  ‘Good evening, Fernando,’ she said shortly. ‘What do you want?’

  His smile was sly. ‘I’ve come to offer my services, dear señorita.’

  ‘Thank you, Fernando, but I don’t need your services,’ she retorted, starting to walk away.

  The man regarded her speculatively. ‘Allow me to contradict you,’ he went on smoothly. ‘I think that tonight you may need them more than ever.’

  She turned to face him. ‘Excuse me? Explain yourself,’ she said, raising her voice a fraction in an attempt to sound authoritative.

  Fernando Lopez appeared to consider her question. ‘Patience, and shuffle the cards, says an old proverb of ours,’ he jeered. ‘Keep calm, dear señorita.’ He smirked, looking her up and down shamelessly. ‘Forgive me if I bring this matter up. Your moonlight tête-à-tête with our beloved Count on the night of the masked ball was very touching. I feel it’s only right to fill you in on what’s really going on at El Pavón. My duty, in fact.’

  Alexandra was angry and shocked at the idea of having been spied upon but she tried to keep her expression even. She wasn’t about to give the man the satisfaction of acknowledging what he was suggesting, or enter into a discussion with him about her affairs. Still, her patience was wearing thin at his blatant impertinence.

  ‘I really can’t see what you’re driving at.’ She turned away from him and started to make her way back to the house.

  ‘I’m getting there, I assure you …’ His oily tone made her shudder but she kept walking. ‘Come with me. We’re going there together, right away.’ Lopez caught up with her in two strides and seized her arm.

  ‘How dare you! Let go of me, you scoundrel,’ she flared, pushing him violently away. ‘I don’t understand your ridiculous riddles and I’d be grateful if you didn’t involve me in your nasty little schemes. I warn you, if you persist in bothering me, I shall go to Don Salvador himself.’

  ‘At this time, His Grace has more important fish to fry, señorita.’ Lopez sneered insolently. ‘He’s paying for his acts of foolishness. We say in Spain: The stink is still worse for the stirring. There’s been a big stink and an even bigger stirring and, trust me, the price is always high when gypsies are involved. You’re deluding yourself, señorita, if you think you have any chance of worming yourself into his affections,’ he scoffed as he watched her stride off towards the house. ‘El Caballero de la Triste Figura is up to his neck in the mess he’s created.’

  Alexandra was seething. Once in her room she paced furiously up and down for a good ten minutes, her eyes flashing with fury. She could feel a rising anguish that choked her. From the start, she had suspected Salvador was involved in some dramatic intrigue and she had promised herself to stay out of his private affairs, frustrating though it was not to know the truth. Whatever happened, these family troubles didn’t concern her in any way. Yet she couldn’t forget the harrowed expression on his face during their journey back from Seville. It was clear from the evening’s events, and from Fernando Lopez’s words, that he was threatened by some imminent danger. What should she do? Suddenly all caution, as well as her resolution to keep out of his affairs, gave way to a different feeling. An unknown emotion was driving her to his side; stronger than her instinct for self-preservation, greater and warmer than any sentiment she could remember. Her dilemma had evaporated.

  Alexandra hastily threw the shawl Salvador had bought her that afternoon over her head and hurried out. At the front door, she hesitated briefly before deciding on which direction to take. Following her instinct, she rounded the house and went towards the far end of the back garden, where Agustina had told her the gypsies had their camp. As she moved across the lawns and past the groves, away from the hacienda, she could hear the sound of drums beating faintly in the distance. She stopped to listen, trying to work out how far away they were.

  ‘I thought it wouldn’t be long before your curiosity triumphed over your prim and proper upbringing,’ Lopez breathed into her ear. She jumped at his reappearance behind her and shuddered with disgust as she felt his moist, hot breath on her neck.

  ‘Leave me alone!’ she snapped furiously, quickening her step along the path to escape him.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he shouted after her, his crackling laugh resounding in the night. ‘I haven’t the slightest intention of attending that mournful ceremony. Have fun, pretty señorita.’

  Alexandra hurried past the groves and veered right at the cypress and sycamore trees, hoping the steward would not follow her. Finally, she reached the lower edge of the garden, which was fenced off. Slipping through the gate to the towpath beyond, she could hear distinctly now the sound of hands clapping rhythmically to guitars, drums and clicking castanets, punctuated at intervals by a monotonous chanting.

  Alexandra crossed the small wooden bridge over the canal and suddenly the terrain dropped; there, below, encircled by rocky crags, spread a wide expanse of rough open ground. Starting towards it down a steep path, at the bottom she found herself in a small, arid valley dotted with the odd fig tree and knolls of hard clay, which nature had carved out into caves. She had the impression of being on the edge of an enchanted clearing, the den of some mythical creatures perhaps, illuminated by the glare of a huge campfire.

  In the flickering light of the flames, old crones with lined faces sat at the entrance to their dens. Plump women, bare-breasted, nursed their babies; others, armed with enormous wooden spoons, lethargicall
y stirred a gelatinous liquid contained in huge, black pots suspended above primitive stoves. She passed bright-eyed urchins squatting on the bare earth, poking the fire and fanning the blaze. Further away, coppery-skinned girls, barely out of adolescence, sang and danced to the frenzied rhythm of outlandish instruments. They wore brightly coloured skirts, with gold pendants in their ears and numerous clanking bracelets on their ankles and wrists. Bearded men with great manes of hair, sunburnt faces and enormous bushy eyebrows hiccoughed and laughed noisily, while mangy, lean-looking dogs prowled furtively in the shadows on the lookout for bones.

  Alexandra had drawn her shawl over her head and no one paid her any notice, though her heart was hammering in her chest as she slowly walked through the camp. It was then that she caught sight of a crowd of gypsies gathered at the wide entrance to one of the caves, a hundred yards away from where she was standing. Unlike the others, this one glowed with flickering light. Alexandra carefully weaved her way through the cluster of people, trying not to draw attention to herself. Several of the gypsies were carrying candles, the ends of which were wrapped in paper, careful not to let the wax drip on to their hands. Salvador stood at the entrance to the cave, his face pale and drawn. Beside him was Esmeralda, stiffly upright, her mouth grave, her beautiful blonde hair partially concealed by a large silk shawl.

  Further inside the entrance, men were crouched on the ground, drinking wine from goatskin gourds. One tall, hawk-eyed gitano, a scar deeply etched down the side of his face, was perched on a rock, sharpening a short-bladed knife with a stone and taking rough swigs of wine. Suddenly, the gypsies got up and started to dance. Their singing was a sort of raucous chant on a monotone, accompanied by castanets, the clapping of hands and the rhythmic tapping together of two stones. Then, as the men drew back into the shadows, the women came forward, forming a wild circle around an open coffin. Their sinuous bodies, wrapped in flowing loose dresses, wriggled in the eerie glow of the flames. They were swaying their hips like witches at an incantation and Alexandra half expected to see black cats appear at any moment, clinging to their backs with raised fur.