Indiscretion Read online

  ‘Our land is rich in legends about the Virgin Mary. The most moving is the one about the young Jewish girl who fell in love with a Christian knight. Despairing of ever attracting his attention, the beautiful maiden turned to our Virgin here, on whom everyone called. Humbly, she gave all she possessed: a pin decorated with a tiny glass bead. The miracle happened: the knight passed by at that very moment, saw her, and his heart was forever linked to hers by the pin she had given as an offering.’

  The group of sightseers passed Alexandra and disappeared through a low door at the back of the church leading to the crypt. Peace returned.

  All the while, the man on the prayer stool had not moved.Alexandra went up to the statue of Our Lady of Mercy to light a candle but a priest had just gone by to clear up the melted wax from the previous batch of devotees’ offerings, and she neither had matches nor a lighter handy. A faint tch of annoyance escaped her lips.

  ‘Permita me señorita.’

  Alexandra had scarcely time to register the quiet words spoken unexpectedly, close to her ear, before the stranger’s brown hand had flicked a gold lighter in front of her, bringing to life a tiny blue flame and at the same time brushing against her arm.

  The spark that went through her at the Spaniard’s touch made Alexandra shudder and, emitting a slight gasp, she instinctively drew back in the first instance. But then, as she realized he was only trying to be helpful, she raised her face, smiling as readily and uninhibitedly as she always did.

  ‘Gracias, muchas gracias.’

  There was utter silence in the church. The man did not smile but merely inclined his head, leaving Alexandra, as he had earlier on, with the impression that inbred courtesy had prompted him to lend his assistance, rather than the more usual reasons men found for helping her. Still, her green gaze met his. She was struck by the expression of sadness reflected in his arresting grey irises and the sternness of his hard, regular features.

  An almost visible current leapt between them. For a split second, the determined line of his jaw stiffened, his well-defined lips parted and she thought he might speak. Her heart missed a beat, but someone was coming. The interlude was over; the spell had been broken.

  A beautiful young woman with a mane of flame-red hair cascading down her back was making her way towards him, holding two large candles.

  With a tightening in her heart that she couldn’t explain Alexandra nodded her thanks again and withdrew to take a seat in one of the pews at the back of the church.

  The Spanish lady smiled at the stranger as she came up to him, lit her candles from the ones that Alexandra had just placed in front of the altar and, taking the man’s arm in a proprietorial way, walked with him out of the church.

  While his companion had been lighting her candles, Alexandra had had plenty of time to scrutinize the man. He wasn’t particularly young — in his early to mid-thirties, she guessed — but he had an aggressively male attractiveness to him. He was tall — very tall by Spanish standards, definitely over six foot, she judged — with a powerful, broad-shouldered frame, honed to hard-muscled perfection. This, together with his copper-brown face, suggested someone who was used to an active outdoor life, although the immaculate white shirt he wore, the well-cut dark suit that moulded itself to his form, and the gold watch that she had noticed he sported on his wrist all made it clear that he was a man of standing.

  Speculating on his relationship with the stunning redhead was difficult, for Alexandra hadn’t noticed any rings on either of his hands, and yet the way they had walked out of the church suggested an intimate involvement.

  Having ended their visit, the small party of tourists now returned to the nave and moved towards the exit. Alexandra’s gaze followed them. She hung back a few more minutes in the chapel, prey to a curious inner turmoil. There was an unknown danger about the stranger that she felt keenly, yet could not define. Who was he, and why had she been troubled so by their brief exchange? Alexandra glanced at her watch: the bus would soon be leaving. How had she lost track of the time so easily?

  Already the evening congregation was crowding into the church. The garden, earlier deserted, was now brought to life by clusters of people, talking and laughing. Suddenly, Alexandra noticed the stranger’s tall, distinguished figure among the chattering groups. He was standing beside the gate, still in the company of the beautiful woman. In the daylight, Alexandra noticed that she wore a pale-green frilled muslin dress, a velvet cape of a deeper green, and white kid gloves. The woman laughed noisily, tossing back her graceful tresses of flame-coloured hair, on which was placed the most exquisite black lace mantilla.

  The stranger turned his head and directed his steely gaze through the crowd towards Alexandra. For an instant she was transfixed. A sudden surge of inexplicable panic rose inside her. She lowered her glance, squeezed her way through the gathering and hurried towards the gate.

  Arriving level with the young man, his intense scrutiny hit her again like lightning and a swift wave of colour invaded her face. He whispered something she could not hear and his companion’s voluptuous laughter erupted once more, filling the space about her.

  As though pursued by a pack of hounds, Alexandra darted through the gate and began to run towards the station. She had to get away, catch the bus and leave town as quickly as she could. But she arrived at the station in time to witness the seven o’clock bus leaving. Her blouse was half-hanging out of her suit, her hair coming down, cheeks burning, and she was quite out of breath. She clenched her fists furiously, and then, with her hands planted on her hips like a fishwife, she watched the bus drive off in the direction of Jerez.

  CHAPTER 2

  Now she was stranded. Exasperated, Alexandra was on the point of making her way back to the ticket office when a young man came up to her, smiling.

  ‘Alexandra?’ he asked, eyeing her quizzically. She raised her eyebrows in surprise. He bowed and introduced himself, ‘Your cousin, Ramón de Falla, at your service.’

  Scarcely recovered from her surprise, Alexandra regarded the newcomer. He was not much taller than she and wore white belted slacks and a crimson open-neck shirt with the sleeves rolled up, highlighting his suntanned skin. His looks were similar to those of a gypsy, she imagined, with a wiry body and the thick black curling hair of the people of his country, worn loose, although it wasn’t in the oily ringlets that, according to the paintings she had seen, the gypsies sometimes affected. Under this unruly mop of dark curls was one of those lively angular faces; all points — ears, nose, chin — and the most sparkling eyes. In build, he was a curious mixture of strength and almost feminine gracefulness, which Alexandra put down to the genetic influence of his trapeze artist mother. His entire healthy being smacked of the warm South and his open expression put her immediately at ease.

  ‘Very pleased to meet you, Ramón.’ She smiled and extended a friendly hand. ‘I was just about to book in at a hotel but I’m so glad that I’ll be able to sleep at El Pavón tonight after all.’

  Suddenly aware of the unladylike sight she must be offering, Alexandra’s hands went to her hair. She pushed away the rebellious tendrils that had gone astray and tucked her blouse into her skirt. The lovely suit she had bought at great expense at Harrods was now stained with dust and torn at the hem. They looked at each other and burst out laughing.

  With his hazel eyes Ramón regarded her warmly and a good-natured smile lit up his face. ‘I’m sorry I missed your train this afternoon. My car broke down and I had to walk miles to find a mechanic. Your father had to leave Jerez for the day and, as he won’t return until this evening, I was only too pleased to meet your train and be the first to welcome you. Though, as you can see, I’ve bungled it and I’m sorry about that,’ he ended somewhat sheepishly.

  Alexandra warmed to her cousin at once. There was nothing underhand about him; on the contrary, he seemed reassuringly straightforward.

  ‘Please don’t apologize, these things happen. In fact, I’ve spent an enjoyable afternoon exploring
the port.’ The encounter with the stranger in the church had been an unnerving end to it, she thought, but now that Ramón was here, she began to feel more relaxed.

  Together they went through the barrier and up to the counter to collect Alexandra’s luggage. The station master was still there.

  ‘Ah, there you are,’ he said as they approached. ‘I wondered where you were. You’ve missed the bus again, but don’t worry. My uncle’s going to deliver some wine to one of the big estates in Jerez tomorrow morning, so you may prefer to …’ he stopped, noticing Ramón. ‘Oh, I see you’ve found your party,’ he remarked, grinning broadly. ‘Así que todo está bien, so, all is well. Here, don’t forget your luggage,’ he added as he brought round the suitcases on a rusted luggage trolley. ‘Shall I help you take them to your car?’

  Ramón took hold of the trolley and pressed a tip into the station master’s palm. ‘No thank you, amigo,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I can manage.’ Alexandra thanked the man for his help and followed her cousin out of the station.

  Ramón settled her in his old Fiat, tucked the suitcases in the boot and returned the trolley to the station.

  ‘You must be tired as well as hungry,’ he said as he slid into the car beside her and paused, tapping his fingers on the dashboard. ‘Where shall I take you for supper?’ Ramón said, thinking aloud. ‘Ah, I know where …’ he announced. ‘There’s an excellent taberna that serves delicious Basque cooking. It’s not far from here.’

  Alexandra looked at her watch. Her brows knitted together anxiously. ‘What will they say at the house?’

  ‘Grandmother will be cross with me, no doubt. Meals are the only times when all the family can get together so she holds them as sacrosanct.’ He gave a mock frown. ‘Punctuality is inviolable. Whoever doesn’t keep to her daily schedule has no place at the dining table … with the exception of Salvador, of course.’ He laughed stiffly and pulled out into the wide cobbled street flanked by lines of bicycles and scooters.

  ‘That’s our cousin Salvador, I take it?’

  He grimaced. ‘Yes, Salvador. My very irritating, can-do-no-wrong “cousin”. He’s not actually a blood relative, of course. He and Esmeralda were adopted by our father’s cousin, Luis.’ There was an awkward pause, during which Alexandra wondered if this was perhaps the wrong time to ask more about the intriguingly controversial Salvador, and then Ramón changed the subject. ‘Anyway, as we’re not going to make dinner at El Pavón, I suggest we have a meal before setting out. The hacienda is only a few miles away, on the outskirts of Jerez.’

  Alexandra had not eaten properly since the night before. Her breakfast on the train that morning had consisted of watery coffee and a stale chorizo sandwich bought at the station before leaving La Linea. Ramón’s plan sounded appealing and she was relieved that she wouldn’t have to steel herself to face her Spanish family that night. After a good night’s rest and a warm bath, she would be in a much fitter state to meet them.

  ‘It sounds an excellent idea,’ she said enthusiastically. ‘I must admit, I didn’t get much of a chance to eat on the way here.’

  ‘So, how was your train journey?’

  Alexandra laughed. ‘It was interesting, that’s for sure. I feel a little black and blue but I survived.’

  He grinned at her. ‘Ah, yes, our trains are probably less civilized than those you’re used to, though I’m afraid that’s partly the legacy of Franco’s war. Spain’s damaged train system has never recovered and is rather antiquated, to say the least.’

  Ramón turned into a large, elegant plaza lined with palm trees and ornate buildings fronted by Moorish arches.

  ‘We’re nearly there. The views over the ocean at this restaurant are stunning. Tonight there’s such a beautiful moon, it would be a pity not to take advantage of it. Besides, you’ll have plenty of time to have stilted meals with “the herd”. I promise we’ll reach the hacienda before midnight.’

  Alexandra glanced briefly at him. ‘You don’t seem to think much of family gatherings,’ she observed.

  He raked his fingers through his black curls. ‘I sometimes find all their restrictions tedious,’ he admitted. ‘But you’ll see for yourself soon enough.’

  Ramón parked the Fiat in the public car park. It was difficult to take a vehicle into some of the narrower streets, he told her. The restaurant was not too far and, besides, it was a pleasant, balmy evening.

  They walked, turning into one of the flagged lanes that converged on the harbour. It had no pavement and was lined with shops selling nets, bait and fishing equipment, which alternated with bars and public houses without shopfronts or signs.

  ‘We’ve arrived,’ declared Ramón at last, stopping outside an unmarked building and guiding her down a badly lit flight of steps. ‘Pedro Gomez, the owner, is a friend and his taberna’s very popular on the coast. It’s patronized by a small, select crowd because he serves the best chipirones and the most exquisite kokotxas.’

  Alexandra laughed. ‘But what are “chipirones” and “kokotxas”? Forgive my ignorance but it’s my first visit to Spain. I may be half-Spanish but, believe it or not, I haven’t yet sampled the cuisine. My aunt isn’t a huge fan of Spanish food,’ she added, seeing his surprised look.

  ‘Well, let me enlighten you, my poor deprived chica Inglés,’ he laughed. ‘Chipirones en su tinta is ink-fish cooked in its own ink, a Basque speciality that Don Pedro, originally from San Sebastían, is very proud of. As for kokotxas, they’re small pieces of dried cod cooked in garlic, the favourite dish of the fishermen. During their long journeys, they cook huge saucepans of it then eat the ragout while sitting in a circle, sharing the one dish and dunking their bread in the thick, sticky sauce … But enough talk of food, let’s eat. You’re looking pale, Cousin.’

  Alexandra did feel quite weak. She wasn’t used to skipping meals and was light-headed and weary as a consequence. Relieved, she let him steer her towards a table.

  Señor Pedro came in person to take their order, beaming, his arms outstretched towards Ramón. In his sixties, he was round-faced and tubby, with bulging, dark, sparkling eyes, a big bushy moustache and greying side-whiskers. The two men exchanged a few words in the incomprehensible Basque dialect and then he turned to Alexandra. To her surprise, he addressed her in English.

  ‘So, señorita, you have come a long way to visit Spain, eh? Splendid!’ He chuckled. ‘I am the humble Pedro Gomez, Pépé to my friends, a solitary exile from San Sebastían, the most cosmopolitan of Spanish towns, the heart of the Basque culture and mother of its cuisine. What a brilliant idea Señor Ramón has had, to bring you to my restaurant. In my taberna, and only here, you will sample authentic Basque cuisine without having to go all the way to San Sebastían,’ he told her proudly. He nodded his head, in mock earnest. ‘I bring refinement and culture to these poor, simple inhabitants of the South.’

  Alexandra giggled uncontrollably at the comic buffoonery of the odd man. ‘Bravo!’ she applauded. ‘Señor Pedro, if your talent for cooking is as great as your eloquence, I’ve no doubt that your taberna is the most sought after, not only on the south coast, but in the whole of Spain.’

  The small dining area was on a terrace outside, under a vine-covered pergola. As promised, the views overlooking the harbour were fabulous and dinner was a delight. Alexandra felt at ease in the company of her cousin and was surprised at how quickly a relationship of camaraderie and trust established itself between them. Her only regret was not having known Ramón earlier. He would have made a good brother, she thought wistfully. Watching him during their conversation, she noticed that there was also more to him, perhaps, than met the eye. His frank smile, showing brilliant, regular teeth, punctuated his conversation but, in repose, Alexandra noted, his face was lined and somewhat bitter for a man of his age and she wondered why. He could only be a few years older than she was and no more than thirty, if that.

  ‘So, Alexandra, tell me about life in London,’ said Ramón, tearing into a chunk of bread.‘It must be so much
more divertido e interesante than life in a provincial Spanish town like this.’

  ‘Well, Ramón, as I’ve only just arrived, I’ve yet to be the judge of that,’ she laughed. ‘But I suppose you could say it’s superficially exciting in the sense that there are plenty of West End jazz clubs, dinner parties and trips down to Brighton for the weekend, that sort of thing.’ Although these social engagements moved her in an endless spin of glamour and sophistication, they were hollow pleasures and she had tired of the same old set of faces and conversations. Excitement and freedom was what she craved.

  Ramón nodded in exaggerated seriousness. ‘Yes, mi primita, my little cousin. I see why you would want to flee such torture and come to our backward country to meet your warm and easygoing family.’ His eyes flashed with amusement.

  ‘Right, so I’m not exactly making it sound awful but in its own way, it’s stifling and you’re not the only one who understands what it’s like to live under restrictions. But I have my writing and that’s my one escape. My sanctuary, if you like.’ She angled her chin up instinctively, almost defensively. ‘It’s what I’ve chosen to do.’

  ‘Ah, yes, my cousin is a writer, as the Duquesa has often told us. You’ve published some books, she says.’

  Alexandra raised an eyebrow at the mention of her grandmother’s interest. She must be proud of her, she conceded, if she often referred to her writing. ‘Indeed, romantic novels. As a matter of fact, I’m using my visit here partly as an opportunity to research my next one, which is to be set in Spain.’

  ‘In that case, you must allow me to assist in whatever way I can to acquaint you with our ways. And, here, your first lesson has arrived.’ At that point, Pedro appeared and deposited plates of steaming paella and delicious-smelling kokotxas before turning on his heel, quickly for such a rotund man, and disappearing back into the kitchen.