Masquerade (49 page)

‘Andrés, he’s got a knife,’ she cried out. But it was too late: the sharp edge of the weapon slashed out, slicing his arm. He stumbled. The gypsy lifted his hand to strike again; once more the knife came down, this time catching him just behind the collarbone, missing his neck by a few inches, just as Andrés leapt forward with his fist balled and struck his opponent between the eyes. The
gitano
’s head was flung violently back; he lost his balance, staggered and collapsed to the ground, hitting his head against a rock as he did so. He lay inert.

Meanwhile Andrés had blacked out and was sprawled on the sand semi-conscious, unable to move or open his eyes. Blood was gushing profusely from his wounds. Luz ran to him, her heart thumping furiously, tears streaming down her face.

‘Andrés, Andrés, my love, answer me!’ She was sobbing. ‘Oh God, please make him all right.’ Dropping to the ground beside him, her arms moving to encircle him, she lifted his head on to her lap, cradling it against her bosom. He looked as if he wanted to speak but his body was still, except for the shuddering of his lips.

People had gathered at the scene by now; onlookers who had witnessed the start of the fight but not wished to interfere and others who had been alerted to the scene.

‘We’ve called an ambulance,’ said one.

‘The
gitano
, he’s dead,’ added another.

‘Hold on in there, my love,’ Luz was whispering in Andrés’ ear. ‘Help is on its way. Please don’t leave me,’ she begged, her face so close to his that her tears fell on his pale cheeks. ‘Forgive me … I’ve been a fool … I love you. I love you so much. Stay with me!’ Almost hysterical now, she was sobbing her heart out.

The ambulance arrived and so did the police. She wanted to accompany Andrés in the ambulance to the hospital but
la policia
refused to let her go. According to them, she was a key witness to the incident and they needed her statement. Luz watched helplessly
as Andrés was taken away on a stretcher and the ambulance was driven off, bells blazing.

The storm had passed and the sun had come out. Now the police interrogated everyone present. Two English women, who had witnessed the whole incident from the very beginning, told their version of the story. The young woman had been attacked, Andrés had tried to save her; he carried no weapon. Yes, the gypsy man had been armed with a knife. He’d struck twice and wounded Andrés both times before the young man lashed out in self-defence. The aggressor fell to the ground, knocking his head against a rock. Other people, who had arrived halfway through the quarrel, corroborated Luz’s and the two English women’s statements. It was obviously a case of self-defence.

Later, when Luz visited the hospital to ask after Andrés and to try to see him, her heart sank as she spied a familiar figure sitting outside his room: Adalia. At the sight of Luz, the other woman’s eyes narrowed.

Adalia stood up briskly on her approach. ‘Leave him alone,’ the socialite coldly warned her. ‘Haven’t you done enough damage? Like your parents, you’re just bad luck. He doesn’t want to see you, he doesn’t need this kind of drama in his life. If you persist in hounding him, he will file a complaint of harassment against you. He will get a restraining order forbidding you to ever go near him again.’ Adalia delivered this lethal threat in one short burst, her voice low, and her glare pierced her rival with diamond-cutting sharpness.

‘And now go,’ she said, taking hold of Luz’s arm forcefully, trying to lead her away, ‘before I call security to throw you out.’

Luz wrenched her arm from Adalia’s grasp. She was trembling with anger inside but her face, except for its sudden pallor, remained impassive.

‘Don’t touch me. And don’t tell me what Andrés needs either. You should already know by now that it isn’t you.’

Adalia blinked, her pale eyes wide with surprise.

But Luz was not going to make any more of a scene in the hospital. She walked off silently, determined to find a way to speak to Andrés without the presence of his vicious watchdog.

Alexandra and Salvador had flown to Luz’s side as soon as they had heard about her attack on the beach. They insisted on staying with her at L’Estrella and, still deeply shaken by the incident, she was glad of their love and attention; though after a few days she insisted she was fine and they should return to El Pavón. She would come and stay soon, she reassured them. Reluctantly, they agreed, leaving her in the capable hands of the trusted Carmela. The housekeeper’s shocked response to Luz’s ordeal had illicited an angry tirade against all
gitanos
, followed by a flurry of extra cooking and fussing around the young woman. However, throughout everything, it was Andrés that Luz was more concerned about. She couldn’t stop thinking about him and how seriously he had been injured.

During the following weeks Luz rang his office twice a day, religiously enquiring about his health, each time giving a false name. A month had passed before she was told that he was completely recovered and would be at his office the following day.

Luz pondered whether to get in touch with him at his home, El Ecrin, at Puesta de Sol or at his office. She came to the conclusion that all three places were a bad idea. Adalia and her brother would be vigilant, taking every precaution in their bid to prevent her from seeing Andrés. No doubt they had umpteen ways of stopping her and she did not want to awaken their suspicions. Adalia had likely seen this as another opportunity to ensnare Andrés, despite his previous refusal to marry her, and was busy trying to insinuate herself back into his affections while he was vulnerable.

Luz slept badly that night. Nightmares assailed her, making her relive the gypsy’s attack again and again, turning her fear of Andrés’ death into reality as she watched his inert body sprawled on the
beach, bathed in blood, while the gypsy laughed loudly, his face an ugly mask of cruelty. She woke with beads of perspiration on her brow and, though it was not yet morning, she got up, took a cold shower and dressed.

To ease her nerves, she sat out on her veranda but her mind went round in circles as she deliberated how she might get to see Andrés, dreaming up scenarios in which she would bump into him, or where he came to her. Indeed Andrés filled her every waking and sleeping thought. He had not called, nor had she expected him to: why would he do so when she had emphatically told him that she never wanted to see him again? She must find a way of getting in touch with him, of talking to him and asking his forgiveness.

Finally dawn broke in the east and morning came. It came with a hush and a blinding whitening of the sky so special to Cádiz, extinguishing the lights of the stars in the canopy above her. Blood-red streaks and a breathtaking array of colour followed closely afterwards across the horizon. Even though the sky was a glorious expanse that stretched infinitely now into the light of day, Luz felt hemmed in: she needed to get away. She decided to visit the little cove to which she had not returned since her break-up with Andrés.

After donning a bikini and shorts she went down to the beach. As she boarded her boat and motored towards her destination some strong and insistent feeling compelled her to go in the opposite direction, back to Andrés’ secret place. Would she find him there? Her eyes filled with tears. She had missed the lonely beach where their love had bloomed and blossomed, all those happy days before tragedy struck.

She had never travelled so far in her boat, and she hoped that she would find the place easily enough. Up came the sun behind her, gilding everything with a special glow. The sun touched the luminous town of Cádiz with a blaze of gold and crimson, window upon window seemingly on fire. As she went, Luz marvelled at its beauty. Wherever the warm rays caught the water, myriad jewels flashed and flamed. The air was sparkling-clean and light,
exhilarating. Her heart was filled with a crazy euphoria, coupled with a vague apprehension, but also with hope. In the quiet of this early hour, before the sun followed its natural course, everything seemed pure, untainted. She loved this time of day.

Luz had no difficulty in finding the cove but she entered it through a different opening, where she knew there were fewer rocks, and then anchored her boat at the entrance to the bay.

On the beach, as she rounded one of the boulders, her eyes widened and she caught her breath in disbelief. The place was deserted – almost.
Was she still dreaming?

He was sitting on a rock, looking out to sea.

Luz’s heart was pounding; the blood that resounded in her ears was deafening.

He turned his head and looked at her. She stared wonderingly at him for a moment and then she ran to him, her long limbs sprinting gracefully along the shoreline.

Still, he did not move, his eyes ensnared by her approaching figure. Dressed only in Bermuda shorts, his chestnut hair was loose, blowing away from his tanned face in the soft breeze, golden strands shining in the morning sunshine. And here was the sensuous, generous mouth with those perfect, sculpted lips, the smooth, tanned skin of his torso and the potent sexuality emanating from his whole being. In that moment she recalled the strong tenderness of him and her sheer abandonment when in his arms. The surge of passion overwhelmed her, bringing tears to her eyes. Her throat tightened as she fought to choke them back. It was his eyes that told her what she yearned to know: he could not suppress the fire that burned in his green irises as she reached him and she knew beyond doubt that he loved her and had forgiven her.

She was flushed, her vision filmed with tears, as she threw her arms around him, almost knocking him over. He winced as his gaze rested on her wistful face. She was trembling.

Still sitting on the rock as she stood beside him, he lifted a hand and brushed his thumb against her cheek.

‘You’re here,’ was all she said.

‘Where else would I be?’

She looked down at his shoulder and then to his arm. Her fingers gently trailed along the pink scars before she met his gaze again.

‘I couldn’t see you at the hospital. Then I looked for you everywhere … but I was afraid.’

His eyes travelled over her face; he nodded his understanding. ‘I thought you hadn’t come, so I came here instead.’

Her heart was bursting with too many unspoken words, too overwhelming to voice.

‘Don’t look at me like that,
querida
,’ he murmured softly and then he bent his head and took her parted lips with his hungry mouth. It was enough to set every bone in her body melting; she was on fire.

Suddenly, his powerful arms lifted her, his hands encircling her tiny waist. He pulled her up with a latent strength that took her breath away. She was now straddling him, her firm breasts pressed against his muscular chest, aware of the furious pounding of his heart echoing the reckless beat of her pulse. With her thighs pressing against his hard hip, she could feel the aggressive potency of his arousal, brushing the swollen pearl in the centre of her femininity, sending each nerve end of her senses into wild havoc. A molten dampness flooded her. Clothes were in the way. She fumbled for the zip of his shorts and pulled it down. Still holding on to her, he lifted himself so he was standing and with one sleek movement rid himself of his garment. He peeled away the top of her bikini before sliding his palms underneath her and removing the skimpy piece of material that covered her.

As flesh met flesh, they both gasped. Their skin was alive, feverish with desire. First, they made love with their eyes, their mouths, their hands, tantalizing, stroking, fondling, kissing and savouring; sensitive to each other’s needs, stimulating and revelling in each other’s pleasure. She was Eve, he was Adam; he gave, she responded; she offered and he took; a hedonistic game of exploration that knew no bounds and over and over brought them to the brink. But
they held back, floating on a sweet wave of sensual abandonment, both wanting to prolong the exquisite torture in the knowledge that their final coupling would enthrall all the more.

Then, as they hovered for the umpteenth time on the edge of the cliff, his palms cupped the curves of her small, firm bottom. He lifted her a fraction, drawing her closer to his need, parting her thighs a little more. As the heat of his arousal brushed against the moist ripeness of her, fire spread through her veins like molten honey and she opened up for him, willing and pliant.

He slid into her smoothly. She felt his potency grow as he filled her softness and the silky liquid of her desire eased him deeper and deeper into her. Now he was trembling violently, shudders rippling through him, his breathing harsh as he tried to control his mounting need for release. She wrapped her thighs more intimately around him, arching her back; her arms encircled his neck so she could draw closer and experience the vigour of his masculinity in her core. He cupped her firm swollen breasts, the tips of his fingers teasing their taunt pink peaks, making her quiver and moan, pleading for sweet deliverance.

Made for each other, they knitted together perfectly. The fit, the movement, the rhythm, the breath were one. With a last wild thrust he drove harder and further inside her. And suddenly all restraint was unlocked and they were moving up and down and rocking as one. Their tempo quickened. She held her breath; her eyes glazed over. The gratifying sensation came in a succession of spasms rushing through her, wave upon delicious wave until she was awash with a shattering ecstasy. Her body, her mind, her voice cried out his name; her head thrown back, nails digging into his shoulders. Buried deep inside her he was submerged in the ocean of her pleasure and his control abandoned him. His gasps became gradually sharper as his need grew faster, his chest rising and falling urgently. All thought ceased, surrendered to visceral pleasure. His groan was wild, primitive and long as he exploded in her depths and was catapulted over the abyss, shuddering and delirious with passion. Gradually they floated down
on a cloud of exquisite sensation, each joining the other in a dream world where light, erotic possibilities and contentment were king.

For a long time they remained silent, locked in each other’s arms, body and soul satiated and at peace, drinking in the blueness of the ocean, secure in the knowledge that nothing would ever threaten their love again.