Indiscretion Read online

  A trickle of gypsies went in and out of the cave as the chanting droned on. Alexandra took a deep breath and made her way closer to the entrance. The air was laden with smoke, the pungent smell of sweat and the nauseatingly sweet fragrance of dying flowers.

  The coffin was decorated with camellias and surrounded by candles; inside lay a baby. At first, Alexandra thought he was sleeping, for his cheeks and lips, far from being livid, had a carmine hue to them as if they’d been unnaturally reddened. She stood there, horrified, staring at the little mite who lay in the wooden box, oblivious to the absurd orgy of shouting, dancing and stamping feet surrounding him.

  A man pushed by her to get to the coffin, holding a gourd of wine in his hand; it was the scarred knife-sharpener. Alexandra froze and pulled her shawl closer around her head as he stared straight at her, eyes narrowing. At the crescendo of the chanting, the gitano’s blurry eyes shifted. He swallowed several mouthfuls and then, holding the gourd over the tiny body, sprinkled the child’s face with the potent liquid, smudging the make-up. Tears ran down the infant’s cheeks, making him look like some pathetic clown. This was greeted with cries of ‘Olé’ and the capering and wild dancing started all over again. Alexandra let out the breath she had been holding.

  Suddenly, Marujita appeared, twisting her youthful body and swaying her hips as her feet beat the clay earth in a continuous, frenzied rhythm. She moved her arms gracefully, turning her head from left to right, swinging her jet-black hair, which fell in disarray over her perspiring face. Her movements were so abandoned, so frenzied, that she seemed possessed by some cabalistic spell.

  Alexandra felt as if she was in the midst of some hellish nightmare. Never would she have believed such barbarity existed; this spectacle went beyond the bounds of her imagination. It amazed her that only a matter of weeks ago, she’d been in England where life had been so much more civilized, so much simpler.

  ‘Don’t feel sorry for the child,’ said a voice behind her. ‘He’s up there, in paradise, with the angels. He’s lucky to have gone there so soon. What future is there for a bastard half-caste, born of a union between a gajo and a Calés?’

  Alexandra turned sharply to meet the dark eyes of Paquita, the old woman from Triana, peering at her. ‘And now,’ went on the ragged gypsy as she took the young woman’s hand, ‘you, too, must dance the Abejorro, the bee dance. Do exactly as I do, and take care not to stop buzzing during the dance or else you’ll die before the year’s out.’

  By then Alexandra was so taken aback by this bizarre ceremony and the old woman’s sudden reappearance that this pronouncement barely made her flinch. Already the rhythm of the music had begun to accelerate and the guests had started to join hands around the coffin. Humming, they circled it, imitating the sound of bees.

  Alexandra let herself be drawn into the dance. Her eyes scanned the alien gypsy faces, looking for Salvador. She spotted him holding Esmeralda’s hand in the circle of guests, mechanically enacting the movements required by the strange ritual. He seemed to have aged astonishingly in the space of a few hours. Deep black shadows were visible beneath his stunned eyes and his ashen face had grown hollow. Esmeralda was holding his arm as if he needed her to guide him, and she kept giving him anxious glances. Why was he there, Alexandra wondered as she followed the steps of the circling gitanos, and how had he become mixed up with this wandering race? Salvador was the master here and they lived on his land, obligated to him for his generosity. Yet, somehow, these people and their curious superstitions seemed to have an extraordinary hold over him.

  The bee dance came to an end. It appeared to mark the final stage of the ceremony and the gypsies were starting to disperse. As was her custom, Paquita had vanished into thin air. Even Esmeralda was no longer to be seen. Only Salvador remained, standing beside the small coffin, a tragic picture of grief.

  Alexandra deliberated for a moment, wondering if she should slip out now without revealing herself, but she couldn’t bear to see him with that pained look, whatever lay behind it. She wanted to hold him, and go on holding him to take away his pain but she knew she could not. Wrestling with her own fear and bewilderment, she approached him and tentatively laid a hand on his arm. Salvador started out of his torpor.

  ‘Madre de Dios, what are you doing here?’ he cried, aware of her presence for the first time. ‘Can’t you leave me alone?’

  Then, turning to face her, he took her roughly by the shoulders and shook her brutally. ‘Go, Alexandra, go!’ His tone was almost savage. ‘You’re in danger here, don’t you understand? If you have any sense at all, girl, go …’

  ‘No escuchaste lo que dijo el Señor Inglés, chica? Didn’t you hear what the Señor said, English girl?’ croaked a medusa in rags, who had just lurched into the cave. She was not particularly old, but life hadn’t treated her well and her face held a kind of madness in it. Her eyes were feverish-looking as she stared at Alexandra, her hands compulsively flicking at the air as if swatting invisible flies. ‘Yes, we know who you are. We Calés know everything that goes on. What are you doing here anyway, in this land so at odds with yourself? In your country of ice, one love consoles another, one lover replaces another … feelings are light as the breeze, they pass and are soon forgotten.’ She flicked her hands again and pushed at her unruly matted hair. ‘Here it is the opposite. Our earth is like a volcano, it is a violent and bloody land, ruled by savage passions and cruel laws, and we are made in the image of our land.’

  For a moment the crone gazed at Alexandra intently. ‘Be careful the heat of our sun does not burn you.’ Then she jerked her head dismissively. ‘Go, pale señorita!’ In the silence of the night, her shout echoed like thunder through the whole valley. ‘Go back to your country of mists before the ground gives way under your feet and the erupting volcano swallows you up forever in its smoking lava.’

  Added to Salvador’s harsh words, this hysterical outburst of gibberish proved too much for Alexandra. Holding her hands to her ears, blinded by the tears that streamed down her cheeks, she ran towards the house while the shrew was still shouting oaths and warnings, and didn’t stop until she’d reached her room.

  She found Agustina seated beside the bed, waiting for her, an anxious expression creasing her usually cheerful face.

  ‘I knew you would find out. You shouldn’t have gone there, my child,’ she remonstrated as Alexandra collapsed into her arms.

  ‘Why, Agustina? … Why was he there? … And why does he put up with all of it?’ she sobbed.

  ‘It’s a long story, niña,’ said the servant as she poured some sort of herbal brew out of a teapot standing on the night table. ‘Here, drink this and come and lie down on your bed. Agustina will try to help you understand.’

  Alexandra did as she was told and gulped down the aromatic infusion that the housekeeper had handed her.

  ‘You’ll soon feel better.’ Agustina helped Alexandra get ready for bed before sitting herself down at the young woman’s bedside to begin her tale.

  ‘Four years ago, Don Salvador became engaged to the very beautiful and rich Doña Isabel Herrera, whom you’ve met, I believe. Her father, Don Vincente Herrera, is a big wine merchant and owner of one of the largest bodegas in Andalucía. Both were young, handsome and had a great deal of money, which made them the envy of many people in their circle.

  ‘A great ball was given to celebrate their engagement and everyone was talking about their being a perfect match. However, even though the old proverb says, Marriages are made in heaven, this one, it seems, was not to be. Some would say it was all for the better. Who knows? Perhaps it was but it’s too soon to judge. The fire is not yet out and, even if it is, the cinders are still hot.’

  Alexandra’s heart gave an agonizing twist. Was Agustina inferring that Salvador still had feelings for Isabel? Perhaps the flame had already rekindled and it was only a matter of time before this ideal union was reforged. She desperately wanted to know but, for now, said nothing.

  Agustina continued. ‘A
few months before the wedding, Don Salvador went to Granada to buy a new horse. He was brought home with a fractured pelvis and other injuries to his spine, which left him paralysed from the waist downwards. They said he would never walk again.

  ‘Well, Doña Isabel visited less frequently after that. One day, out of the blue, we learned from the newspapers that she’d married the Marqués de Aguila. A titled man, for sure, respected in the whole of Spain, but nevertheless one almost three times her age, riddled with gout and arthritis. Ay, qué vergüenza, what a shame for our poor Don Salvador.’ Agustina shook her head sadly and tutted as if the tragedy had befallen the young man only yesterday.

  ‘Our Count was heartbroken and slipped into a deep depression. Doña María Dolores had lost all hope for him when a gypsy woman came to the gates of El Pavón and asked to speak to her. She was apparently part of the camp the Duquesa had allowed on the grounds. The gitana explained that her daughter, Marujita, possessed the gracia de mano, a healing power, and she had come to the hacienda to offer her services to the young Master.’

  Mere superstition, Alexandra thought privately. Nevertheless, she interrupted Agustina. ‘What exactly is this healing power?’

  ‘Some people believe that a woman who has this power can rub life again into any creature, human or animal. Only one woman in two thousand has the power and she is born with a perfect caul covering her head and face. You know, some sea captains keep such preserved things in a jar on board their ship as a good-luck charm to protect them from shipwreck.

  ‘Anyway, Her Grace, who’d tried every remedy without success, agreed to allow Consuelo and her daughter Marujita to try their cure on her nephew. Consuelo was a crafty one and Marujita, in spite of her young age, was already as provocative as a lumiasca, a harlot, with the looks of a goddess. Since her early teens, she’d hung around a good few street corners.’ Agustina crossed herself and held up her hands. ‘May God in heaven forgive me but they were like a couple of cabronas putas, pimped whores, those two, the way they came to the house, with the mother offering the daughter up for her services.

  ‘Yet the magic in her hands worked the miracle. Not only did our young Count begin to live again but also he gradually began to walk. A year later he was riding around the estate on horseback and, madre de Dios, Marujita was carrying a child.’

  Alexandra smothered a gasp. ‘Oh God, the baby was his!’ she whispered.

  Agustina nodded, her hand on her chest. ‘Sick with remorse, Don Salvador wanted to marry the girl but Doña María Dolores fiercely opposed this and rightly so. Finally, after many clashes between them, the Duquesa was able at least to prove to him that he had not been the first victim of the young gypsy’s schemings. She could understand his being grateful to Marujita and, if he could not do without her, she would turn a blind eye to the girl remaining his mistress, but as for marrying her …’ Agustina shook her head.

  ‘Consuelo and her daughter moved into the lodge at the bottom of the garden. The Duque had used it as a study while writing his memoirs. They knew this was a good set-up for those two, a bit of easy money. Some gypsies wander about and return to their camps from time to time, but others like four walls and a roof above their heads. Several months later, Marujita gave birth. From the start it was plain to see the little thing wasn’t going to live long. The girl sensed that Don Salvador was slipping from her grasp. She panicked and began a campaign of quarrels and threats, stirring up trouble.

  ‘Her brothers, who up until that time had stayed conveniently in the shadows, now suddenly came forward. They spoke of rape and duels with knives at dawn, for their sister’s lost honour. It was all a cruel game but, nevertheless, one that could cause embarrassment and shame for the young Master’s family. In principle, gypsies detest marriages between their people and gajos. In this case, Marujita had been granted a special permission from her crayí, or king, because of her status as a curandera, healer, and other powers of sorcery they claimed she had.’

  The old maid sighed. ‘Now, the Count is good and generous but he doesn’t like his hand to be forced. Perhaps if the girl had gone about it in a different way, perhaps if the Marqués de Aguila hadn’t died just at that time, freeing Doña Isabel … or if Don Salvador hadn’t seen your photo in his great-aunt’s study. Yes, your Duquesa noticed his reaction — your grandmother is no fool — then it might have been otherwise. But I doubt it.’ Agustina glanced knowingly at Alexandra as she spoke. ‘The fact remains that, for whatever reason, Don Salvador decided not to marry Marujita, whatever the consequences. And in all honesty, he told the young woman and her family of his decision. He’d provide for the needs of Marujita and the baby, as well as for the hordes of relatives who had suddenly appeared on the scene, on the understanding that there would be no more talk of marriage or scandal.

  ‘Then tonight the baby died. For these superstitious, ignorant people, this death is the wrath of God, a sign that the child was maldito, the accursed product of a damned union. A righting of wrongs needed to happen: by the Master marrying the girl, the curse could be broken now.’ Agustina sat back in her chair and shook her head gravely.

  Alexandra was filled with a painful confusion by this extraordinary tale; the revelation that Salvador had fathered a child with Marujita scraped coldly against her heart in a way that brought a new feeling of disquiet. What was she to make of his reacting to her photo before he’d even met her? It answered some of the questions that had been niggling at her, certainly. A yearning leapt up in her that she fought to suppress. Could it be that this had been enough to make him refuse to marry Marujita? Or was Alexandra just another amusing dalliance that paled beside the fact that Doña Isabel was now at liberty to marry again? She tried to push such tormenting thoughts aside and control her chaotic emotions.

  Pushing her head back against the pillow, Alexandra stared up at the ceiling. ‘I still can’t understand why my cousin allows himself to be treated in this way. After all, this is his land and he would be completely entitled to ask them to leave,’ she said indignantly, though her voice wavered.

  ‘The dramas of these backward people are more dangerous than you can imagine,’ explained Agustina. ‘As I said to you not so long ago, it isn’t wise to pick a quarrel with them. Gypsies are an unpredictable lot, handy with a knife and completely fearless of death. They live by their own lachiri, or justice, particularly regarding honour and marriage. If you break a promise to the Calés or go against their laws, you bring down la venganza de Calés on your head, and they will chase you to the ends of the earth. As they say, os Calés abelan lachingueles pinrés, gypsies have long legs.’

  Alexandra fixed the other woman with a curious look. ‘Why did you tell me all this tonight?’

  Agustina smiled kindly and leant forward in her chair to place a hand on the bedspread. ‘The Moors also had a saying: In the depths of despair, never lose hope, for the sweetest marrow is in the hardest bone. Don’t despair, my child. I know you think you don’t belong here, but remain at El Pavón. And one more word of advice … This is a big house, with lots of staff gossiping and whispering behind closed doors. Don’t believe everything you hear, Doña Alexandra. People don’t see with their eyes, but it doesn’t stop them witnessing with their mouths. We once had a maid here, under my supervision it shames me to say, who was dismissed for her tongue wagging about the family. Ay Dios, a real mischief-maker. I gave her short shrift, I can tell you.’

  Agustina’s disdainful look at the mere memory caused a wave of guilt to wash over Alexandra. ‘Yes, I suppose people are bound to talk about the family.’ Her cheeks went a little pink as she recalled the woman on the train from La Linea who’d so freely offered her opinions on the de Fallas. She looked imploringly at the duenna, suddenly feeling the weight of everything she now knew. ‘It’s just all so confusing. I don’t know what to think or what to do.’

  ‘The truth can sometimes be slow to reveal itself. The sun sets every night but returns next day. El tiempo es un gran curador, time
is a great healer. Is it not said that he is a great master who solves many things?’

  Alexandra smiled grimly. ‘But Salvador asked me to leave,’ she said, huskily.

  ‘Passion sometimes makes us think and do things we cannot control. Don’t attach any importance to what he said in a moment of despair.’ Agustina studied the young woman, deliberating. ‘Would you like to know what fate has in store for you? The tarot cards can tell us what futures may come to pass, depending upon your actions.’

  Alexandra hesitated. She did not believe in this superstitious stuff, she told herself, but an intense feeling was drawing her curiosity. Perhaps Salvador was right: perhaps she was more Spanish than she acknowledged to herself. She nodded.

  Agustina took out a pack of old tarot cards, well worn from use, from her pocket. With nimble skill, which had clearly come from experience, she shuffled and cut them. Finally, she lay a few of them out in the shape of a horseshoe on the bed.

  ‘The Knight of Swords,’ she said as she placed a card face up on top of the horseshoe,between the eight others. ‘There’s a dark man riding a black horse at full gallop. Symbol of romantic chivalry … definitely Don Salvador Cervantes de Rueda.’

  She turned up the first card at the extreme right of the horseshoe. ‘Here is the Fool reversed, dressed in his clown’s costume. He is carrying a burden on his shoulders and a great stick in his hand. An angry dog is going for him. It describes the impulsiveness of His Grace, the consequence of his faults, and his atonement.’

  Alexandra looked at the Spanish servant in alarm. ‘A sinister beginning, isn’t it?’

  Agustina lifted her hand in reassurance. ‘Not to worry, for the strength of this card is changed by the one placed alongside it: the Knight of Wands. It is also an important card. He is a messenger of hope. Though Don Salvador is surrounded by danger just now, he will nevertheless be saved, but he must still go through many tests, for the struggle is not yet over. Look here, at the heart pierced by three swords, the clouds and the rain on the next card. It foretells difficult times of sorrow, tears and even separation.’