Indiscretion Read online

  Someone had walked on to the terrace and her sentence remained unfinished. It was Ramón, come to offer his services.

  ‘For once you’re here when you’re needed, young man,’ noted his grandmother dryly. ‘Alexandra requires a costume for Saturday’s ball. Could you take her into town.’ She didn’t frame it as a question. ‘I have no doubt old Jaime will find her a disguise that matches her beauty.’

  With his usual good humour, Ramón ignored his grandmother’s barbed salutation. ‘I shall be delighted to accompany my charming cousin into town.’ He beamed at Alexandra.

  ‘If you leave immediately after lunch, you should be back in time for dinner. Take the new car, that way you’ll have no excuse to be late.’ She arched an eyebrow, pulling her shawl around her shoulders.

  Ramón nodded obediently and, bidding his grandmother goodbye, he took Alexandra’s arm. They left Doña María Dolores on the patio, her jet-black eyes following her newly found granddaughter thoughtfully. At the door, Alexandra turned and smiled at her. She had not forgotten her grandmother’s reputation, and wondered what lay behind the raised brow, but she realized now that something had shifted in her opinion of the old lady.

  At that moment, a proud-looking Spanish woman in a maid’s outfit appeared from the other side of the patio with a glass of water and a pill for Doña María Dolores. ‘Ah, thank you, Agustina, I always forget,’ said the dowager.

  Once in the corridor, Ramón turned to his cousin and wagged a threatening finger at her, his eyes twinkling mischievously. ‘I see you’re in the old dragon’s good books. Try to remain there, mi parita, and do watch your step.’

  Alexandra had great difficulty in keeping a straight face. ‘Our grandmother is an admirable woman, Ramón,’ she replied reprovingly. ‘You’re wrong to treat her with such disrespect.’ He gave her a sidelong glance and they both laughed.

  ‘She’s a great schemer, that’s what she is. Don’t be fooled.’

  * * *

  It was about four o’clock in the afternoon when they drove into the bright town of Jerez, with its palm trees, bodegas and beautiful old churches. The cobbled café-lined backstreets led on to wider boulevards and plazas populated by statues and fountains.

  ‘Will you be all right if I leave you on your own for a while? I’ve some errands to run,’ Ramón announced, turning the elegant Fiat sedan into a large plaza dominated by a dramatic statue of a sweeping matador and his bull.‘I suggest I drop you off in the main square here, outside Mascaradas. You may want to browse around the other shops before choosing your costume. I’ll join you in an hour at old Jaime’s. Or, if you’d prefer, you can brighten the dullness of my chores with your sparkling company,’ he glanced sideways, with a courteous, flourishing wave, ‘and then we can choose your costume together.’

  ‘Tempting though the offer is, I think I’ll shop alone, thanks, Ramón. That way, if I choose my own costume, I can remain incognito at the ball,’ Alexandra proposed cheerfully.

  Ramón grinned. ‘Dear Cousin, I would recognize you under any disguise.’ He reached over and gave her an affectionate pinch on the cheek.

  He dropped her off outside Mascaradas. ‘I’ll see you here in an hour.’ He winked. ‘Have fun.’

  ‘Thank you. Good luck with your errands.’

  The sun was shining; Alexandra felt light-hearted and jolly. It was good to be away from El Pavón and to breathe again. She strolled around the square, lined with magnificent rows of jacaranda trees, and bought a few Spanish knick-knacks to take back to England. The vibrant shopfronts and pretty awnings were an open invitation to browse the various objects in the windows, from the mouth-watering offerings of the pastisseria, bomboneria and xocolateria to shops selling clothes, hats, guitars, scent and fans.

  ‘Que vendo las tartas, los bollos rellenos de vainilla a tres pesetas, y las merengues! Come, pretty señorita, I sell cakes, buns filled with vanilla for three pesetas, and meringues!’ The ducero at his pavement stall waved Alexandra over, winking.

  ‘No Gracias, señor, parecen muy apetitosos pero arruinan mi figura, no thank you, señor, they look delicious but you’ll spoil my figure,’ she laughed, and the man raised his arms in playful mock-disbelief as she walked on.

  She was relaxed and felt part of the scenery, almost like a native enjoying the afternoon. Alexandra’s father had spoken Spanish to her when he was at home and she was pleased she’d continued with her Spanish lessons. Being fluent in the language was making it so much easier for her to understand the culture in this country, which she now saw she had a right to by birth.

  Fascinated by the many crafts practised on the pavement, she stopped occasionally to watch men repairing carpets, old crones making lace and cobblers with their round spectacles, reminding her of fairy-tale characters from her childhood. But the chimes of the clock in the square jogged her back to reality. Once more she had forgotten the time; she realized that she didn’t have long before Ramón would return and so she hurried towards Mascaradas.

  She arrived out of breath. Mascaradas was an old-looking shop with a once elegant antique green front, panelled wood and glass façade, and faded gold signage. She pushed the red wooden door; it opened with a creak, loud enough to announce her arrival. Her eyes took a few seconds to get used to the dimness inside and then she made out tall mahogany cabinets with open drawers that coughed out ribbon and lace, illuminated shelves of mannequin heads adorned with feathery hats and masks, shimmering garments hanging from walls, draped over chairs and spilling out of trunks. A fusty odour of damp clung to the place and Alexandra felt like she had walked into some kind of dusty, exotic cavern. Emerging from the depths of the shop, a scraggy man with a shiny bald head, hooked nose and ragged goatee came to stand behind the counter, peering at her beadily through round spectacles. This was undoubtedly old Jaime. Another fairy-tale character, thought Alexandra.

  ‘Señorita, can I help you?’

  Alexandra smiled engagingly. ‘I’ve been invited to a masked ball and I’m looking for a costume. Do you have any suggestions?’

  ‘The masked ball at El Pavón presumably?’ asked the man.

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘You’re rather late, señorita. I have very little left. You can take a look in there,’ he said, pointing at two large, faded-leather trunks, resembling pirate chests from the last century, tucked beneath an ornately carved hatstand. She glanced at them apprehensively.

  ‘I haven’t much time, I’m afraid. My cousin is coming back for me shortly and I don’t want to make him wait.’

  ‘Are you la Señorita Alexandra de Falla?’

  ‘Yes, I am,’ she said, surprised that he should know her name.

  ‘Señor Ramón came by earlier to inform you that his errands have taken longer than he thought and he’ll be late.’

  Alexandra heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Oh, good. I’ll be able to take more time to make my choice in that case.’

  Old Jaime scurried round the side of the counter and pushed open one of the trunk’s lids. ‘Here, I’ll help you look. I haven’t been through these for a while and I’m not sure there’ll be anything of use but la diligencia es la madre de la buena ventura, diligence is the mother of good fortune, as they say.’

  Together they went through the contents of the two chests, untangling and sorting a mass of trimmings of all types and colours. When they had finished, Alexandra was still without a costume.

  Disappointed, she wearily turned to the shopkeeper. ‘Haven’t you anything else to show me, señor?’

  The man reflected for a few seconds, scratching his scraggly beard. ‘I do have something … it’s a genuine Moorish costume, which belonged to an Arabian princess … A real museum piece … magnifico, entirely embroidered in silver thread and set with tiny pearls and precious stones.’ He hesitated and looked at the young woman over the rim of his spectacles. ‘Unfortunately, this costume is not for hire, only for sale. The price might seem somewhat extravagant for a garment you’d wea
r for just one evening, though.’

  ‘Let me be the judge of that,’ Alexandra retorted, hardly able to contain her excitement. If her grandmother had made her the present of such a sumptuous set of Eastern royal jewels to wear with her costume, a princess from Arabia was exactly the part she needed to play.

  ‘Of course, señorita, of course,’ old Jaime replied hastily. ‘I’ll fetch it for you immediatamente.’

  He disappeared behind a heavy curtain into the back of the shop and Alexandra fancied she could hear murmurings from within. Old Jaime was certainly an eccentric, she thought, as her eyes travelled round the room. They fell on two mannequins, looking as if they were engaged in silent close conversation and dressed entirely as samurai warriors except for their bowler hats. The man emerged a few moments later carrying a large cardboard box, which he opened ceremoniously to reveal a garment carefully wrapped in several layers of tissue paper. After a lot of huffing and puffing, the costume was laid out.

  Alexandra gasped at its richness and dazzling beauty. She didn’t need any further encouragement: when Jaime produced a pair of silvery sandals, delicately carved, her mind was already made up. The costume would be perfectly suited to the beautiful, priceless heirloom her grandmother had given her that morning.

  ‘I’ll have it,’ she said impulsively. ‘How much does it cost?’

  Again, the shopkeeper eyed her craftily over his round spectacles. ‘I forgot to add, señorita, that I can’t sell the sultana’s costume without selling the sultan’s one as well,’ he announced.

  Alexandra’s brows drew together in surprise. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said.

  The man’s eyes darted back to the heavy closed curtain behind him. ‘These costumes were sold to me about ten years ago by the descendant of a Moorish nobleman,’ he told her, earnestly. Lowering his voice a little, he added, ‘According to legend, the wearers of these costumes are destined to fall in love. It would be unlucky to sell the costumes separately.’

  ‘What nonsense,’ Alexandra exclaimed indignantly, dismissing his comment as the sales talk of a shrewd businessman. ‘I’m not superstitious.’

  ‘But I am,’ he retorted.

  ‘Jaime, muéstrame los vestidos, show me those costumes,’ ordered a man’s voice suddenly, from the back of the shop.

  ‘Right away, señor,’ old Jaime replied. Quick as a flash, before Alexandra could protest, he picked up box, costume and tissue paper, and disappeared once more behind the curtain separating the two rooms, leaving her fuming. Who was this man, presuming he could commandeer the shopkeeper, and her costume, at the drop of a hat?

  She was tempted to leave but then she would be without a costume. Gritting her teeth, she called out impatiently: ‘Well, shall I go then?’

  ‘Un momento, señorita.’ The shopkeeper poked his head through the curtain. He seemed very excited and returned a few seconds later to the front of the shop. ‘His Grace the Count has bought both costumes.’

  Alexandra almost lost her temper. She was on the verge of giving the man a piece of her mind, when he handed her over an envelope, adding hurriedly: ‘Su Gracia El Conde asked me to give you this, señorita, together with the costume of the sultana and his compliments.’

  Alexandra took the envelope and opened it. Her eyebrows rose slightly as she scanned the note, wondering whether she should be amused or offended. The writing on the card was bold and vigorous and read: ‘In homage to your beauty, until Saturday evening!’ It was left unsigned.

  The writer in her couldn’t fail to be intrigued by such a romantic gesture but she was not about to let on to either the shopkeeper, now staring back at her anxiously, or the arrogant author of the note, who was no doubt still within earshot. Alexandra shook back her auburn mane and shot the shopkeeper a baleful look.

  ‘I really can’t understand all this mystery,’ she declared crossly. ‘Why didn’t he give it to me himself? And just who is this mysterious Conde? He didn’t even have the courtesy to sign his message.’

  She was about to insist old Jaime should reveal the identity of the stranger when Ramón burst into the shop.

  ‘Sorry, Cousin. My watch must have stopped and now it’s late,’ he said, running a hand through his hair. ‘We’d better leave right away or we won’t make it back in time for dinner, and then we’ll be in trouble. Let’s not make the next de Falla mealtime any more painful than it needs to be.’

  Alexandra had no other alternative but to take the costume and follow her cousin.

  * * *

  Seated that evening at her dressing table, preparing for dinner, Alexandra found herself musing over her mysterious benefactor.

  For no palpable reason, she hadn’t mentioned the incident at Mascaradas to Ramón and had refused to show him her costume, merely hinting that it was stunning and she was very happy with her choice of outfit for the ball.

  She took the envelope from her handbag and examined the note, looking for some clue as to the author’s identity. Disappointingly, the curious message revealed nothing, save that ‘His Grace the Count’ was possessed of an arrogance that she found not entirely displeasing. However, it was rather presumptuous of him to assume she would be willing to go along with his frivolous game.

  No matter. She shrugged and let her mind wander a while, recalling the warm deep voice that had summoned old Jaime in such a firm tone, and attempted to give it a face. It was a sensual voice but the voice of a man who was in the habit of being in charge. He had only said a few words but something in his tone … Her pulse quickened slightly and she closed her eyes for a moment, a strange emotion welling up inside her. Unbidden, the face of the stranger at the church in Puerto de Santa María floated in front of her eyes. A handsome face … a warm deep voice … already the attributes of a romantic hero for the new novel were beginning to form in her mind. A man with winter storms in his eyes, secrets in his heart and fire in his soul. Spain was perfect for her story; she had chosen it for its people, whose traditions were deep and mysterious and whose blood burned with passion and music and desire. Everything she had conjured in her imagination before, every hero, every emotion, now seemed bland and wanting in comparison.

  Alexandra smiled to herself and went to the wardrobe where she had hung the sultana’s costume. She thought about trying it on straight away instead of waiting until after dinner, but they had only just made it back to the house with a few minutes to spare and there was no time. She opened a drawer and took out the jewellery box her grandmother had given her that morning. Taking it to the dressing table, she lifted the lid gently, revealing the magnificent gems. Her heart leapt with excitement. What a strange coincidence to have come across the costume of a Moorish sultana after having been given these by Grandmother, she thought, staring at the Eastern princess’s gleaming jewels.

  There was a peremptory knock at the door and it swung open. Mercedes sauntered in.

  ‘Good evening, dear sister.’ A mocking smile hovered on her lips. ‘Ramón tells me you’ve bought a marvellous disguise which you’re being rather secretive about. I imagine …’

  Dumbfounded, she stopped short, staring at the open jewellery box sitting on the dressing table in front of Alexandra. She moved swiftly to it and snatched up the tiara, frowning. Her jet-black eyes smouldered with heat as she glared at her sibling.

  ‘Where did you get this?’ she demanded.

  ‘Grandmother gave it to me this morning.’

  ‘I don’t believe it, the jewels of Princess Gulinar!’ Mercedes looked suddenly on the verge of tears. ‘You’ve only been here a day and already you’ve got your hands on the best thing in Abuela’s collection. Everyone knows it’s her favourite.’ She looked bitterly at Alexandra, attempting to keep her composure, but her words were charged with resentment.

  ‘She’s always refused to lend it, let alone give it to anyone. Salvador himself was unable to part her from it when he was engaged to Doña Isabel, even Esmeralda has never been allowed to wear it. Mamá was right, eres una v
ibora, you are a real viper in the nest!’

  Alexandra, almost shaking with shock, was about to say something but her younger sister beat her to it. ‘Congratulations, your scheming’s paid off. I hope you enjoy the ball.’ Having delivered this venomous speech, she turned on her heel and flounced out of the room.

  For a while, after Mercedes had left, Alexandra remained still, too dismayed to move. It was clear that the sweet little sister she had hoped for would remain a figment of her imagination but the malevolent accusations had stung her to the core, making her tremble with a mix of hurt and anger. Should she return the heirloom to her grandmother to avoid any further ill feeling among the family, or remain silent? Perhaps it would be wisest to do nothing: making a drama of it would only aggravate matters.

  The matter was soon taken out of her hands. Doña María Dolores had sent word that she wouldn’t be attending the evening meal and although the atmosphere at the table had suddenly relaxed without the presence of the Duquesa, it was not for the better.

  As Alexandra entered the dining room, Mercedes was taking up a seat next to her mother, her doll-like face pinched into an expression of silent fury. Don Alonso was playing with his napkin, looking uncomfortable, while Ramón was murmuring to Esmeralda.

  ‘I tell you, it’s just not fair, Mamá. Why can’t you do something about it?’ Mercedes hissed under her breath.

  ‘There you are,’ Doña Eugenia announced, glaring at Alexandra as she took the seat next to Esmeralda, while Ramón shot her a quizzical look. José was already circling the table, pouring wine into small crystal glasses. ‘Apparently, you’ve done such a good job ingratiating yourself with the Duquesa that you’ve already managed to wheedle a nice little trophy out of her. Madre de Dios, you English girls are quite something.’