Indiscretion Read online

  Salvador was silent.

  ‘Why do you refuse to look the facts in the face? Do you wish to bring disaster down upon yourself?’ persisted the old woman, trying to break through her nephew’s stubborn shell. ‘Why not reach out for this new love? Why not accept it with joy and grasp happiness instead of groping at shadows?’

  But Salvador shook his head slowly without looking up. ‘Because it was doomed from the start,’ he said in a flat voice, as though to himself. He shifted in his chair, leant his head wearily against the back of the seat and shut his eyes.

  Alexandra stood helplessly outside the door, humiliation washing over her, yet unable to tear herself away.

  ‘I can’t understand this determination to condemn a love before it’s even been born,’ exclaimed Doña María Dolores impatiently. ‘You’re both adults, quite capable of taking the situation in hand. Face up to the problems together, if there really are any problems. In my opinion, this business with Marujita has assumed ridiculous proportions. It’s up to us now to put an end to this affair, which I will no longer tolerate.’

  ‘I have a debt towards Marujita, which I must pay off,’ Salvador said. He had raised his eyes and was looking at his great-aunt in earnest.

  ‘We have all paid off that debt,’ retorted the dowager. ‘And besides, a debt is paid in kind or in money. What more can you do for her now?’

  A bitter laugh escaped from her nephew’s lips. ‘Sometimes, dear Aunt, I think you forget the harsh customs of our people. You know none of us can escape them.’

  ‘I admit the gypsies have violent ways and live by the navaja … and this reputation they have for dark practices and uncanny powers has always been feared. But they’re also poor, and avaricious too, and therein lies the answer to your Marujita problem.’

  Faced with her obstinacy, Salvador seemed thoughtful for a moment. Then his eyes clouded over. He rose to take leave of the dowager.

  ‘I’ll think about what you’ve said,’ he promised as he embraced her. ‘I’m sure we can resolve this problem. Don’t you worry about it any more, Tía.’

  Hearing him heading for the door, Alexandra darted into the library opposite, shutting the door as quietly as she could and pinning herself against it, heart thumping in her chest. Salvador’s steps echoed briskly down the corridor. After a few moments she heard another set of footsteps descend the marble staircase and move across the hall, slower and more measured this time. Opening the door slightly, she saw Agustina arrive at the apartments of her mistress. Alexandra had a burning desire to know what they were saying. She heard low voices coming from inside her grandmother’s room as she tiptoed back out into the corridor. At first she could not make out what was being said, though the Duquesa was clearly pacing up and down the room.

  ‘… I know him all too well, he’ll do just as he pleases. But I must do something to put an end to all these ridiculous dramas.’

  ‘You’ve spoken your mind,’ replied Agustina. ‘Leave him for now, he’s already too unhappy and you’ll accomplish nothing.’

  ‘Wise and faithful Agustina,’ sighed the dowager, sadly. ‘You’re always right. What would I have done without your advice through all these long years? Since tragedy struck my dear Salvador, I’ve learned to dread what the next day has in store but you’re always so reassuring, always telling me that better days will come.’

  ‘Don’t worry, have confidence. The rainbow isn’t far,’ insisted the old servant.

  ‘You’ve been promising me rainbows for so long.’

  ‘Remember the road is long and His Grace has already travelled a long way back to us.’

  ‘Still, how many steps are there to climb?’ answered the Duquesa in a quiet voice, as though to herself.

  Alexandra suddenly heard a noise from the corridor and scurried quietly up the staircase back to her room, afraid she might finally be caught eavesdropping and feeling guilty at what she had already done.

  Upstairs, it was Alexandra’s turn to pace her room. Once the humiliation she’d felt at overhearing the discussion had ebbed, she was besieged by questions. They span around her head like a tornado; there was so much to think about. She was taken aback that the Duquesa thought she was in love with Salvador. What had she said or done to make her grandmother believe such a thing? Was this what she was feeling? Was she so transparent? Moreover, did she dare to think Doña María Delores was right and Salvador loved her? Yet Agustina’s cards had seen a threat from Marujita who had apparently ‘bewitched’ Salvador. There was an unpleasant tug at Alexandra’s heart at the thought of the two of them together. Agustina had urged Alexandra to fight for him but what was he afraid of? Bringing down the revenge of the gypsies? Whatever the truth, the situation was making Salvador truly wretched.

  In the meantime, Alexandra decided that it was time she took matters into her own hands. To do so, she needed to get to the bottom of who’d tried to shoot her with an arrow.

  * * *

  Alexandra walked briskly towards the stables on the lookout for Pablo. Confronting the young lad would hopefully remove any doubts she had about his involvement in this morning’s episode. Common sense said that he had not shot the arrow. He may be a liar, as Lopez had said, perhaps even a petty thief, but she had difficulty in believing he would deliberately want to harm her. After all, she’d rescued him from Fernando Lopez’s hands, and the boy had seemed grateful. However, he had clearly been near the summerhouse when the arrow had been shot, and even if he’d not actually seen the person who was to blame, at least he must have a good idea who it might be.

  She reached the stables and walked round them. No one was about. Further along, she found the old gardener, Miguel, lying stretched out against the trunk of a tree, a red-and-white checked handkerchief covering his face. He was dozing peacefully, oblivious to the cloud of flies buzzing around him.

  Alexandra hesitated, debating whether or not to disturb him. Siesta time was certainly over.

  ‘Miguel,’ she cried out. ‘Miguel, wake up!’

  The man started, removed the handkerchief from his face and blinked in the light. Recognizing Alexandra, he leapt to his feet, apologizing profusely. ‘Buenas tardes, señorita,’ he mumbled, embarrassed that she should have found him asleep. ‘It was hot and I lay down for a while … uh … what can I do for you?’

  She came straight to the point. ‘Where’s Pablo?’

  Miguel had a vacant look. ‘Pablo?’ he enquired, as though hearing the name for the first time.

  Alexandra sighed impatiently. ‘Yes, Pablo. Pablo, the stable boy.’

  ‘Oh, sí, sí, Pablo,’ he said after some hesitation, and with the expression of someone who’d just seen the light. ‘Pablo Gomez, yo sé, I know, uh … I’ve not seen him since this morning. Uh … no, no, lo siento, since yesterday evening,’ he corrected, wringing his hands. ‘Ah, señorita, the lad’s a good-for-nothing. He’s lazy, a liar, a thief and …’ Leaving his sentence hanging in the air, he shook his head disapprovingly, and walked off a shade too quickly towards the stables. Alexandra went after him. Determined to find Pablo, her instinct told her Miguel knew the whereabouts of the young gypsy. She followed the old gardener into the stables.

  ‘Where do you think I can find him?’ she persisted.

  He had started to shift some hay and gave her a sideways glance.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he reluctantly replied. ‘I’ve already told you, he’s a vagabundo, vagabond. Today he’s here, mañana who knows?’ he waved vaguely without looking at her.

  ‘He has a family, doesn’t he?’ she continued.

  ‘He’s the sort of lout who doesn’t care about his father or mother. He goes to all sorts of no-good places and keeps bad company. You’re wasting your time, señorita.’

  ‘Isn’t he Marujita’s brother?’ she added, playing her last card.

  The expression of alarm that swept over the man’s face was fleeting but unmistakable. Alexandra would have missed it had she not been expecting a reaction of this so
rt. Marujita was the kind of gypsy feared by the likes of Miguel.

  When she repeated her question, he did not reply but busied himself raking and filling his bucket. His face was stony and Alexandra knew that their interview was over. Nothing now would induce him to talk.

  She strolled back pensively. It was late afternoon and the heat of the day had died away, leaving the air cool and scented. Alexandra loved the garden at this time, when the sounds of nature, the very light itself, took on softer tones before reawakening to greet the night. The conversation with Miguel was niggling at her more than she wanted to admit. It was the man’s withdrawn and wary attitude, rather than the seriousness of his words, which perplexed her. Alexandra had never before encountered shiftiness and deceit quite like this.

  She didn’t know what to think any more and wondered whether Pablo was hiding, and why. Somehow, despite Miguel’s reticence, she could not bring herself to believe that the young gypsy was guilty. Instead, instinct told her to look elsewhere for the culprit, though who could it be?

  Lost in thought on her way back to the house, she had inadvertently followed the stone wall that marked the boundary between the hacienda and the gypsy camp, unaware that her footsteps were leading her to the very part of the estate she had avoided during the week. After a long detour, she found herself facing Marujita’s cottage.

  The dwelling had a deserted air about it. Turquoise shutters were pulled to and, as dusk approached, only the warbling of birds in the shrubbery disturbed the silence. In its mute and abandoned solitude, the squat white-stone house with its cape of golden mimosa appeared even more secret and mysterious to her.

  She was about to leave when the door flew open and Salvador marched out. His face was flushed, eyes shining with anger. Alexandra had scarcely time to hide behind a bush. He stalked by without seeing her and stormed off towards the big house.

  Alexandra watched him disappear. Once she’d recovered from her surprise, she pondered whether or not to face Marujita now that she was here, and finally get an answer to the questions that were tormenting her. She hesitated briefly. Reason urged caution, reminding her of the frightening consequences of her nocturnal escapade to the wake. On the other hand, her feelings for Salvador, her curiosity and her reckless nature, pressed for a more daring approach. She had fallen in love, she knew that now: shouldn’t she grasp the opportunity to defend that budding love, as Agustina had encouraged?

  Looking around uncertainly before making up her mind, she took a deep breath and strode firmly to the door; she crossed the threshold. There, it was done! Her heart was racing, her palms clammy. There was no thought in her head of what she might say or do once confronted with the gypsy girl; she was there and, for now, that was all that mattered.

  Inside, the wide, low-roofed room was gloomy, lit solely by two paraffin lamps. A rancid smell of oil and damp filled the place. The walls were whitewashed and bare, with the exception of a few sacred pictures. The furniture was simple and scant: a divan by one wall, with a rocking chair beside it. A rustic wooden table and three chairs filled the space in the middle, while an old deeply carved chest that served as a storage place had been pushed away to the far corner, next to the window, where the black cat snoozed peacefully.

  The house was still; shrouded in silence; it seemed deserted. Alexandra thought of Salvador’s dead child and morbid images of the wake swam into her head, making her shudder. Fear and doubt crept back like a cold finger on her spine. She asked herself what she was doing there. Surely she must flee this place and its ghosts; she was being foolish and unreasonable. The cat opened its phosphorescent eyes, narrowed them to green slits, and closed them again.

  Alexandra had almost turned to leave when a muffled sound caught her ear. Her eyes, which had grown accustomed to the dim light, could only just make out the shadow of a huddled heap in the right-hand corner of the room. Cautiously, she approached it. Pablo was squatting there, tears streaming down his face, his thin arms folded around bony knees.

  ‘Pablo,’ she uttered gently.

  Recognizing Alexandra, the lad was seized with panic and began to gabble at her. ‘No fui yo, it wasn’t me! I don’t know anything. I swear it wasn’t me.’

  ‘Listen to me, Pablo,’ she interrupted. ‘I know you didn’t shoot the arrow, but I also know you saw who did.’

  ‘I don’t know anything. Don’t ask me anything, por favor señorita!’ he implored, reaching up and grabbing hold of Alexandra’s hands, attempting to kiss them in a desperate gesture.

  Disconcerted, she was momentarily thrown off-guard but then she knelt down beside the boy, seized his thin shoulders and shook him gently. ‘Stop this at once, Pablo, and listen to me,’ she said firmly. ‘You must …’ Alexandra stopped short; someone had come into the room. She turned to see Marujita standing behind them.

  ‘What is a busno woman doing in our house?’ the gypsy asked her brother, not deigning to look at Alexandra.

  ‘I’ve come to talk to Pablo,’ said Alexandra, placing a protective arm around the young lad’s shoulders.

  Marujita considered her opponent with contempt, hands on hips, her head with its rich raven-black hair thrown slightly back in a stance that epitomized the scornful arrogance of her people. Briefly, the two women assessed each other defiantly, the gypsy girl’s eyes dark and fiery, Alexandra’s glittering with restrained anger.

  ‘You are not welcome under this roof,’ the young Romany stated with cold disdain.

  ‘So I gather,’ Alexandra retorted sarcastically and stood up. ‘But I’m not going before I get what I’ve come for.’

  Half-smiling, Marujita countered, ‘We’ll see about that!’ Then, with the lithe speed of a young panther, she threw herself on to her adversary and, claws out like a wild cat, grabbed her by the throat. Taken by surprise, Alexandra struggled, trying without success to free herself from the long iron fingers that were strangling her. The strength of the gitana was staggering; choking and fighting for air, the more Alexandra moved, the more the vice around her neck tightened. Suddenly, she jerked her head backwards and the gypsy girl’s hold loosened slightly. Alexandra managed to free herself for a few seconds before her opponent’s hands caught her again — long, gripping fingernails digging into her shoulders, penetrating the fine material of her blouse and drawing blood.

  Marujita, though scarcely out of adolescence, was by far the stronger and more agile of the two women, with the advantage of being used to this way of settling a quarrel.

  ‘You will pay, gajo, for all the trouble you’re causing,’ Marujita’s eyes blazed as she wrestled with Alexandra. ‘You think you’re more honrada than me, because you’re a busno, huh? Because you’re one of his family?’ She swung her forearm under Alexandra’s chin and wrenched her backwards in a choke-hold. ‘You’ll never have the power over him that I do. I am pure gitana, pure Spanish, more woman than you’ll ever be, and he knows it.’

  ‘You’re nothing … but a harlot … and a witch!’ Alexandra gasped between breaths.

  ‘La mujer que no ha pecado es bruja, le juro a Dios! The woman who has not sinned is a witch, I swear to God!’ The gypsy girl hissed in Alexandra’s ear. ‘You want to know how the people of this land settle their disputes?’ In a few moments, without knowing quite how, Alexandra found herself lying outside on the cottage steps, bruised and bleeding, while the young gypsy, arms folded, leant against the door, her dark eyes burning with hatred.

  ‘Go back to your cold and colourless land,’ Marujita hissed. ‘There’s nothing for you here. The Conde’s mine and there’s nothing you or anyone can do about that.’ Hands on hips, she looked down at Alexandra, her eyes glittering malevolently. ‘This is only a warning. Next time you may not live to tell the story.’ Her voice was loaded with contempt.

  Smouldering with rage, Alexandra was beyond listening. She lifted herself up slowly and set about straightening her clothes with careful deliberation under the unwavering stare of her adversary. Then, quick as lightning, using all
her strength, she delivered an almighty punch, catching her rival in the eye. Turning coolly, she started back to the house. As she went, she could hear the string of insults, threats and curses that the young Romany hurled after her. But she didn’t care. She had never felt so good.

  Night had fallen. The air was cold and a breeze whispered in the trees. The great leafy branches swayed gracefully with a swishing sound that reminded her of soft footfalls as they threw fantastic shadows over the pathway, dimly lit by a wan moon. Alexandra shivered and quickened her step. In spite of the humiliation she’d suffered, she smiled to herself. A new sense of power swept over her, finally making her feel that, in some small way, she had just taken back control. What was happening to her? Even a month ago, she would never have contemplated such a brazenly physical response and she wondered what Salvador’s reaction would be when he heard about the catfight. Alexandra pushed that thought to the back of her mind; it was a problem she would have to face later.

  When she arrived back at the hacienda all the lights on the ground floor were on; they had company. A car was parked in front of the house and, as Alexandra drew closer, she recognized it as Doña Isabel’s. She sighed; no doubt the young noblewoman was visiting Salvador. This is what it must have been like to fall in love with Casanova, she observed wryly.

  Before she could ring the bell, the door opened and Doña Isabel, accompanied by Salvador, appeared on the steps in all her splendour.

  ‘Ah, there you are Alexandra.’ Salvador greeted his cousin with a broad smile. ‘We were looking for you. The bullfighting season started a few weeks ago at Castellon de la Plana and Doña Isabel has come to invite us to the next big corrida on Sunday, at La Plaza de Toros in Ronda.’