Masquerade Read online

  A gitana was standing at the entrance. She must have been in her late forties or early fifties, still handsome and well preserved for a gypsy, not a wrinkle on her olive skin, which nonetheless had a somewhat pallid look. A mass of tousled black hair undulated wildly around a fiercely sensual but hard face, and down to her shoulders. The gold and silver chains and bracelets she wore spoke of her status within the camp: a striking gypsy queen. A big black cat idled beside her as she stooped to stir the steaming contents of a large pot on the fire. Upon Leandro’s approach, her blazing dark eyes broke into a smile, softening her features and making her look almost gentle.

  ‘Where have you been, my boy, and what have you there?’ Her voice was low-pitched and slightly husky.

  Leandro gestured with his head towards the dunes. ‘Her horse bolted so I brought her back here to make sure she wasn’t hurt. She hit her head and lost consciousness.’

  The gitana flicked a glance over Luz. ‘Huh, this one’s a gajo! We don’t let their sort in the camp, you know that.’ She pushed the ladle roughly through the stew, a heavily ringed hand resting on her hip.

  ‘Mamacita, what would you have me do with her? I couldn’t just leave her on the beach, she needed help.’

  She met his expectant gaze and stopped stirring. ‘So now I’m to let a gajo into my house because you decide to play rescuer, eh?’ She sighed, her expression losing its hardness. ‘You have a kind heart, my son, maybe too kind … very much like your father, may God rest his soul.’ For a moment, her eyes filled with dreaming, and then the look was gone. She nodded curtly towards the cave. ‘Take the stranger to my room. Lay her on my bed and I’ll make her a brew for when she wakes up.’

  Leandro pulled Luz closer, feeling her steady breathing against his chest, but made sure not to look down. His mother was keen-eyed, the last person he wanted to guess at any attachment he might have formed to a gajo.

  ‘No one in the whole of Andalucía has your healing touch,’ Leandro offered quickly. He grinned. ‘If anyone can put her right, it’s you.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ she murmured begrudgingly and watched her son as he went inside.

  Many of the caves were one room, though some of the larger ones had two or three, fashioned out of the knobbly rock with low-domed ceilings and rough terracotta tiles on the floor. This cave was vast, its thick whitewashed walls hung with a scattering of religious pictures. In the bedroom an old iron lantern had been fixed into the rock of the eight-feet-high arched ceiling above the brass double bed. The floor was tastefully tiled and the space richly furnished, somewhat in conflict with the outside surroundings. There was a heavily carved wooden cupboard, an ancient armchair draped with brightly coloured brocade and a delicate chair that stood in front of a good-quality coiffeuse dating from the nineteenth century.

  Leandro lay Luz gently on his mother’s bed and arranged the pillows behind her head. He gazed down at her, aching to run his fingers through the long raven-black hair that splayed out in lustrous strands on the pillow like spun silk. The alabaster colour of her skin and the purity of her bone structure seemed to him the most exquisite and serene beauty he had ever beheld in a woman. Her thick dark lashes spread fanwise on her cheeks, like those of a Madonna in repose. Luz shifted slightly and her soft full lips parted a little, as though offering a subconscious invitation in her sleep.

  The gypsy’s blood stirred. Never before had he felt desire so strong – not even Rosa had awakened his senses with such vibrancy – coupled with immense tenderness. For a moment he thought ruefully of the gypsy girl whose savage and primitive beauty had once driven him wild, but that was before. He knew now that he could no longer continue his dalliance with Rosa and that he would have to extricate himself from it: everything had changed.

  Leandro’s eyes travelled over Luz. The urge to reach out and touch her, to feel the smoothness of her skin beneath his hands, was overwhelming. For a few moments he fought to keep a check on his movements and then abruptly left the room.

  He went out into the night to get some air and made his way to the wooden hut that served as a stable for some of the gypsies’ horses. It made sense to saddle up Ventarrón, his black stallion, so he could take Luz back to her house once she had woken. Much as he would have liked to keep her close by him for just a little longer, he knew that this would be opening a Pandora’s box of trouble if he were to encourage any sort of intimacy with a gajo inside the camp.

  In the meantime Leandro’s mother had returned to her bedroom carrying a cup of herbal brew, which she laid on the dressing table. She went over to the bed and leaned over Luz, sucking in her breath as she noted the girl’s fine and unmistakable features and her undeniable beauty. A shadow passed over the gypsy’s face and, just then, the gold locket that hung around Luz’s neck caught her eye. With the nimble fingers that had served her well all her life, she flicked it open. There was a fierce gleam in the jet-black eyes and they narrowed a little, blazing now with a strange expression. With just as much dexterity, she detached the clasp, took the locket and slipped it in her pocket. As she did so, her big black cat uncurled himself from the bed, jumped to the floor and padded towards the gitana, mewing and waving his tail. He brushed against her legs, purring loudly, winding himself around her ankles.

  ‘Yes, mi caballo negro, my black knight, we’re in luck,’ she whispered, a look of triumph on her face. ‘We are most certainly in luck.’

  The gitana went to a shelf and pulled down a pot, from which she retrieved some dark purple pods. She crushed the seeds they contained into the cup of liquid on the dressing table and returned to the bed. There, she placed a thumb over one of Luz’s eyes, opened the lid and peered at the pupil.

  ‘Mmm, nothing wrong. She’ll be awake soon,’ she muttered.

  She scooped up the cat, stroking it slowly as she stared down at Luz, who groaned a little and then was still again.

  ‘Better she doesn’t wake here.’

  Leandro returned, carrying a blanket. ‘How is she?’ he asked. ‘Has she woken up?’

  His mother’s face set itself into an impenetrable mask. ‘She has stirred a few times. I’ve examined her. She’s unharmed, but she must have had a nasty shock.’

  ‘She looks pale.’

  ‘Yes, she needs time to recover.’

  The gypsy let the cat jump from her arms and motioned to the cup on the dressing table. ‘There, feed her that brew. It will calm her, but most of all it will make her sleep deeply till morning. I must attend to our dinner. Lucas and some other dealers are coming over to discuss the next horse fair with Juanillo and your brothers.’

  But he wasn’t in the mood to put up with them at the moment; besides, he had a trip to make up the cliffs. ‘I won’t be around for that tonight.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’ She coughed roughly.

  Leandro sensed the change in his mother’s mood but he was used to her erratic behaviour. She was a creature of impulse: sometimes mischievous and diabolical; a vociferous spitfire in anger, vengeful and unyielding; and at other times so loving, so caring … at least to him, her eldest son.

  ‘You should look after that cough and give up the pipe. You know you’re not well.’

  His mother threw him a dark look. ‘You worry too much, my boy. We gypsies are tough,’ she said gruff ly, waving him away with her hand.

  He picked up the cup as she swept out of the room and sniffed at the pungent brew. Valerian root, he thought. Indeed he, too, was once given some of this concoction by his mother, he recalled, while suffering with insomnia and it had sent him off to sleep for many hours. He sat on the edge of the bed. Luz stirred and opened her eyes briefly; they were sapphire-blue with the depth and mystery of the ocean he loved so much. He smiled at her, but the long black lashes shuttered down again. Placing an arm around her shoulder he lifted her slightly to give her the tea his mother had concocted.

  ‘Here, drink this,’ he whispered, leaning over her as he held the cup to her lips. ‘You’ll feel better.’
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  Luz seemed to revive slightly at the sound of his voice and the feel of the liquid at her lips. She forced open her heavy eyelids and sipped a few mouthfuls of the brew but then looked faint and a pained expression crossed her face. Despite her wrenching effort to sit up and talk, she fell back on the pillows with a little groan and closed her eyes, once more overcome by sleep.

  Leandro glanced at his watch: it was getting late. They must be looking for her by now if the mare had returned to its stable. Maybe it would be better if she were examined by a doctor, but the colour had returned to her cheeks and she looked perfectly serene in her slumber. She had just been shaken by the fall. His mother’s potions were renowned for their powerful healing properties. Hopefully, the herbal brew would have a beneficial effect and she would rest till the morning.

  He found his mother sitting on a stool at the entrance to the cave, smoking a hubble-bubble.

  ‘I’ll take her home to her family, they must be looking for her. If the horse found its way back, they’re sure to be concerned.’

  The gitana stopped smoking and tossed her head back arrogantly. ‘What is it to us? Anyhow, do you know where she lives?’

  ‘I have a pretty good idea.’

  ‘Do you know her name and who she is?’

  He paused. ‘No, but I can find her house.’

  The gitana turned to look at her son, pipe in her mouth, her bright, hawkish eyes considering him pensively. She shrugged and returned to her hubble-bubble. ‘Well, my son, do as you please, but when you get back, come and see me. It’s a full moon tonight, a night of good omens, the night I’ve been waiting for so long.’ She flicked an inscrutable glance at him. ‘I will not rest until you have said goodnight.’

  Leandro smiled and kissed his mother. ‘Always mysterious, always speaking in riddles, Mamacita! Tell me, do I ever go to bed without first saying goodnight?’

  Her gaze softened. ‘No, my boy, you never do. You’re a good son, and your father would have been proud. I’m a lucky woman.’

  Her expression changed as the sound of boisterous cheering rose up from a group of young men opposite. Wineskins were being passed around while a couple of youths sent pebbles flying through the air from large catapults, knocking over tins lined up on barrels.

  ‘But your brother is another matter,’ she murmured, watching one of the youths detach himself from the group and saunter towards them.

  ‘Mamacita, did you see that? Twenty-three in a row! Brought them all down, even after a skinful. Hey, Leandro, want to try your hand?’ The youth was swerving slightly and came to an unsteady halt in front of them.

  ‘No, thanks, Toñito. I’ve got better things to do tonight.’

  ‘Better things, eh?’ Toñito, who wore faded jeans and a petrol-stained T-shirt, curved his overly full lips into a sneer. ‘Yes, always better things, brother.’ The young gitano pulled at the catapult in his hand, stretching the sinuous elastic. His eyes were like his mother’s, jet-black and fiery, and now they were fixed on Leandro, who stood calmly watching him, arms folded.

  ‘Isn’t that right, Mamacita?’ Toñito gesticulated dismissively with his catapult. ‘Angel Boy here, your pride and joy, has better things to do than share a bottle of brandy with his brother and play a little target practice. Anyone would think you only had one son. Well, I need a little respect too.’

  He punched his chest with his fist, swaying a little.

  Leandro narrowed his eyes. ‘Take a look in the mirror sometime. Respect is earned, little brother.’

  ‘Earned? And what have you earned in your life, eh? You think you’re so much better than me, isn’t that right, Angel Boy?’

  Leandro took a step forward, looking his brother straight in the eye. ‘Call me that one more time and we’ll see who’s an angel.’

  Toñito was too drunk to catch the dangerous expression on Leandro’s face and jeered at him, ‘Espetiede bastardo!’

  ‘Toñito, watch your tongue, or one day someone will tire of it and have it out.’ The gitana glared at her younger son, who scowled back at her.

  Toñito started to say something, then, obviously thinking better of a confrontation, raised his arms in mock defeat and grinned crookedly.

  ‘Okay, okay, I’m off.’ He shoved the catapult in his back pocket.

  Just then another gale of laughter erupted from the group of men opposite. An older man had joined them and was playing with a knife while a couple of the gitanos rushed to pour him a cup of brandy.

  ‘Hey, Toñito,’ one of young men shouted, ‘our Uncle Juanillo here reckons he can beat your record with his navaja and there’s a bottle in it for the winner!’

  Toñito turned his bleary gaze to Leandro. ‘Enjoy your better things, brother.’ He spat on the ground and took a step backwards. ‘Diego, you can tell him I accept his challenge,’ he called back. As he turned, he almost unbalanced, then staggered off to rejoin his group.

  The gitana sucked on her pipe. ‘Foolish boy! He may come from my loins but he’ll never amount to anything.’

  ‘He’s young and foolish, true, but he’ll grow up soon.’ Leandro stared after his brother for a moment, then sighed. He picked up a stick and threw it on to the fire. ‘He’s just trying to please you, that’s all.’

  ‘Please me, eh? Before you came along, my little brother Pablo was the only one I could rely on. Since he left us, it’s just you. Anyway, be off with you now. Do what you need to do with this girl and hurry back.’

  ‘I’ll take her back on Ventarrón,’ the young man told his mother but she was not listening any more. She smoked placidly, her eyes staring vacantly, the shadow of a smile hovering across her face.

  In the still of the night, under a velvet sky studded with stars like diamonds and a bright golden moon hanging in the heavens like a big porcelain saucer, Leandro rode to L’Estrella, holding Luz to him on his jet-black stallion. The sea was quiet, the air soft with an all-pervasive smell of iodine and seaweed. They made their way, corkscrewing along the empty cobbled backstreets of Cádiz that snaked uphill to the top of the cliffs. There, L’Estrella lay; the focal point of an enchanting setting, a tiny jewel-like circular house in calm seclusion, halfway between fascinating reality and a mirage. Its whitewashed walls gleamed almost luminous under the full moon and a faint breeze whispered through the cluster of almond trees fringing the entrance.

  The house was dark. Luz was still asleep – the concoction must have been strong, his mother perhaps a little heavy-handed with the herbs. Leandro was perplexed: no one seemed to be waiting up for her. The lights were off but the front gate was wide open. He quietly steered Ventarrón to a holm oak in the courtyard. Carefully leaning Luz forward against the stallion’s mane and holding on to her with one hand, he slid to the ground. With the other, Leandro tied the horse to the trunk of the tree and then carried the young woman into the hacienda.

  The grounds of the villa were all steps and corners, arches and angles, linked by patios and punctuated by sweet-smelling shrubs and orchard trees. Leandro walked up to the house and circled round it: the place seemed deserted. Gently hitching Luz closer to him, he searched her pockets for a key but there was none – it must have been lost when she fell. He was toying with the idea of taking her back to camp when he noticed, in the light of the moon, Zeyna grazing on one of the expanses of grass at the edge of the garden. The creature lifted its head and regarded Leandro for a few moments before bending back down to the ground. ‘Well, at least the mare is back,’ he muttered to himself.

  As he turned with Luz in his arms, a veranda draped in wisteria caught his eye, f lanked by a handsome flight of stone steps. He climbed to the top of them and was relieved to find a French window slightly ajar. Nudging it open with his foot, he gazed into the moonlit room. It was a bedroom – Luz’s bedroom by the look of it. He walked in.

  She was still fast asleep against his shoulder. He laid her carefully on the bed and slowly removed her riding boots. He spotted a blanket neatly folded on a chest nex
t to the window and gently tucked it around her. For a moment he stood there, feasting his eyes on the ripe perfection of his Sleeping Beauty. Her eyes were closed, her mouth pink, and thick dark lashes feathered against her pale face. She was lovely, but unconscious and remote. What would she, a rich gajo, say if she woke to find that he had brought her home and was standing in her bedroom alone with her? What had she thought of him when she had looked his way? She fascinated him. He stretched out a cautious hand and touched her silky black hair. A slight frown creased his brow and he hesitated, then stooped and gently, ever so gently, brushed her soft, parted lips with a kiss. There was a hint of worship in his caress.

  * * *

  Later that night Leandro rode back slowly from L’Estrella. He hadn’t returned immediately, wishing to avoid Lucas, the visiting horse dealer, and the rest of his family. Instead, he had sat on the beach near Luz’s cliff house for a long time, staring at the inky, glistening ocean.

  Now, as he made his way through the gypsy camp, he watched the dark clouds drift towards the large shining moon as if intent on devouring it whole. So vibrant by day, the camp was now bleached of colour in the pale light. The fires were almost out, copper pots lay discarded and some caravans and makeshift improvised tents glowed from the lamps inside. The place smelt of burnt wood and petrol. A few figures were huddled round the dying embers, murmuring to one another, and some were passed out next to the dogs on the ground. The sound of a donkey braying somewhere was replaced with the harsh miaow of squabbling cats. Leandro nudged Ventarrón on, the bells on the horse’s reins jingling softly. He sighed. Tonight, for the first time, the encampment was the last place he wanted to be.

  His mother was waiting for him, sitting at the cave entrance with a tall gitano with long, greying, wiry hair and a worn face, who had a deep scar down one of his cheeks. He put the wineskin he was holding down at his feet and dragged on his long cigar.