Indiscretion Page 7

  On the left, two chairs with ornate backs stood on either side of a heavily carved sideboard. To the right of it was a handsome what-not in rustic style, dating from the seventeenth century, surmounted by a hexagonal mirror with a richly decorated frame. At the far end of the room, between two large doors of Moorish inspiration, constructed with carved ornamental slats like jalousies, was a small dais upon which stood a copper brazier with a pointed cover. In the centre, surrounded by upright chairs, the dining table was massive yet still dwarfed by the vast dimensions of the room. Only its legs were carved, the upper surface having the simplicity of a board. Around it, the de Falla family was already assembled, talking in quiet tones as congregations do before the start of a church service.

  Doña María Dolores sat at the head of the long table, upright in her chair. She was smaller than Alexandra expected, and surprisingly youthful-looking for her age. Her shock of perfectly groomed white hair crowned a handsome face, with proud, high cheekbones and a mouth that was not given to easy smiles. Two women were seated further down the table, the youngest of whom Alexandra recognized as Esmeralda.

  ‘Mamá, may I introduce Alexandra,’ said Don Alonso as he came into the room.

  As though by common accord, all conversation ceased. Stiffly, like a choreographed corps de ballet, all three heads turned towards the newcomer. A deathlike silence followed, making the distance Alexandra had to cover between the doors and where her grandmother sat seem endless.

  She didn’t speak as she crossed the room, taking in the figure who’d been the focus of her mixed emotions for so many years, and who appeared every bit the intimidating matriarch she had expected. Finally she found her voice, though it was not as assertive as she would have liked. ‘Good morning, Grandmother.’ She kissed the old lady lightly on the cheek as their eyes met. Those of the Duquesa were jet black and, for a moment, her penetrating gaze held Alexandra’s searchingly.

  ‘Good morning, my child,’ said the dowager at length. ‘Sit here, beside me. José, draw up a chair for Doña Alexandra, to my right,’ she ordered imperiously.

  Someone let out a faint, stifled gasp at this invitation. The signal was clear: the newcomer was being given the most important position in the room. Like mechanical tin soldiers that had been wound up again, the family once more began to move.

  As Alexandra sat down next to her grandmother, Don Alonso moved round the table to stand awkwardly behind the chair of the horsey-looking woman diagonally opposite. He cleared his throat.

  ‘Alexandra, this is your stepmother, Doña Eugenia,’ he said, gesturing towards his wife with an anxious smile.

  Eugenia María de Juni was of indeterminate age and, although her appearance was meticulous down to the smallest detail, there was nothing particularly charming about her features — in fact, nothing that stood out at all. Above all, she lacked warmth. She had clearly married Don Alonso rather late in life, producing their only daughter, Mercedes. Whatever youth she had hurried through had long since dried up to be replaced by a seemingly permanent sour expression. She gave something that passed for a smile to Mercedes as her daughter took up the seat next to her before staring icily across at Alexandra.

  ‘And this is your cousin, Esmeralda,’ Don Alonso said. The young woman next to Alexandra turned to look at her with grey-blue eyes that were distant and yet oddly familiar. Where had she seen those eyes before? Esmeralda’s beauty was undeniable, with hair the colour of champagne falling in tendrils across a delicate face, but those steel-blue eyes held no vitality.

  ‘Bienvenidos a El Pavón, querida Prima, welcome to El Pavón, dear Cousin. We’re glad you’ve come.’ Her smile was stilted, the words spoken rhetorically as though her mind were elsewhere.

  How strange, thought Alexandra. The warmest welcome so far, if you could call it that, has been from my grandmother. She had expected the Duquesa to be the standoffish one but it was the others who had given her a chilly reception.

  Breakfast resumed in almost complete silence. The only sounds to be heard were José’s muffled tread as he served and the clinking of silver against the china.

  ‘I trust you slept well?’ The Duquesa glanced across at Alexandra as her coffee cup was filled.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ Alexandra replied. She was not about to admit to restless dreams about the stranger in the church, whose eyes had followed her everywhere through those night-time visions. ‘I woke early and went for a walk to explore El Pavón.’

  Doña Eugenia’s narrow gaze had never left Alexandra’s face. ‘So I see you’ve already sized up the estate before the rest of us had even set foot out of bed. I applaud your diligence, my dear.’

  Unsure of her step in the face of this openly barbed remark, Alexandra paused. ‘It’s such a lovely morning, I was merely enjoying the grounds. They’re so beautiful,’ she replied pleasantly.

  Don Alonso shifted an uncomfortable gaze away from Eugenia to smile fondly at his eldest daughter. ‘Do you have any memories of the gardens from when you were here as a child? You took your first steps on the front lawn, you know.’ He might have continued with this reminiscence but at that point caught his wife’s eye and pursed lips, and seemed to remember himself.

  ‘I recall flashes of colour and the wonderful light here. Nothing of the house, though.’

  There was an audible sniff from Doña Eugenia. ‘Yes, our Spanish sun cannot be compared to the grey, soulless climate of your country. Strange your mother couldn’t wait to return to it. Especially as, like the rest of the English, she must have suffered a sallow complexion as a result.’

  Alexandra felt her temper flare, but before she could react, the dining-room door creaked: it was Ramón. Too absorbed by her own thoughts, she had not noticed the young man’s absence from the breakfast table. He had exchanged his casual clothes of the previous day for a more suitable outfit with a jacket.

  ‘Good morning, Grandmother,’ he said as he sat down at the other end of the table.

  The Duquesa looked up, her expression hard. ‘You are late, Ramón,’ she said curtly. ‘Your mother may have been brought up in a circus but that is no excuse for you to behave as though you’re living among the gypsies.’

  Alexandra glanced at Ramón sympathetically and he returned the look with an ‘I told you so’ arch of his eyebrows. The quiet click-clack of knives and forks continued.

  ‘You were up early this morning, Esmeralda. I saw you from my window. Where had you been?’ asked Doña Eugenia. Her question hung unanswered for a long moment. It was plain to Alexandra that mealtimes would, most likely, be dominated by toxic political machinations on the part of her stepmother. She had no doubt that the woman meant to make trouble.

  Esmeralda was caught off-guard. At first, Alexandra thought she would panic but she was wrong. Not a muscle moved in that beautiful oval face, not the bat of an eyelash betrayed any inner turmoil. She simply grew a little paler and her large wintry eyes became a shade darker.

  ‘I was coming back from the lodge,’ she said flatly. ‘Salvador came to see me at dawn. He asked me to visit Marujita. It seems the child had another fit and a bad night.’

  Was she lying? Alexandra knew, at least, that one part of Esmeralda’s morning activities were unaccounted for: her tryst with the somewhat shabbily dressed young man, but the young woman gave nothing away and, though Doña Eugenia might have had her doubts, she was forced to take her at her word and drop the subject.

  ‘Where’s Salvador?’ asked Mercedes suddenly, as she helped herself to a second pastry. ‘It’s not like him to be late for breakfast. I thought I saw him this morning. And why isn’t he here?’

  ‘Salvador’s been called into town urgently,’ her father explained. ‘There are difficulties with the two stallions we sold last month to Don Miguel. He’ll probably have to go to Seville and might be away for a few days.’

  ‘But what about the masked ball?’ The girl was unable to hide her disappointment. ‘He promised me the first dance.’

  Ale
xandra pricked up her ears. The romance of a masked ball appealed to her greatly but she smothered her questions, feeling disinclined to draw attention to herself and invite further snipes from Doña Eugenia.

  Don Alonso smiled and said in an overly bright tone, ‘Don’t worry, my dear. I’m sure he’ll be back for it. You will not only have your first dance with him but a few others as well, I should think.’ He gave a satisfied chuckle. ‘Salvador’s temper seems much improved lately and I think I can guess why.’ He gave a knowing smirk towards his wife, who returned a warning glance. Doña María Dolores stiffened. ‘And I think, Alonso,’ she said coldly, ‘that Salvador has far too many responsibilities to concern himself with such trivial matters. Perhaps if he could count on one of you to take on some of his duties he would have more time to spend on frivolities. Unfortunately, he is surrounded by dilettantes and daydreamers.’

  With this, she rose briskly and ordered Alexandra to follow her. As the door closed behind them, Alexandra heard someone give a snort of derision and then Ramón’s voice: ‘Her dear angel, Salvador, has fallen to earth with a crash due to one certain frivolity, I’d say.’ If he was expecting laugher at his jibe he didn’t get it.

  The Duquesa turned to Alexandra with a softer look.‘Venir conmigo, mi hija, come with me, my child, we must get to know each other.’

  As she followed the old lady through the dark corridors of the house, Alexandra couldn’t help but feel dismayed at the family she had finally encountered. Her thoughts flitted from her disdainful stepmother, Eugenia, and the capricious Mercedes, who she now saw was likely to be no end of trouble rather than the sisterly ally she had hoped for, to Esmeralda, whose melancholy and nervousness made her unreachable. And when would the mysterious Salvador himself put in an appearance … this cousin who had stirred up such strong reactions in more than one member of the family?

  Although it was clear that her grandmother was determined to draw Alexandra into the fold and had shown her a modicum of warmth, she was still an impossibly dictatorial old matriarch. Alexandra could see why Ramón was impatient to leave. How tiring it must be to live under a roof where you were constantly spied upon and where every gesture, word and action was discussed, judged and criticized in public. She could never imagine living permanently at El Pavón.

  More than one intrigue was no doubt being plotted in the gloomy corridors of the big house and she wanted no part of it. Except for Doña Eugenia, taken individually, the members of her family seemed tolerable enough, but together they made a most unpleasant group. Even her father had seemed a different person. Where was the lively and affectionate man she’d got to know in London? Today he’d seemed artificial and diminished somehow; almost a stranger.

  When Alexandra had finally made up her mind to make the journey, her father had insinuated a hope that she would consider El Pavón her permanent home. And although she couldn’t really imagine that it ever might be so, that she could leave her family and friends behind and suffer the strictures of her dominant grandmother, still she had hoped that the Spanish aristocratic life would be a change, and possibly even fun, at least for a short time. But less than twenty-four hours had gone by and already she was aware that more than a few weeks at a time in such a stifling atmosphere would be insufferable.

  Her grandmother’s apartments were on the ground floor at the back of the house. Doña María Dolores showed Alexandra into a room of Moorish design. In one corner, a part of it was raised, with low furniture and brightly coloured cushions on the platform, harking back to the days when Arabs ruled much of Spain. The de Falla matriarch was as much part of the interior as this throne-like dais, and yet the space was more relaxed elsewhere in a way that surprised Alexandra. Carved tables and a carpet with patterns reminiscent of Arabic ceramics were placed in the lower part of the room, in front of a European sofa and comfortable armchairs. French doors opened out on to a courtyard with a wide-slatted, semi-open ceiling that allowed sunlight and shade to mingle as twines of bougainvillea trailed across its beams. There were palms, climbing jasmine and clumps of oleander, and dwarf orange trees grew in tubs around the edges; the warbling of birds mingled happily with the sound of small singing fountains. The effect was peaceful, intimate and utterly charming.

  The dowager watched Alexandra’s face brighten with delight and there was a smile in the old lady’s eyes. She led the way out on to the patio. ‘We will be more comfortable here,’ she explained, as she seated herself in one of the two bamboo chairs with wide circular backs, placed in a cosy corner of the courtyard in front of a matching round table.

  ‘Talk to me about your novels. My son tells me you are busy writing a third, set in our beautiful Spain. A very good choice, my dear. Our country is so rich in colour and passion.’

  ‘Yes, Grandmother, I have always thought so.’ Alexandra found herself answering the dowager nervously. After all, this was the woman whom she had resented for so long and perhaps even feared slightly. There had been so many things she had wanted to say; questions she wanted answering. Now she was tongue-tied and reticent.

  The Duquesa smiled, her face transforming from her customary dignified mask into something softer. ‘You have thought much about Spain while you were growing up in England, I imagine …’

  ‘Of course, I had much to think about … I believe knowing one’s roots is important.’

  ‘Indeed, my child, and I’m certain that Spain has always been in you. One can tell by the way you write. Your passion is your strength. Está en su sangre, it’s in your blood and that’s what brought you here at last.’

  Alexandra was startled at such a direct and unexpected comment. She felt as if the Duquesa had read her like a book.

  ‘So you’re familiar with my work?’

  ‘Por supuesto, of course, my child.I made it my business to get to know something of you through your writing, even if I couldn’t know you in person.’

  Unlike my father … The bitter thought flashed across Alexandra’s mind unbidden. He clearly couldn’t be bothered to read my books, to get to know me better even that way. Venturing to look more closely at her grandmother now, feeling a new spark of curiosity, she saw a tinge of regret behind her eyes. ‘And what did you discover about me?’ The bold question came out before she had time to think.

  The Duquesa laughed throatily. ‘You’re no shrinking violet, for one. It is the truth of things that pulls you, and one’s roots are one’s own truth. Yours are here, as you have always realized, I’m sure.’ Doña María Dolores fixed her with a knowing look. ‘Even if you were not ready to see it …’

  They talked for some time and Alexandra found herself more comfortable in the Duquesa’s company than she had anticipated. She was amazed to discover her grandmother had not only read her novels but she appeared to recollect everything about them, down to the smallest detail.

  They touched on many topics. The Duquesa was interesting, thoughtful and even witty. She talked and argued, but surprisingly also knew how to listen. The condescending tone she adopted with most members of her family was now scarcely noticeable and Alexandra, who’d been on her guard, began to relax and even warm to her grandmother.

  ‘Wait here,’ said the old woman, standing up unexpectedly, ‘I’ll be back in a moment.’

  She disappeared into the house and returned, carrying a small wooden box inlaid with mother-of-pearl. ‘The contents of this box,’ she explained, ‘are of Moorish origin. They belonged to Gulinar, an Eastern princess in the sixteenth century. They were given to my great-grandmother by the wife of an emir in gratitude for her hospitality when they came to El Pavón to buy horses.’

  Doña María Dolores opened the box, uncovering the most superb parure, set in white gold. It consisted of a tiara, a matching necklace, a bracelet and a pair of earrings, intricately and delicately carved, embedded with tiny precious stones and pearls.

  ‘I want you to wear these at our masked ball,’ she said as she handed the box over to Alexandra.

  Over
whelmed by a host of conflicting emotions, Alexandra hesitated for a moment, not knowing whether to accept the magnificent present. The Alexandra she had left behind in London would have scowled at this gesture, even suspected it as a piece of bribery for her affections.

  The Duquesa studied her granddaughter’s face and smiled. ‘So many wild things are going on in your mind, my dear child.’ She laughed and her face looked almost young. ‘Your eyes betray your thoughts. I must teach you the art of hiding your feelings if you want to survive in this household.’

  ‘Gracias,’ Alexandra whispered as she felt the blood rush to her cheeks. She kissed her grandmother and spontaneously leaned forward to give her a hug.

  ‘It is my pleasure.’ The Duquesa looked momentarily taken aback by this obvious demonstration of affection, then patted her granddaughter’s hand. ‘Now that we have settled that business, tell me what costume you have in mind for our ball.’

  ‘You’ve taken me by surprise. I haven’t had time yet to think about it.’

  ‘Well, there’s not much time. It’s at the end of the week, but I’m sure it will not be too difficult to sort out. Perhaps Ramón could take you into town later today,’ Doña María Dolores suggested. ‘You should be able to find all you need at Mascaradas. Were Salvador here, he would have taken you himself. He’s a friend of old Jaime, the owner.’ She paused, and then added, as an afterthought, ‘I’m sorry Salvador has had to go away for a few days. He’ll be back for the ball, though. I’m quite certain you’ll like each other.’

  For some reason, and to her slight embarrassment, Alexandra felt a blush creep on to her cheeks. There was something there in her grandmother’s tone, underlying her words.

  If the Duquesa had noticed, she didn’t show it but continued, ‘The poor man has been very ill. He was thrown from his horse, which almost left him a cripple, you know. He bravely endured two years of pain and luckily now he’s able to resume a normal life.’ Sadness clouded her eyes. ‘Life has not been kind to him. First his parents, then …’ she added in a faint voice, as though talking to herself.