Masquerade (42 page)

Agustina closed her eyes in resignation. ‘As I mentioned earlier, your father had a bad accident that left him paralysed from the waist downwards. The general prognosis was that he would never walk again. The
Duquesa
was heartbroken. Specialists were brought over at great expense from all over the world but the opinion remained unanimous. Doña María Dolores had lost hope.’

There was a pause, during which Agustina drew breath. She shifted in her seat and folded her hands in her lap, clearly uncomfortable, before continuing. ‘One November morning – I will never forget it because it was one of those rare overcast days – a gypsywoman, looking like a fox stealing into the henhouse, came to the front door at El Pavón and asked to speak to the
Duquesa
. José, who at the time was the major-domo, tried to turn her away, but she whined and cajoled, even invoked the Blessed Madonna, insisting her daughter Marujita possessed the
gracia de mano
, the power to heal. She had come to offer her services to the young Count and would not be turned away until she had spoken to the
Duquesa
. At this point Her Grace was prepared to try anything and she allowed Consuelo and her daughter the chance to cure your father.’

Agustina paused. Luz could see that she found dredging up those unhappy memories difficult and thoroughly distasteful. A shadow passed over the servant’s usually serene face.

‘At the time Don Salvador was miserable and vulnerable. Marujita was a real beauty. At eighteen, she was already a
lumiasca
, a harlot, well informed in the ways of the world and of men, having sold
herself since her early teens. She took advantage of your father’s defenceless situation and soon possessed his naked soul. Miraculously, she did seem to aid in his physical recovery and, feeling that he owed his life to Marujita, he found himself truly enslaved. Only the great love he avowed for your mother cured him of that evil creature.’ Agustina sighed.

‘It was a sordid affair and I will spare you the ugly details, but for Marujita it ended badly. Months after she left El Pavón she helped her brother,
El Mono,
the monkey, steal the
Duquesa
’s jewels but Don Salvador caught them before they could escape. In the struggle your father was knifed, the police were called and Marujita and her brother were both sentenced to a few years’ imprisonment.
El Mono
died of pneumonia before his time was up. As for Marujita, we never heard of her again.’

Luz stared at Agustina, trying to take in all this information that was completely new to her. ‘No wonder
Mamá
gets so nervous whenever the subject of gypsies crops up.
Papá
is much cooler about it.’ Her expression then changed and she huffed irritably.

‘I don’t understand why they made such an issue about keeping this from me all those years. I was bound to find out some day. Things like these don’t get buried forever, especially if they made a bit of a rumpus at the time. On the contrary, brushed under the carpet they just get magnified beyond belief. Wouldn’t it have been simpler to talk about them frankly? Why complicate life? I might have learnt a thing or two in the past and not been at such a loss today,’ she said resentfully.

Agustina’s answer was, as usual, gentle and wise. ‘Knowing your parents as I do, I’m sure they had good reasons for acting as they did. Gypsies have long memories, it’s said that they never forget. Who knows what your parents think they are protecting you from?’

‘But it still isn’t clear why they delayed getting married for so long. It seems to me unbelievably foolish,’ said Luz, frowning.

‘Don’t be so quick to judge,’ Agustina remonstrated crossly. ‘It’s because of the gypsies and their
venganza de Calés
culture, that’s
why. Revenge and the gypsies go hand in hand. Even though your parents fell in love at first sight, your father did not venture to court your mother while she was in Spain. For many months he fought his love for her in order to protect her. For an onlooker, one who could read between the lines, there was no doubt he loved her to distraction. But put yourself in your mother’s shoes: what was she supposed to think? She was still very innocent for her age, with little knowledge of what makes a man tick. The future must have been one gigantic question mark. A very traumatic experience, my child! Thankfully their lucky star was looking over them. As it turned out, the fairy-tale romance had a happy ending. However, it could well have ended in disaster.’

Luz fell silent: she knew what it felt like to have your future as one gigantic question mark. Her mother’s experience had parallels with her own, she thought ruefully. But at least now she had some of the answers. One day, she would try to talk to her mother carefully about the past and show her that she understood what she had been through.

Adalia had completely distorted the truth and given her a fabricated version of what really happened more than thirty years ago. In other words, she had told a pack of lies about her parents, so why should it be any different where Andrés was concerned? There might have been a time when Andrés had dated the young socialite but, somehow, Luz very much doubted that he had proposed to her. Adalia just wanted to warn her off in the hope of creating a misunderstanding between herself and Andrés. Luz had already known about Andrés’ birthday party, too, and he had not seemed uncomfortable about her being there, though it would no doubt suit Adalia if Luz felt too awkward to attend now. Still, she would confront him the next day when he came over to L’Estrella for dinner.

Some of the weight had lifted from her mind, but she would not feel completely at ease until she had clarified matters with the man she loved.

W
hile Luz was having a heart-to-heart with Agustina, she was far from suspecting that, at the far end of the El Pavón estate, just a few hundred yards away, Leandro was mourning the loss of his mother.

The tribe was also grieving. For them, a powerful member of its people had been lost. Though wilful and riotous in her youth, breaking every code of behaviour in the
Calés
book of rules, Marujita had ripened into a strong
gitana
with a commanding presence, someone others would follow. The harsh years spent behind bars had changed her. Tough and unforgiving, so different from the nimble libertine she had been in her youth, she had become a she-thug during and after her prison years, as well as a warrior matriarch, respected and feared by all. Despite her wild and disreputable past, not to mention her involvement with a
gajo
, the gypsies of Andalucía had elected her their queen. That evening they were arriving in droves, advancing in straggling bands from every corner of that sun-kissed region to pay their last respects and see their queen off to her final home.

The orb of day had sunk and the rocks had turned an indigo tinge in the dusk. A full moon high in the sky cast a blue haze, an almost ethereal light, on to the camp. Here, the world was frozen in deathly silence, full of mystery. Soon the place would erupt, first into lamentation and then into jollification but, for the moment, human, beast and nature itself seemed to wait in solemn and reverential hush.

Marujita’s coffin had been moved out in front of a cave, lit by candlelight. There she lay, washed and coiffed, on a bed of red
roses and wearing her best finery, hands crossed over her chest. Her favourite mandolin and a pair of ornate castanets had been placed next to her. In her youth she had been a great Flamenco singer and dancer and, over the past few months, even sickness had not prevented her from performing under the stars for her people.

A six-metre-long table had been stocked as for a banquet with cold meats, cheeses and a good deal of wine and brandy to keep the mourners going through the long hours of the wake.

The
gitana
’s two younger sons, Toñito and Diego, stood at the entrance to the cave with a few other gypsies, keeping their distance, while Leandro, Marujita’s beloved eldest son, sat beside her, his face buried in the long, tapered fingers of his hands. His heart was cold and heavy. He had loved his mother with the strange hungry passion of a starved child and she, in turn, had worshipped him. Leandro had never been blind to her faults, quite the reverse. He saw only too clearly that she had been a hard, spiteful and bitter woman who had harboured a lifetime’s hatred for the people she thought had wronged her. She had always been relentless in her thirst for revenge. Prison had hardened her heart to everyone and everything, except where her eldest son was concerned. He had been the apple of her eye and she had lavished her tenderness on him exclusively. In return, he would do anything for her … and had already done so.

After that fateful night when Marujita had called for vengence on Luz and her family, and Leandro had turned his back on her and walked away, his mother had been implacable. Initially, Leandro had met with hostile silence. Then she began hectoring him at every opportunity. It was only when the doctors had given her six months at most that he had finally softened, loath to let her down. Had she not been riddled with cancer he would never have danced to her tune. Surely he owed her some indulgence?

Leandro was so attuned to the conflicts that fought within her breast, the fierce, wild emotions that stirred her to thoughts of hateful revenge. He could see what had made her this way, but it pained him to think how much of her shadow had been cast upon
him. Conflicting loyalties tore at his heart but the very thought of hurting Luz was abhorrent to him.

When he had appeared to Luz at the El Pavón ball dressed in Tuareg costume, it had started out as a simple, mischievous game. He had kissed her because the budding attraction between them had been overwhelming; an attraction that began long before he had known anything about the role her parents had played in his mother’s life. He had tried to stay away from her but it had proved impossible: fate kept throwing them together. He had never planned to take her as he did on the beach that afternoon but their mutual passion had defeated his self-control. Yet he was aware that nothing could exonerate his act, none of the hundred-and-one excuses he could dream up would ever work to alleviate his guilty conscience. Deliberately or not, he had followed Marijita’s plan, causing Luz pain in the process.

But he loved Luz to distraction. Now he couldn’t wait to take her in his arms again but would she ever forgive his deception? He shuddered at the thought of losing her. Surely, now that Marujita was gone, there must be some way he could make it up to her … that was, if she still wanted him after knowing the whole truth?

He could not have spoken before now; he felt he owed it to his mother to make her last months as comfortable as possible, telling himself it would not be long. If he at least appeared to see her plan through then he could endeavour to make amends later. But he knew he had been playing a dangerous game, and one in which he and Luz might both end up being the losers.

There was so much explaining to do and the longer he left it, the worse it would be. Luz would condemn him for playing his mother’s game until the end, which in some ways was true. There was only one thing for it: he had to put his trust in the kindness of the young woman’s heart and in the love she held for him. Because if there was one thing he was certain of, it was Luz’s unremitting love.

Lamentations had begun in earnest now, drawing Leandro from his dark reverie. Men, women and children lined up in an orderly
fashion, uncharacteristic for such an unruly people. They all held candles, the ends of which were wrapped in paper, and were now circling the open coffin where their queen lay in peace, her eyes closed to the world. As they circled the corpse, they chanted and then joined hands for the
Abejorro
, the bees’ dance, which they performed, all the while imitating the insect’s sound.

Suddenly, Juanillo moved out of the circle. Leandro’s uncle began to loudly engage in the age-old ritual of confession and absolution, claiming the sins of his sister as his own, then challenging Marujita in a loud, powerful voice for all to hear: ‘Take your mandolin, dear sister, and play. Hold your castanets and dance. If by these actions I have done wrong, may your music strike me deaf. But if you find I have not sinned, then stay quiet, do not move and do not play, so I may receive absolution.’ A few moments of quietude followed and then, turning to the crowd, he cried out: ‘Let the festivities begin!’

His invitation was received by a great number of
Olés!
The driving thrum of a guitar sounded, taken up by the fast yet mournful accompaniment of a violin, the notes of its melody spilling out furiously like an infernal call to the dead. Men, women and children began their frenzied singing, clapping and leaping about. Food and drink were devoured in no time; even the animals joined in, waiting for morsels to fall from the table.

Leandro knew that the merrymaking and revelry would go on well into the night and probably till dawn. He joined in, allowing himself to be pulled into the crowd in their bacchanalian requiem for his mother, but his heart was not in it: he was still thinking of Luz and how he would earn her forgiveness. Having hurt her once, he would have to do so again before things could come right between them. He would have to tell her some things she would not want to hear.

After a round of dancing, he stumbled back from the circle as a wineskin was thrust roughly against his chest. He looked up to see Toñito rocking slightly before him. As Leandro grasped the wineskin, he studied his brother’s face, lit by the vivid moon. The young
gitano
’s eyes were red, whether from crying or too much brandy he
wasn’t sure, but he saw the mixture of anguish and animosity that burned in them.

‘So our mother’s finally gone. Now, you will drink with me, brother.’ There was nothing familial or welcoming in the harshness of Toñito’s voice.

Leandro paused before lifting the wineskin, taking a long gulp of brandy and then wiping his mouth with his sleeve. ‘You’re right, Toñito. Our mother is gone, our people have lost their queen and so now it falls to us to carry on in her place. We’re family, Marujita’s family. Everyone will be looking to us for leadership. You have a duty, same as me, to be part of what keeps our people together now.’ He handed the wineskin back to his brother. ‘That’s what we should drink to.’

Toñito’s gaze wandered blearily to the ground. ‘Family. Blood. Duty. That’s all
she
ever talked about!’

‘And she would want us to stand together,’ said Leandro.

Toñito’s eyes filled with scorn as they swooped to meet Leandro’s. ‘Is that what you think, brother? Stand together? You stand alone, like you’ve always done.’ He gestured to the crowd of gypsies who were cavorting wildly to the galloping music. ‘You think you can look after our people? And I am to be the lapdog at your heels?’ He shook his head. ‘We may share her blood, but we will never be what she wanted us to be.’

‘Is there anything left of that brandy for your Uncle Juanillo?’ came a rasping voice from behind them as the older gypsy sauntered towards them. ‘My belly needs warming on this dark day.’ He grasped Toñito’s head in his large hands as they touched foreheads in a gruff embrace of mutually acknowledged grief.

‘It’s yours,
Tío
,’ said Toñito, slapping the wineskin into Juanillo’s hand. He glanced back at Leandro, his face a sullen mask. ‘I’ll find another one.’

They had been standing next to a jumble of upturned crates and Leandro sank wearily on to the nearest one as he watched the hunched figure of his brother disappear into the throng. Men and
women were now falling over one another, casting long shadows in the light of the candles that still burned around Marujita’s coffin. Some had even leapt on to the banquet table and were stamping and clapping to the music that raged on.

Juanillo took a deep swig of brandy and lit up a cigar, setting his carbon-black gaze on his nephew. ‘I’ve been watching you,
sobrino
. You should honour your mother’s memory with more fire in your gut.’

Leandro simply stared ahead. ‘I honour her memory well enough. Though if I need absolution, I need only ask her to rise up and play her mandolin till I go deaf.’ He glanced up sharply and held Juanillo’s hard gaze.

‘Even when my sister is laid in the ground, she can still do harm to the living if it’s her will,’ noted Juanillo, the cool edge of menace in his voice. ‘As fast as a man runs, he can’t outpace a ghost in a shroud. A curse of the dead will reach him, however far he wanders the earth. In case you have forgotten, it’s still your duty to carry out vengeance against Marujita’s enemies. Revenge is justice,
sobrino
.’ Juanillo chewed on his cigar and threw the wineskin at his nephew’s feet. ‘Drink and be a man.’ With that, he walked off to join the whooping mourners.

Leandro kicked the wineskin away and, though he had not taken a swig, he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, his face impassive in the spectral moonlight.

Luz sat on the veranda at L’Estrella looking bleakly out to sea. The light of the day had faded into a hazy apricot glow while the sea, darkened to a smoky blue, murmured against the sand. On the opposite shore, Puerto de Santa María and its marina of boats was already a mosaic of beckoning lights as the town prepared for approaching dusk. It seemed as if she had been watching the seascape for hours.

Early that morning she had left El Pavón to return to Cádiz, wanting to spend the day at home before Andrés met her for dinner
at L’Estrella. She had not slept much at her parents’ house, disturbed by nightmares and the noise that came from the far end of the grounds, where the gypsies seemed to be having some sort of wild party. Moreover, she had been increasingly on edge since Adalia’s visit and her conversation with Agustina. She had thought a lot about Adalia and her unpleasant accusations. Agustina might have convinced her that the socialite had been lying about everything for the sake of her own agenda, but Luz did not like the sense of shame that swamped her every time the young woman’s venomous words came to mind. The housekeeper’s explanations had not really alleviated that feeling.

Her parents’ love affair had obviously been a salacious topic of conversation at the time and disapproving tongues would have wagged and accusatory fingers pointed. However, were she to be honest with herself, it was not her parents’ threatened idyll that niggled away at her for they had risen above such defamatory gossip and survived it with consummate dignity, their true friends still loyal and loving. No, something else in Adalia’s diatribe gnawed at Luz far more persistently:
He would never marry a woman who is not a virgin on her wedding night. La honra is very important to him …

But Andrés had not seemed unduly concerned by thoughts of
la honra
at the time and nor had she, lost as they were in the throes of passion. Adalia’s words had somehow managed to taint something that had seemed so pure, so natural, and Luz now blushed at the thought of her wantonness during those days and nights she and Andrés had spent together. No, a woman who had sacrificed her virginity – and to another man at that – was probably not what a Spanish hidalgo looked for in the woman he chose to be the mother of his children. The thought brought with it such anxiety that the feeling was more akin to pain.

Children
. That was something else that had lurked at the corner of her mind as they rushed headlong into passion.
What if she were pregnant
? They had never been careful, never given a thought to the repercussions of their involvement. Luz stared at the darkening
sky. She must get a grip on herself and shake off these alarming feelings before Andrés’ arrival.

The day had seemed never ending, even though she had busied herself with cooking, preparing succulent dishes of tapas in anticipation of her dinner with Andrés. She had given a disappointed Carmela the whole day and night off in order that she might be alone with him. Luz wanted it to be some sort of celebration. She had not seen Andrés for ten days; he had never been away for so long and she had missed him terribly.