Masquerade (11 page)

She blinked rapidly, telling herself to concentrate. He was standing close enough for her to reach out and touch him and
although she yearned to, she would never have dared. Men did not normally have this effect on her and her heart was thundering in her chest as though she had just finished a run on the beach.

‘And are all gypsies so forward?’

‘No, just me … and only with you.’ He flashed a grin and began stroking the side of his horse absentmindedly. ‘Do you often ride on the beach?’

Luz noticed the way the smooth muscles in his arm flexed as his hand moved up and down the creature. She swallowed before saying, ‘Yes, most days. I love the sea air and the exercise.’

He nodded, wicked humour still alight in his bright green eyes, which remained fixed on Luz’s. ‘Exercise is good. What other exercise do you enjoy,
señorita
?’ His gaze darkened and flicked down to her mouth before settling back on her eyes.

Luz felt an involuntary quiver in a strange and uncharted place deep in her belly. He was flirting outrageously and she found it intoxicating. ‘I often swim, too. Do you swim?’ she found herself saying, huskily.

An eyebrow arched. ‘Yes, of course – we are sea gypsies. I should take you swimming one day, I think we would both like it. You can race me. Though I warn you, you wouldn’t win.’

‘You think not? I was on our school swim team,’ she answered, still trying to control her breathy voice. Suddenly she realized that she hadn’t even introduced herself. ‘By the way, my name is Luz. Doña Luz de Rueda.’

‘Yes, I know.’ He lifted an eyebrow and gave a lazy, enigmatic smile. ‘So why is a girl like you alone at the horse fair, Doña Luz de Rueda?’ He pulled gently on the reins of his stallion as it snorted and tossed its head.

Luz was distracted from the fact that he already knew her name and was more concerned about how to explain her appearance there. She could not possibly admit that she had gone there solely to find him, and yet the fairground was too out of the way to pretend she had just been out for a walk.

‘I heard the fair was on at the moment and I’ve always wanted to see it for myself. Your horse is beautiful, I’m quite envious.’

He was about to answer when two young
gitanas
came out of nowhere, joining their little group.

‘Oh, Leandro, what have you got there?’ said one as she trailed her hand over the horse’s chestnut coat. ‘He’s a beauty!’

‘Indeed, he’s quite a find,’ Leandro agreed, his well-defined mouth breaking into a satisfied smile. He patted the creature’s flank and stared at Luz for a brief moment before looking away.

‘You’re so clever, you have a real business talent,’ the other gypsy girl told him in a sugary tone, sliding an arm around his waist possessively and cuddling up to him. Her flame-coloured hair framed a striking face and there was a boldness about her that Luz found slightly vulgar.

‘Rosa, you flatter me, as always. But yes, it’s true,’ he shrugged, grinning impishly.

Leandro obviously had a large fan club, Luz noted. Feeling distinctly
de trop
, she started to turn but he caught her eye. The gypsy gave her a fleeting glance as if he was pretending not to notice her but something flickered in his expression that she couldn’t interpret. Did he recognize her discomfort? Was that a glance of understanding or sudden dismissal now that he had a new female audience? Whatever he was thinking, Luz sensed that the circle now excluded her. She felt like she’d been cast aside but was determined no one would see such emotion betrayed by her face.

A rigid smile touched her lips as she moved away, leaving the three gypsies engrossed in a lively conversation about the newly bought horse. Luz held her chin up, but knives cruelly pierced her heart. All her unrealistic dreams were crumbling into a pile of cinders. Her imagination, not normally quite so febrile, had spun a web of romantic fantasies in which she was now caught. The wretchedness that consumed her now was not the gypsy’s fault but all of her own making, she told herself. From the very first moment she had laid eyes on Leandro, she had been wrong; in her head she had fabricated
his interest and misjudged the situation all along. Now, she had only herself to blame.

The air had grown cooler. In different circumstances Luz would have enjoyed the walk back but, as it was, her thoughts weighed heavily on her, making her head hang down. She was weary and humiliated. What had possessed her to act in such a foolhardy way? she pondered miserably. Perhaps Leandro had always been out to make fun of her. Dimly, she could hear her parents’ warnings to keep away from gypsies. Only the other day her father had told her that the
gitanos
were fond of tricks. Why had she not taken heed of those wise words?

‘My beautiful red roses, my lovely scented roses, who will buy? Fair lady, gracious
señorita
, why are you so sad?’

Luz jumped, jerked out of her sombre thoughts. A
gitana
dressed all in black was accosting her at the side of the road with a bunch of blood-red roses, which she clutched tightly in her long brown fingers, despite the spiky thorns. She had come right up to Luz, her dark hawkish eyes peering inquisitively into the young woman’s face. Luz shook her head politely and tried to move on, doing her best to ignore the flower seller.

‘Let me help you, let me make things better,’ the gypsy persisted, close on Luz’s heels. ‘Believe me, I have the remedy. Today he doesn’t love you, tomorrow with this talisman he will be unable to live without you.’

‘Leave me alone, thank you. I’ve no money on me, so just go away,’ Luz told her, accelerating her step. Perhaps fate was laughing at her, too.

‘I do not want any money, fair lady,’ the gypsy said sharply as she caught the young woman’s arm, forcing her to halt, the gold and silver bracelets clinking on her arms as she did so. She then coughed slightly and ran the back of her hand over her mouth. For the first time Luz looked into the
gitana
’s face. She was a fine-looking woman, with large, blazing, charcoal pupils fixed keenly on the young woman’s eyes. Brass hoop earrings pushed through her blue-black curly hair,
which was obviously dyed and fell well below her shoulders in thick unruly locks. Her face was heavily made-up and Luz found it difficult to guess her age, but it was clear that, while she must have been a great beauty in her youth, life had not been kind. There was an ashen pallor to her complexion underneath the make-up.

Exasperated, Luz sighed. ‘So if it’s not money you’re looking for, what is it you want?’

‘I have taken a shine to you,
hermosa jovencita.
You remind me of the daughter I lost through sickness when she was still a blooming flower,’ she said, switching to a whimpering tone. ‘I want to help you, you seem so sad. Here, take this talisman and wear it underneath your clothes,’ she went on with urgency, as she tried to press a tiny package into the young woman’s hand.

‘What are you up to this time, Jezebel?’ croaked an old woman loudly, moving out of the shadow of a gnarled olive tree. It was Paquita.

The younger
gitana
turned sharply round as Paquita crossed the narrow road to join them, saying: ‘Show me what you’ve got there.’ She snatched the tiny package from the other gypsy’s hand, throwing her a contemptuous look. ‘Shame on you!’

Then turning to Luz, she gazed at her with shrewd, hooded eyes that were unusually alert and penetrating for an old woman. ‘Go on your way, beautiful lady, go on your way and beware of red roses! The rose is a dangerous flower … it does not just hold the blossom, it also has thorns.’

After both gypsies had disappeared back up the hill towards the camp, Luz hurried home in a kind of haze. To Carmela’s dismay she evaded dinner and went straight to her room. She sat for a long time on the veranda, looking out over the beautiful vista before her without seeing it, ruminating on this painful confusion that was so unfamiliar to her. The waves crashed on to the rocks in the soft light of the fading day. Something had been unleashed in her that she dearly wished she could return whence it came. Nothing made sense and nothing gave her comfort.

That night Luz’s dreams of fire returned, all-consuming this time, and she could not walk out of the flames.

Luz threw herself fully into her work. Contract or no contract, she must keep her mind occupied and pull herself together. Thank goodness she had swallowed her pride at the interview and secured the job with Caldezar Corporación, SA. She spent her days scanning libraries, museums and art galleries for information about Eduardo de Salazar. In the evenings she would return, exhausted, to L’Estrella and after a quick snack in brooding silence, retreat to her bedroom. So long as she was working, she was safe, but at night, in the deep quiet of darkness, that was when the torment began. Assailed by nightmares and humiliating thoughts she would toss and turn, but also, and that was the worst of it, by a powerful, aching need that was unfamiliar to her. Those brief moments when she’d been aware of Leandro’s strong masculine physique at the horse fair haunted her. No matter how much she fought it, he was always there, his green opal eyes boring into hers, caressing her, calling her.

A new day dawned. She was scheduled to meet Andrés de Calderón that morning to sign her contract. A fresh surge of energy seized her. The sun was shining, the sky was blue without a cloud – a perfect travel-brochure day. There was also the El Pavón annual masked ball to look forward to in a few days’ time. Thinking she should extend the courtesy of inviting Andrés, Luz sealed an envelope containing his invitation and put it in her briefcase. As she quickly pulled on her blue silk robe, she wondered with what costume the charming, urbane businessman might choose to disguise himself. Today she assumed she would be seeing him without sunglasses; if not, it would be a strange reversal to see his eyes for the first time behind a mask if he came to the ball. The thought gave her a curious feeling in the pit of her stomach but she chose to ignore it and ran downstairs to breakfast.

The smell of coffee greeted her as she burst into the kitchen. ‘Good morning, Carmela, what have you made me this morning?’ she said cheerfully, picking up the cup the housekeeper had already poured for her and seating herself at the table on the patio.

Carmela followed, and her features broke into a warm smile. ‘Ah, that’s better,
señorita
. You are your happy self again, I was beginning to get worried.’ She put down a tray of milk, cinnamon
ensaimada
and fruit.

‘I’ve been working too hard these past few days and I suppose I was just tired,’ Luz murmured, pouring some steaming hot milk over her coffee. She bit into a peach from the fruit bowl.

The housekeeper eyed her quizzically. ‘I wondered if you had a
novio
.
No hay nada como el amor para que el corazón sufra
, there’s nothing like love to make the heart suffer. Tell me about it – I had a lot of experience with my dear Pedro before we married.’

She breathed a deep, knowing sigh as she placed the basket of fresh warm pastries in front of the young woman.

‘You may rest assured, there is no
novio
in sight and it’s unlikely that there will be for a long time,’ said Luz with a hollow laugh, helping herself to an
ensaimada
. The image of Leandro’s face flickered in her mind but she resolutely pushed it away.

‘You never know, these things happen when you least expect them. It’s fate.’

Luz shrugged and grabbed another
ensaimada
. She was suddenly very hungry. Since the horse fair she had picked at her food and nothing seemed to have much taste, but this idyllic morning heralded a brand new day in her life and she intended to make the most of it.

She loved her work. Eduardo de Salazar’s paintings excited her and it had been phenomenal to view the originals in the museum. Some were vivid and flirtatious: behind the picture you could perceive the humour of a mischievous mind; others were darker, showing creatures that were half-human, half-horse, many of them disturbingly sexual. She was sure she would thoroughly enjoy
writing the biography of such an artist, not only to get to know his artworks but also to gain a deeper insight into the life and psychology of the man. Her thoughts drifted to Eduardo’s nephew and she wondered what else she might discover about him, too.

An hour later Luz was sailing through the doors of Calderón Corporación, SA, in a businesslike but feminine cream Yves Saint Laurent suit, the knee-length skirt flaring out above her shapely legs. Her notes were tidily collated in her briefcase; her mood was curious, if cautious. She was immediately taken to the top floor and this time not shown to the veranda but directly to Andrés de Calderón’s office.

It was a huge room, with tall windows that generously let in the light, made even brighter by the white painted walls. A row of six Eduardo de Salazar paintings adorned them, a wild splash of colour against the stark background. It was as if this room, unlike the reception area in which Luz previously waited, was the only place where Eduardo’s presence was allowed to be felt, though no clue to its occupant’s personality was immediately apparent. A cabinet held two televisions side by side, one of which showed a computer-style screen with ‘TVE Teletext’ across the top in colourful letters and beneath it a list of the latest international news stories. No doubt this was one of the eccentric ‘latest things’ her mother had spoken about. A large modern oak desk sat in front of the windows, behind which Andrés de Calderón watched the screen with concentration.

He looked up as she entered the room and greeted her with a beaming smile.
‘Buenos días
, Doña Luz. How lovely to meet you again. I hope you’ve had a good week,’ he said, rising from an imposing leather chair behind his desk and extending his hand as he came towards her. As their hands touched there it was again, that fascinating shiver.

‘Buenos días,
Don Andrés,’ she said, turning her discerning sapphire eyes on him.

This time the sunglasses were gone. Finally, Luz had the opportunity to scrutinize him more closely. Jet-black eyes met hers
and, despite being strikingly different in colour to those of Leandro, she was reminded of the uncanny resemblance between the smooth businessman and the dishevelled gypsy.