Indiscretion Page 18

  ‘Separation? From whom?’ asked Alexandra in a quiet voice.

  But Agustina was not listening, totally absorbed in her fortune telling. ‘Here comes the gypsies’ wagon, pulled by two mules and carrying the branch of authority and of willpower. This means that the Count is still at the mercy of a power stronger than himself. He will have to overcome it with a greater effort of will and be stronger than the ones who confront him.’

  As Agustina turned over another card, Alexandra held her breath.

  ‘And now, the card of The Lovers,’ exclaimed the servant, peering at the image. ‘Once again he’ll be called upon to make a choice. The struggle between sacred and profane love … the fight won’t be an easy one … a crafty little vixen, possessed by a hundred devils. She has bewitched my master but, yes, love can conquer over evil.’

  Agustina took a sip of water from the glass she’d set beside her on the table. She seemed unhappy at the turn her predictions were taking, and she looked out of the corner of her eye at Alexandra’s drawn features. But she sighed with relief as she turned over the next card: it depicted a woman firmly closing the mouth of a lion. She wore a chain of roses about her waist and the cosmic symbol of eternal life over her head. ‘At last!’ Agustina whispered. ‘That’s the one I was waiting for — the card of Fortitude, an excellent omen. It’s the triumph of love over hatred, the victory of good over evil.’ She chuckled. ‘Of course, it will all depend on the last card,’ she murmured to herself. She took another sip of water and pondered over this final choice, her hands running lightly over the remaining cards, lingering on one, then another, while Alexandra fidgeted impatiently in her seat.

  ‘Ah,’ she said finally, as she turned over the card depicting the Tower. ‘Interesting … neither good nor bad. See? The man and woman are being thrown from the Tower by a bolt of lightning striking the top. With lightning comes conflict, particularly between two opposing forces. This is destruction to form something new … a new direction or perspective perhaps. A greater power is at work … but personal transformation is needed.’ She frowned thoughtfully and gathered up the cards.

  ‘What does this mean, Agustina?’ Alexandra was near exasperation. ‘Transformation of Salvador … or me?’

  ‘Fate and destiny must decide, but you must give them a helping hand and fight for what you want. That’s what the cards are telling me. As we say: Destino puede ser tomado porlos cuernos y impujado en la dirección correcta, fate can be taken by the horns and pushed in the right direction.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re right, Agustina,’ Alexandra sadly sighed. ‘Yet I feel so worn down by all this fighting. I don’t know how much energy I have to make my own destiny.’

  The Spanish woman patted her arm, saying, ‘Come now, get some rest. Sleep on it and trust in what tomorrow may bring.’

  By now dawn was breaking on the horizon; the east was ablaze and bathed the room in a pale, rosy glow. Somewhere a cock crowed and was answered by its own echo. Agustina drew the curtains and tiptoed out of the bedroom. The herbal potion had done the trick: Alexandra lay fast asleep, her long hair spread out over the pillow.

  CHAPTER 6

  The following days were relatively quiet. Agustina’s extraordinary disclosures had aroused mixed feelings in Alexandra. She wondered how much credence she should give to the duenna’s words. Why had the old servant imparted to her such private matters? After all, those were family secrets and she was sure most members of the family still considered her a stranger. Yet her desire to know everything had been inescapable. She’d not discouraged Agustina to speak openly and, admittedly, had pushed her to explain a good deal about the de Falla intrigues. Now everything was, at least, somewhat clearer. For that she was grateful, though no doubt Salvador himself would resent such confidences.

  She didn’t know what revelation cut her more searingly: the tragic secret of his love child with Marujita or the possibility that he still carried a torch for Doña Isabel. Before she had met this man, love and desire were things she wrote about from her imagination. Now they were physically and painfully real and she must decide how best to serve her own heart. The message of Agustina’s tarot cards had whispered its way into her consciousness, despite the reluctance of her reason. Did she have the strength to push Fate in the direction she wanted and fight for Salvador?

  An unreasoning impulse drove her towards him. She could not rid herself of the thought that, despite his bitter words near the bridge in Triana and later at the wake, Salvador had been tacitly reaching out to her before, trying to tell her something vital. Yet now he seemed to be avoiding her. Alexandra saw him only rarely, at mealtimes or when they happened to cross on the stairs or in the hall. When by chance their eyes met across the dining room table, his were indifferent. She began to fear that perhaps he’d misinterpreted the motive behind her presence at the gypsies’ camp on the night of the wake, mistaking her fond concern for unhealthy curiosity, the instinct of the writer in search of a dramatic story. But surely he didn’t think her capable of such heartless voyeurism? His secret was now known to her, he must have surmised. What did that mean to him? Did he even care?

  At first she felt deeply hurt and upset. How could he have held her the way he had in Seville, vibrating with such hunger and fire, and now, just a few days later, offer her only coolness? Was it all a cruel game? Every time she thought of him and the gypsy girl, Marujita, together, her heart gave an agonizing wrench. She had never known jealousy could cut like a knife. To quash her yearning for him would be the sane and sensible thing to do, and yet it was hopeless: Salvador’s complete masculinity, his sheer virility, succeeded in unnerving her whenever he was near, though she tried hard to fight her confusion and guard her pride.

  Regardless of what her better judgement was telling her, again and again her mind had played over that embrace. She had returned his kiss with an ardour of which she hadn’t known herself capable. Never had a kiss moved her so — not that she’d been kissed that often — and she had known at that moment if such heat, passion and euphoria could be ignited in her from this man’s kiss, then she had never truly been kissed before.

  As time went by, and daily she was faced with his continuous indifference, these feelings gave way to indignation. Soon she became resigned to it and tried to dismiss him from her mind. She carried on with her peaceful life at El Pavón and almost ceased to worry about his aloof manner.

  Alexandra seldom sought the company of others. When she did, it was usually Esmeralda or Ramón. Ever since Esmeralda had admitted her secret love to her the night after the masked ball, the two cousins had begun to spend more time together; but Salvador’s sister still seemed ever-watchful of confiding too much and Alexandra was equally guarded whenever Salvador’s name was mentioned. Now and then, Ramón would drive Alexandra around, showing her some of the surrounding villages or dropping her and Esmeralda at Jerez to go shopping.

  On one such occasion, Ramón left the two young women in the Calle Tetuàn to rummage around the town’s main market, a few minutes’ walk away in the Plaza de la Encamación. Like Calle Sierpes, which ran parallel to it, Calle Tetuàn was a narrow street, overlooked by balconies and teeming with bars and cafés, a charming conduit to the town’s mercado. It was late morning and the sky was a glorious turquoise blue, making the brightly coloured awnings of the market stalls seem even more vivid. The sun was becoming increasingly hot and so, after buying a few postcards and decorative combs, Alexandra and Esmeralda found a café and had soon ordered a jug of iced sangria and were watching the Jerez townsfolk browsing among the tables piled with bread, manchego and chorizos, lace and painted plates, hats and other curiosidad.

  Alexandra caught sight of a man in the crowd with overly long, blond hair, walking with a woman, and she tensed.

  ‘Oh, no! Please tell me that loathsome man, Fernando Lopez, isn’t here to spoil such a lovely day,’ she said, sipping her sangria. She dreaded another encounter with the oily steward, and had managed to avoid him since th
e night of the bizarre gypsy wake.

  Esmeralda raised a menu to her face. ‘Ay Dios, it’s not him, is it?’ She nervously lowered her voice, even though the man was too far away to hear.

  Alexandra breathed a sigh of relief when the object of their concern turned round to kiss the woman on the cheek.

  ‘Está bien, it’s fine. It’s not him. Does he give you the creeps as much as he does me?’ Alexandra noticed that Esmeralda had gone even paler than usual.

  ‘I’m sure he’s seen me with …’ Esmeralda stopped, looking embarrassed, but then resumed. ‘We thought we’d been so careful but Lopez is everywhere, and he makes it his business to know everything that goes on. I’m just terrified he’s going to confront me one day.’

  Esmeralda’s lover, thought Alexandra. What a terrible hold for that nasty piece of work to have over her. ‘Yes, I see. You think him capable of blackmail?’

  ‘Sí, sí, Alexandra, I do. It’s only a matter of time, I’m sure.’

  Alexandra gritted her teeth. ‘Abuela should get rid of him. He’s hateful.’

  ‘Yes, indeed, but it’s not that simple,’ Esmeralda sighed.

  ‘Why ever not?’ interrupted Alexandra. She stirred the ice in her sangria, frowning. ‘He’s insolent, violent. I can’t figure out why he’s tolerated on the estate. I’ve been meaning to say something to Papá but he’s always either locked in his study or disappearing off somewhere.’ She suspected her father welcomed time away from Eugenia but wasn’t about to admit that in front of Esmeralda. ‘How on earth does he hold on to his job at El Pavón, I don’t understand.’

  ‘He was the steward of Don Eugenia’s father, from his estate,’ explained Esmeralda, her eyes still flitting around the crowd as if fearing the steward would appear at any moment. ‘Eugenia brought him with her when she came to El Pavón, after her father, Don Fernán de Juni, died. Lopez was Don Fernán’s “enforcer”, if you like. Both men had a reputation for brutality. Apparently, Lopez used the harshest tactics for collecting rent from Don Fernán’s struggling estate workers.’

  Alexandra remembered the gypsy boy Pedro cowering in terror at the steward’s feet. ‘He probably bludgeoned it out of them,’ she muttered, crunching on an ice-cube.

  ‘Everyone at El Pavón hates the man. They know he’s brutal to the gypsies on the estate and the de Fallas have a long tradition of being tolerant of the gitanos.’

  ‘So why is he allowed to continue?’

  ‘Because Eugenia is a powerful member of the household and she manages to pull the wool over the Duquesa’s eyes, so Lopez stays.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Esmeralda, but I can’t believe Abuela is that easy to fool.’

  Her cousin shrugged. ‘Quizás, maybe. In any case, Eugenia has some power over her. She brought a huge dowry with her when she married your father and put a large amount of money and extra land into the estate and holdings. The Duquesa is no fool, as you say. El Pavón needed such financial support. You may have noticed, your grandmother tends to be frostily polite to Aunt Eugenia but never initiates a row.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose that’s true. Though Eugenia still seems to bow to Abuela’s authority.’

  ‘Por supesto, but of course.’ Esmeralda raised her eyebrows. ‘She is the Duquesa.’

  ‘And what does Salvador make of Eugenia’s creature, Lopez?’ Alexandra changed the subject smoothly.

  ‘I think he would have the man flogged and thrown off the estate if he had his way but he knows your grandmother’s predicament, and they are very close.’

  ‘So Salvador knows how the gypsies are treated too?’

  Esmeralda nodded. ‘He avoids the man whenever he can, as much to save his temper from causing something he’d regret.’

  Alexandra felt her stomach give a familiar, painful twist as she was reminded of Marujita, and suddenly she wanted to understand what kind of sway this girl and her people exerted over him.

  ‘Do you think Salvador has some kind of special affinity with the gitanos?’ Alexandra asked tentatively. ‘I mean, he seems to do more than tolerate their superstitious ways. It’s almost as though he’s been caught up in the power of their beliefs.’

  Esmeralda turned her sorrowful smoky-blue eyes on her cousin. ‘I confess, I’m afraid for my brother. I have been ever since he became mixed up with the gitanos. I don’t know what draws him to them. He’s a proud man, and an honourable one, despite what happened between him and Marujita.’ She looked at Alexandra, her voice softening.

  ‘You must be aware of it, I know, Cousin. But remember, Marujita is a schemer. There’s no doubt many young gypsy girls are experienced in the art of seduction, Marujita even more so than most. He was not himself when she found him: vulnerable, weak, literally a broken man. What that cold-hearted social climber Doña Isabel did to my brother when he was already debilitated was desgraciado … and then Marujita used whatever skills she’s reputed to have to ensnare him. Salvador was told he’d be crippled for life but whatever the gitana did, she saved him. After that, his sense of honour kept him with her.’

  Alexandra listened, though it was hard to hear. ‘Do you think he’d have married her?’ Her eyes searched Esmeralda’s, her heart in her throat, so close was she to confiding in Salvador’s sister everything she was feeling.

  Esmeralda gave an enigmatic, sad smile. ‘That’s a good question.’ She sighed. ‘My brother’s been plagued with bad luck when it comes to women, but it’s not my place to advise him on who he can and cannot love.’ At this, Alexandra became aware of her cousin’s searching gaze. ‘Ever since you came to El Pavón, I’ve thought you and Salvador would make a good match.’

  Alexandra met her eyes, a pink hue rising in her cheeks. ‘Really? Why is that?’

  ‘There’s something in your spirit that I think is the same in him,’ said Esmeralda, hesitating. ‘I’m not sure … but I can see a change in Salvador since you arrived.’

  Alexandra gave a bitter laugh. ‘I see changes in him all the time, it’s hard to keep up with him. One thing’s for sure, Salvador doesn’t give me the time of day at the moment.’ She looked down, tracing the edge of her glass with her finger. ‘We seem to always be at odds with each other, so I hardly think we’re well matched.’

  ‘So you’re indifferent to him?’

  Alexandra glanced up sharply. No, she wasn’t quite ready to lay herself open to Esmeralda at this point; Salvador was surrounded by a chaos too threatening to her own emotions and she needed to bide her time. Instead she chose blatant evasion. ‘It seems that Salvador has enough complications in his life, as do I.’ She arched an eyebrow. ‘Surely you of all people can appreciate the difficulty of complications.’

  Esmeralda shifted in her chair and Alexandra could see that her habitual detached air had returned. ‘Yes, life is not always what you would have it be.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Ramón will be at the Iglesia de San Pedro soon. You might find it interesting. It’s quite important during the Semana Santa because it’s part of the procession route the penitents take.’

  Alexandra drained her glass. Their conversation was clearly at an end. ‘Yes, I have only a few notes on the Semana Santa at the moment, so that would be good.’

  ‘It’s about a four- or five-minute walk away, so we ought to go if you’d like to look round it first.’

  Leaving some coins on the plate, the two women left the café and set off to meet Ramón. As they headed out of the market, a tall man bumped roughly past Alexandra in the crowd. Rather than apologize, he paused and turned his head, fixing her with a menacing stare. There was no mistaking the scar on his cheek, the hawkish black eyes that surveyed her with a look that sent cold shivers down her spine: it was the gypsy knife-sharpener she’d spied at the funeral.

  ‘I’ve seen that man before. That night of … in the gypsy cave,’ Alexandra whispered.

  It was clear Esmeralda had seen him too. She tugged urgently on her cousin’s arm as the gitano continued to stare at them both, lighting a long cheroot and squint
ing through the smoke. ‘Come, Alexandra, we should leave. Now!’

  * * *

  Maybe it was the fear of crossing paths with the gypsy knife-sharpener once more, still, Alexandra stopped going into town for a while, though she was aware the gitanos’ camp itself was closer in distance to the house. She spent days at a time without leaving El Pavón.

  Increasingly, she would read to her grandmother: ironically, the one person she had thought she would most likely want to avoid during her stay, but who had turned out to be a good companion. They talked on the Duquesa’s patio, or sometimes in the garden when it was not too hot, and caught up on lost time. Ramón was usually somewhere around the hacienda, of course. Faced with an obnoxious sister and a father who was nowhere to be seen half the time, she was thankful for her sparky-eyed cousin whose cheerful and thoughtful nature lifted her spirits. Still, more often than not, Alexandra spent hours by herself: she worked at her desk, writing letters or endeavouring to shape her notes into some kind of structure for her novel.

  She liked to walk through the extensive grounds of the de Falla estate. Sometimes Ramón accompanied her but for the most part she went alone. As a child, Alexandra would often happily roam the acres of parkland at Grantley Hall on her own, or invite her friends over for impromptu all-day tea parties on the front lawn. Sometimes, the quiet and gentle Ashley would come and stay and Aunt Geraldine let them have the run of the house. On warm summer nights, she would frequently stock up on ginger beer and Girl’s Own comics and head down to the garden to spend the night in a tent, reading by torchlight and gazing up at the stars. Her notebook was always close at hand, where she would write down new ideas for stories that she later passed round the other girls at school.