Masquerade (30 page)

As she marshalled her thoughts, she was so tempted to believe this time that he meant what he said. Still, she had been there before and where had it got her? Humiliation at every turn. Wrestling with logic, she tried to be businesslike and put her work before her unsettled pride; but pride won. She couldn’t bear to be his puppet, her string jerked by him whenever he so chose.

‘I’m afraid I have a previous engagement tonight,’ she heard herself say.

His jaw tightened. ‘Then maybe we can make it another night,’ he paused, ‘at your convenience.’

Yes, that’s bette
r, she thought, adding: ‘I will take a look at my diary and let you know.’

Andrés looked at her steadily, his gaze challenging, and suddenly a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. ‘I will learn to be patient,’ he muttered. There was something about that dark voice that made her cheeks flush. He turned his gaze away and once again seemed lost in thought, leaving her with his beautifully etched, arrogant profile to admire. The curtain had come down, it was time for her to leave.

Luz stood up. ‘I really must get on,’ she said, extending her hand.

Slowly, he stood up too. His dark gaze moved back to meet hers, steady and night-like. He took her hand and held it firmly.

‘Luz, I know you’re wary of me,’ he said and, though his tone was calm and collected, she could see his irises burned with fire. ‘I realize that it has been in great part my fault. I’m not asking you to lower your guard … I’m merely requesting a truce for the time being until we know a little more about each other. Can you do that?’

There was a brief, electric-filled second while Luz braced herself, ignoring the pounding of her heart and the warmth flooding her body. Again he was violating her senses. Why did he have to look so much like Leandro? She couldn’t be sure what his true feelings were, instead she could only think of her own. The way he was looking at her sent her pulses skittering. Her defences locked into place.

‘I’m here to do a job and I don’t see the need for endless soul-searching,’ she stated plainly.

The flames in his eyes leapt and intensified, scorching her. He shook his head sadly and gave a defeated sigh. Letting go of her hand, he raised both his in a desperate gesture.

‘Remember,’ he said, ‘I tried to reach out to you.’

He looked hurt; she had managed to puncture his ego. Luz could see he was deflated, so why was she not basking in triumph? All she wanted to do now was get out of his office and run far away from the powerful and dangerous hold he had on her. She could feel it creeping up on her, tantalizing her, his potent sex appeal rendering her vulnerable and defenceless. These feelings were both unfamiliar and unwelcome. She shrugged.

He stared at her blankly. ‘Is that really how you want it, Luz?’

‘I don’t want anything from you, Andrés,’ she told him, her eyelids dropping so he could not see the struggling emotions behind them. There was a defensive look in her eyes when she lifted her gaze abruptly, her chin tilted in challenge. ‘You took me on to write a biography, you don’t need to win a popularity contest. Don’t worry, I’ll deliver.’

Once more the old tension had sprung up between them; the barrier that had never truly been lowered was quickly raised again. He crossed over to her swiftly and, before she could move back, lifted Luz’s chin to meet her sapphire eyes.

‘You’re as stubborn as a mule,’ he said, ‘but you’ll come round.’ His smile was mild, at variance with his words. His face was so near that she couldn’t help but stare at that perfectly sculpted mouth, remembering how it had felt on hers.

‘Listen to me, Luz de Rueda. One day those two beautiful legs of yours will bring you back to me.’ His mouth moved a little closer still. ‘I don’t want you to fight me, I want you yielding … consenting.’

She was so disturbed by his touch that it took a few seconds for what he had just said to sink in and then the sheer thrill of it rushed through her. Her pulse leapt erratically, her head pounded painfully, the blood ran riot in her veins. Then, just as she thought he might
kiss her, he let go of her, brushing the back of his hand against her cheek. She jerked her head away.

‘Don’t hold your breath,’ she muttered, stony-faced, without looking at him.

She turned and left the room without a backward glance.

In the still dark, early hours before dawn, Andrés stood on his veranda at Puesta de Sol, far above the raging sea, his hands thrust deep in his pockets. Though tired and totally dispirited, he could not sleep. The more he tried to extricate himself from a situation he had mishandled from the very beginning, the deeper he was sucked into the quicksand he had created, it seemed. Anyhow, there was nothing he could do for now.

Was Luz coming round to him? He remembered the heady sensation of her against him in the garden of La Fortaleza, the taste of that sweet mouth. His body still seemed to ache from the sharp need and the passionate mutual energy she had so suddenly and so determinedly withdrawn from. And yet he could feel her struggling with herself today when they stood so close, his own frustration charging his desire. There was a shimmering heat between them that she surely couldn’t deny, despite her confusion. He had ached to kiss her, to make her realize that she wanted him as much as he desired her. Still, he was not normally the kind of man to kiss a woman against her will, no matter how much he yearned to do so. For a second he had been tempted to go after her when she stormed out of his office, resolving in some primal way to bend her will to his, but more pragmatic thoughts had prevailed.

Andrés was always master of his emotions; he had to rein himself in. When Luz had told him of Lorenzo’s outrageous attempt to lure her to La Fortaleza on the pretext of working together on the Herrera archives, he thought his blood would boil with the fire he so often had to keep in check, causing him to rage out of control. Even with
Lorenzo, he would have to be careful for the time being. He could not do as he pleased until fate had unravelled its path and he could not be sure exactly what course that would take. It would not be easy for a man like himself. No woman had made him yearn the way Luz did, had made him burn with such exquisite pain.

All through their meeting he had found her so beautiful, with her deep-blue eyes flashing with enthusiasm; she was passionate and alive. But not only that: he admired her intelligence and the perceptive insights she’d had when discussing Eduardo. The book would not be just a bland narrative of Eduardo de Salazar’s personality and work, it would be a lively explanation of his life and his art, too. He had been right to follow his heart and take her on. So he had hung on to her words in silence, interrupting her rarely, only for her to clarify a point; all the while making sure he kept a firm grip on those hormones clamouring for him to ravish her. To bide his time would be the hardest thing he had ever done but
she
had to come to
him
.

He remained there for a long while, a solitary figure; his only company a single pale star shining in the west, hanging above the trees along the cliff tops, sharp black outlines that the darkness exaggerated. Broodingly, he gazed down at the water roaring and sighing up the sand and listened to its song echoing through the night. There was a distinct sadness in its melody, as in the expanse around him, he thought, a sadness reflecting his own hollow despair.

Only when the star had gone in and the pale dawn sky looked coldly down upon him did he start back. The air was fresh, keen and bracing. He stared up at the sky, still streaked with gashes of purple, poised between night and day. Until his plan had come to its conclusion and all the players had played their part in this melancholy drama, he would not be free. Pulling up the collar of his jacket, he made his way back to the still-sleeping world.

I
t was nine o’clock in the evening when Salvador, Alexandra and Luz arrived at the Cádiz Yacht Club for the Fiesta de las Rosas, a charity ball in aid of cancer research. Salvador had received an invitation to take a table from the foundation’s chairman, Andrés de Calderón, and without consulting Luz had gone ahead and put together a list of guests for the gala night.

Two weeks had passed since Luz’s meeting with Andrés at his office and she was still confused about the way it had ended. Everything seemed complicated as far as she was concerned, full of the kind of risk that she dared not formulate even in her own mind. The prospect of seeing him again made her nervous. She had tried to wriggle out of the event but, when her parents insisted, she capitulated without much fuss to avoid awakening their suspicions that everything was not going smoothly with her employer.

An oasis of green, white and blue, the yacht club was at its most glamorous that evening, lit by candles and flood lamps. The heat of the day was gone. Gone too were the brightly fringed umbrellas that had been a constant protection against the fierce sun. Inside the clubhouse the decor was very nautical, with ships’ lanterns and lots of canvas and polished wood. Most of the guests came from a small pool of people in neighbouring towns and almost everyone knew each other. The mood was relaxed, convivial and comfortably tribal. The women wore summer evening dresses in light, delicate fabrics while the men were in dinner jackets. Tables were adorned with white tablecloths, glass candlesticks and vases of colourful, sweet-smelling flowers.

The table Salvador had reserved was outside with a prime view of the harbour. Atop it, red roses stood in a small crystal vase, some of their petals scattered on the white tablecloth.

Luz spotted Andrés as soon as she walked out on to the vast terrace. He was sitting at the table next to theirs with Lorenzo and Adalia, three other young beauties, two beaus and the elderly couple she had noticed him with in the box at the theatre. At the sight of him, her heart fluttered wildly before sinking in her chest. Their eyes met and he bowed his head gravely to her. Luz smiled back demurely. She would have preferred to have her back to him but the way her father had placed her made it inevitable that she would look straight into Andrés’ eyes every time she lifted her head. It was unnerving. At this distance and in the semi-darkness she couldn’t distinguish the colour of his irises and it was as though Leandro was sitting there in front of her. Andrés’ proximity and the beauty of the night whipped up her memories afresh. She felt a melancholy loneliness, a deep hollowness as an overwhelming yearning to see her gypsy lover once again consumed her.

Above their heads was a sapphire-hued sky and millions of twinkling stars of all sizes lit up the night. They seemed so near to earth that Luz felt she could stretch out her hand and pick one from the dark blue canopy. The sea shimmered peacefully in the moonlight and broke and foamed in a mantle of white froth along the shore. In the harbour, a stone’s throw away, there were fishing vessels riding at anchor, rocking and rolling on the incoming swell. Yachts were tied alongside the quay, pleasure craft had tucked themselves in wherever they had found a berth, and an array of coloured boats had been dragged up on slipways for hull scraping.

Salvador and Alexandra’s other guests arrived just as they were settling into their seats; among them were Antonio de Cabrera, his wife Callida and their son Romero, an architect who owned one of the largest art galleries in Seville.

Luz looked exquisite in a Grecian-inspired backless halter-neck of powder-blue silk chiffon. The simplicity of the gown and the
crystal-studded belt she wore defined her shape, accenting the slenderness of her waist. Her shiny black hair was arranged in a complicated braided chignon that Agustina, who had come all the way from El Pavón for the evening, had dexterously achieved. Teamed with chandelier diamond earnings and a delicate diamond necklace, the effect was breathtaking. She exuded a goddess-like glamour that did not go unnoticed by the young architect, who set about entertaining her with animated conversation as more guests arrived.

After a while Romero leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs out under the table. The architect was a tall, aristocratic young man with straight dark hair and honey-coloured eyes in a kind face that was expressive and quick to produce a waggish smile. ‘This really is a beautiful night, equalled only in its perfection by Aphrodite sitting next to me.’ He looked at Luz and grinned. ‘Even the stars are jealous of those sapphire eyes of yours.’

‘Romero, are you always such a shameless flirt?’ Luz smiled into her glass as she sipped her sangria.

‘Always – and without exception,’ he replied. ‘What can I say? I’m an incurable romantic. Besides, it’s not every day that I have such charming company,
señorita
. You know, my parents often drag me to such evenings hoping to match-make me with a suitable young
señorita
, but usually I end up being propelled towards some tongue-tied wallflower or a girl who insists on stepping on my feet when we dance. I do hope you’re not going to step on my feet later, Doña Luz?’ He waggled his eyebrows comically.

Luz laughed. ‘I will do my best to keep my feet to myself.’ She lowered her voice conspiratorially so that she was out of earshot of her mother, seated next to her. ‘And yes, parents can be pushy, I agree.’

Romero chuckled before he, too, spoke more mutedly. ‘At least de Calderón doesn’t have that problem. If he’s caught up with
la Señorita
de Herrera, it’s none of his mother’s doing.’

‘Really? What makes you say that?’ Luz enquired in a mild tone, trying to hide her displeasure at the mention of Adalia. For want
of something distracting to do, she plucked an olive from one of the little dishes dotted around the table and popped it in her mouth.

‘The man does what he pleases, always has done. His mother, in particular, never seems to bat an eyelid at anything and tonight is no exception.’

Her curiosity aroused, Luz tracked his gaze to the next table, her eyes roaming between Andrés and the elderly man and woman seated on either side of him. ‘You mean, those people on Señor de Calderón’s table are his parents?’

‘Indeed they are. Granted, they look more like his grandparents, but somehow they managed to produce de Calderón Junior along the way.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Though I find it hard to imagine Doña Eleadora as a young woman.’

Luz glanced over at Andrés’ mother and noticed that most of the time her piercing eyes seemed to stare somewhat vacantly into space. She made only the barest of conversation with those around her, even her son. Santiago de Calderón was more sociable and conversed soberly with Andrés and the other men at the table. He did not possess the same handsome features as his son but had similar dark eyes in a kindly face. Doña Eleadora, on the other hand, had a stronger look of Andrés in the high set of her cheekbones and had clearly been a beauty in her youth, despite her now wrinkled skin and empty expression.

Romero slapped the table in mock agitation. ‘I must say, I could eat a horse! I hope they bring the food out soon, otherwise this wine, excellent as it is, will go straight to my feet and soon it will be you hopping out of the way when we dance,’ he said, grinning at Luz and refilling her glass.

She smiled and they began talking about the other guests, Luz delighting in the shameless gossip Romero had to offer on all his clients from the gallery, half of whom were there that night.

The atmosphere was heady; the hum of friendly voices and cheery, robust laughter formed an unobtrusive background. At one point Romero made his excuses and stood to greet some acquaintances
passing further along the terrace. Luz sipped at her sangria and allowed her gaze to drift towards the opposite table again. She observed the collection of people there, relieved not to be among them. Adalia was smiling faintly at the beau on her right, though her whole demeanour exuded suppressed tension. Now and again she flicked a glance at Andrés, a few seats away, then turned back to her companion, laughing too keenly at something he said, before allowing him to refill her glass.

Luz wondered if Adalia, not having been seated near Andrés, had been relegated to mere business partner for this corporate event. Whatever the reason, she was not wearing her usual self-assured mien. Lorenzo was seated furthest away from Andrés, no doubt a result of the
torero
’s recent presumption concerning the de Salazar project. She would dearly have loved to be a fly on the wall when he had been exposed to Andrés’ impressive wrath.

Now, as Luz glanced at the elegant businessman facing her, deep in conversation with his father, she took in the lean jaw and slight frown marring his perfect profile. She imagined he was as magnificent as an avenging angel when in full flight of fury. Luz saw him stiffen as he noticed her looking at him. That hooded gaze was back as he lifted his glass to his mouth and drank, watching her, before slowly placing it down again. She quivered as if those sensuously sculpted lips had touched hers, though remembering they had not been so restrained when he pinned her against him at La Fortaleza. Her body tingled with memories of how it had felt to have him plunder her mouth with such savage passion, to taste the dark, delectable flavour of him; how his hands had felt on her body, making her spiral into a helpless, hungry desire. Her pulse sped dangerously as his penetrating look held her captive for a moment longer. Then she breathed deeply and turned away so she could not see him any more.

‘Are you all right, darling?’ The warm female voice made Luz’s gaze shoot up to meet her mother’s green eyes.

‘Y-yes, of course,
Mamá
.’ Luz tried to regain her composure, taking a sip of chilled sangria to cool her burning throat, and
added quickly, ‘I was just thinking what an impressive evening Don Andrés is hosting.’

‘There’s certainly a marvellous turnout. I must confess, I do love people watching at these events,’ Alexandra said, as she surveyed the terrace.

Luz smiled fondly at her mother. ‘You were right. It’s a lovely evening, I’m glad I came.’

Alexandra glanced over to Romero, still standing and laughing with his friends. She squeezed her daughter’s hand, her eyes twinkling. ‘I thought you would like the company tonight. Don Andrés has been working you too hard. You needed a bit of diversion.’

A diversion was exactly what she needed, Luz thought, but perhaps not for the reason her mother suspected.

The aroma of sizzling dishes wafted outside as waiters moved swiftly between tables. The Cádiz Yacht Club prided itself on its excellent cuisine. A French chef had been imported and the restaurant was the envy of many of the hotels and eating places in Andalucía. After an array of tapas appeared, washed down with fine bottles of Jerez and Rioja wine, they dined handsomely on warm puff pastry filled with oysters in a whipped creamy hollandaise sauce, followed by duckling, lean and flavoursome, roasted with apples. They ended with one of the chef’s signature desserts: a fluffy praline soufflé accompanied by a rich black cherry syrup.

Romero de Cabrera, seated next to Luz, once more gave her all his attention throughout dinner. He courted her in a frivolous, flirty way that was refreshing and helped restore her confidence, which had been badly bruised of late. She found him light-hearted, with a great sense of humour, and his spontaneous cheerfulness was infectious. Gradually, she allowed herself to relax and became caught up in this spirit of gaiety. Soon she had almost forgotten the ominous presence of Andrés at the opposite table.

To dance with Romero was like floating to music. She felt as light as a feather on her feet and was pleased to fulfil her promise of not treading on his. At first she was a little hesitant, but the young
man was an expert leader. He guided her effortlessly around the dancefloor, through waltzes, tangos and the more intricate steps of a foxtrot and an exhibition samba. To and fro he whirled her, holding her loosely then drawing her close to him, before letting her go again. Other couples, impressed by their performance, fell away to the sides of the dancefloor. Now they found themselves the centre of the show.

For Luz the night sped by with a dream-like quality, as though she were a fictional character in one of her mother’s romance stories. Andrés, she noticed, did not dance. Nor did he engage much with Adalia, despite her frequent attempts to gain his attention, a state of affairs that visibly ruffled the young woman’s customary composure. He drank a lot and smoked incessantly. More than once Luz caught his sharp, hooded gaze following her for a moment. Though a part of her was always aware of him, she had become strangely detached from her own feelings as the evening rolled on.

It was close to midnight. Luz and Romero were back at the table sipping coffee, teasing each other with jokes, when all of a sudden she watched Andrés approach their table.

He headed for Alexandra first. ‘Doña Alexandra,’ he said, giving a slight bow as he lightly touched his lips to her raised hand. ‘It’s a pleasure to have you among us tonight.’

‘It’s a pleasure to attend such a wonderful event, Don Andrés, and for such a worthy cause, too. We’ve had so much fun, haven’t we, Luz?’

Luz smiled graciously at her mother’s words. She found it curiously difficult to look at Andrés directly as she said: ‘As ever, you are the perfect host, Don Andrés.’

‘I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, Doña Luz.’ His gaze, dark and intense, lingered on her for an instant before he turned and nodded courteously towards the young architect seated next to her, giving him the briefest of greetings: ‘Romero.’ Then, turning to Salvador, he smiled, a most engaging smile that Luz had learnt to recognize. ‘Thank you for your support, Don Salvador. As a well-respected philanthropist and a pillar of our society, your presence here lends weight to our foundation,’ he said graciously.

‘I’m always happy to endorse and aid a valuable charity,’ Salvador told him before briefly introducing Andrés to his other guests.