Meeting in Madrid (16 page)

‘Manuel?’ she asked, and Ramon shrugged indifferently.

‘Could be,’ he allowed. ‘Could be anyone. He should come out from under that hat!’

They laughed, dancing on until presently they came back to where they had started and Don Jaime was waiting with the others. It was almost dark now, with the sun already down beyond El Teide, and Catherine had drawn the
mantilla
over her head. For a full minute Jaime looked at her without speaking, taking in the picture she made.

‘You are enjoying yourself?’ he asked. ‘You have taken to the spirit of
fiesta
very easily.’

‘The music has a sort of spell,’ she said, looking up at him. ‘I feel it very strongly tonight.’

He glanced over her shoulder at his brother.

‘Spells can be uneasy things to live with,’ he said abruptly. ‘Take care that you are not hurt.’

Before she could answer they were whisked away in the throng of dancers. She stretched out her hand to Ramon, but it was Jaime who crushed her fingers in his.

‘This sort of thing is inevitable,’ he said, his lips close against her hair. ‘We should not have been standing on the sidewalk.’

Madly her heart leapt at the half-teasing words, and then his arm went round her and they were swept away in the dance.

It seemed that they danced for ever, on and on with the sound of music in their ears and the scent of a million trodden flowers rising from the pavements beneath their feet. When it was really dark garlands of little lights twinkled beneath the trees, creating a vivid kaleidoscope of brilliant colour under the stars. There was no way of breaking free from the endless chain of dancers, no way that she wanted to find. Jaime’s arm tightened.

‘You are tired?’ he asked.

‘Not in the least.’ She looked up at him with a happy smile. ‘I could dance like this for ever. It’s truly wonderful!’

‘To the extrovert Spaniard noise and happiness are different words for the same thing,’ he smiled. ‘We cannot amuse ourselves without the sound of castanets and the music of a guitar.’ The fine edge of the
mantilla
blew against his cheek. ‘Have you dressed up to please Ramon or to please yourself?’ he demanded, pulling it aside.

‘To please myself and perhaps to please you. Someone said you would not approve of an ostentatious display.’

He looked down at her, his eyes burning suddenly in the darkness.

‘I am only human,’ he said, ‘and the
mantilla
is the most romantic headdress in the world!’

Their eyes held and slowly he bent his proud head to press his lips against her mouth in a long, deliberate kiss which seemed to draw all her breath away and stop her heart from beating.

‘What is
fiesta
without a kiss?’ he said, setting her free at last. ‘We have come a long way and we must go back to the
plaza
where the others are waiting.’

Was he thinking of Lucia waiting with fury in her eyes and a burning jealousy in her heart? Catherine clung to his hard fingers as he made a way for her through the crowd, and finally they came to the
plaza
where they had first joined the dance. Teresa and Ramon were missing, but Lucia stood beside Alex, tall and straight and accusing as they finally faced each other in the garish light.

‘It is time we made our way to the hotel,’ she said without reproach, but the very fact that she had subdued her anger was strangely ominous as they searched the crowd for Teresa and Ramon.

Jaime had chosen one of the smaller hotels on the outskirts of the town with a terrace overlooking the sea where they dined in the open air under a canopy of stars. Their reserved table was set in an alcove and the Union Jack and the Spanish flag made from flower heads were intertwined on the white cloth, a gesture by the management which made Lucia frown. Tossing her evening bag on the table, she managed to disturb most of the British flag.

Catherine could not remember what she ate. She seemed to be still under a spell, but spells were dangerous. Jaime had warned her about that only an hour ago, but it did not keep her from looking at him with love in her eyes.

Of course, she could not expect him to see! The kiss he had pressed against her lips had been as unreal as the glittering garlands of tiny lights which had vied unsuccessfully with the distant stars. It had been a traditional part of
fiesta,
she supposed, given lightly and meant to be taken lightly in return, and it was no use thinking that it was entirely out of character as far as Jaime was concerned because she did not really know him.

Now he was the perfect host, attending to them all in turn, laughing with Alex and Ramon and teasing Teresa in the most lighthearted way. When they danced again on the terrace in the starlight it was a conventional measure to the music of a sophisticated orchestra far removed from the sighing of a native guitar.

At midnight they rose to go, pausing on the terrace for a last look at the sea.

‘You have enjoyed yourself?’ he asked, coming to stand beside her.

‘Very much. It’s been the most wonderful experience!’

He stood gazing out across the terrace as if he, too, was reluctant to leave.

‘If you look carefully,’ he said, ‘you can see the shape of the smaller islands. La Palma and Hierro, like ghosts in the distance. Gomera is hidden by the mountains, but they are all worth a visit. La Palma especially. The volcano is still active, but there has not been an eruption for many years. La Caldera is a sleeping giant now, like our own Teide.’

Catherine looked out across the ink-black water of the Atlantic to the little island which seemed suddenly very near, its conical peak just visible against the paler sky. It really wasn’t so long ago since La Caldera had burst into flame and molten lava to send a black river of death and destruction flowing down to the sea.

She shivered at the thought.

‘You are cold?’ He took the
mantilla
from the back of her chair and laid it over her shoulders, his hand touching her bare flesh for a moment of ecstasy before she looked up into Lucia’s hostile eyes. ‘If you are ready we will go.’ Catherine looked away from the little island on the horizon, thinking of the hidden fire in its turbulent heart which could erupt at any moment to devastate and destroy.

Ramon drove the short distance to Orotava, where Alex set out wine and biscuits to sustain them for the remainder of their journey to Soria.

‘I hope you will come and see me whenever you like,’ she said when they were ready to go. ‘You must have some free time now and then, Cathy, and Manuel could bring you across in the car if you don’t want to ride all that way.’

‘Cathy has forfeited her free time to work for Jaime,’ Teresa said airily. ‘He really was snowed under with all that paper-work.’

Alex shot a covert glance in Lucia’s direction.

‘Well—when you have cleared it up,’ she said to Catherine, ‘or any time you feel in need of a good chatter!’

‘I thought you never gossiped, Alex,’ said Lucia, turning towards them. ‘But perhaps it is different with someone of your own nationality. Miss Royce will not be at Soria for very long, but she is not a prisoner and I’m sure Jaime understands that she must have time off. He is quite generous in that respect to all his other employees, as you know.’

For a moment Alex looked as if she were about to make some crushing reply, and then she remembered her role as hostess and gave Catherine a reassuring smile instead.

‘Remember,’ she said as they shook hands. ‘Come here if ever you feel in need of help.’

‘You’re very kind.’ Catherine followed Lucia to the door where the overpowering scent of frangipani met them as they walked into the starlit garden. ‘I’ll come, if I may, even though I don’t need help.’

Ramon was holding the car door open for her to get in.

‘
Buenas noches,
Alex!’ he said. ‘We’ve had a wonderful day.’

Alex smiled in the darkness.

‘Perhaps you will come again when there is another
fiesta
to attend,’ she suggested without emotion.
‘
Buenas noches,
everyone!
Velocidad moderada,
Ramon!’

Ramon drove more slowly than usual on the way back to Soria, as if he intended to spin out the hours of their happiness against the boredom of the coming days. The road ahead of them was quite clear of traffic, and on the higher section, where it ran along the backbone of the island, they caught glimpses of the distant sea, now illumined by the brilliant light of the moon. It shone on the Pico de Teide and on the lesser, darker mountains surrounding it, edging the distant coastline with silver, and here and there between the patches of trees it gleamed on the tiled roofs of sleeping cottages and on the white stucco walls of a remote farmhouse whose shutters were closely barred for the night.

To Catherine it was utter magic. The scent of a thousand flowers was still in her nostrils and she felt again the warmth of a man’s strong hand against her cheek. She could not think of the touch of his lips on her mouth because that was for the secret time when she would be alone, at last.

They passed Jaime at the junction of two roads, a tall, dark figure on a white horse silhouetted against the darker hills, and he acknowledged them with a brief wave of his whip. He had put on a long black cloak for the journey to protect him from the mountain winds and it blew out like dark wings behind him as he urged the Arab to a trot.

‘He will not be long behind us,’ Lucia reflected. ‘It is an easy night for riding when there is so bright a moon.’

Obviously someone else was of the same opinion. A short figure on a pony turned in at the
hacienda
entrance before them.

‘It’s Manuel,’ said Teresa. ‘He has been to the
puerto
.’
‘Without permission.’ Lucia’s mouth was grim. ‘I will speak to him in the morning.’

In the morning, however, it seemed that Manuel was not to be found.

‘He
did
ride in ahead of us last night,’ Teresa protested. ‘Manuel is easy to recognise when he wears that ridiculous
sombrero,
thinking to disguise himself!’

Catherine was instantly reminded of the small, dark figure sitting at the table in the
plaza
with a glass of
cana
at his elbow, but there didn’t seem to be any point in adding her knowledge of Manuel’s whereabouts to the general conversation. It was a situation for Lucia to deal with in her own way.

The morning passed quickly enough, with the usual noise and bustle emanating from the kitchens while the food was being prepared, but towards midday the tumult seemed to increase. There were comings and goings and the sound of Lucia’s voice raised in anger before the sepulchral quiet of the
siesta
hour finally descended on the
hacienda
once more.

Catherine and Teresa ate a light lunch of shellfish, followed by an assortment of fruits and washed down with a glass of
sangria
to which Teresa was strongly addicted, and after that they read for an hour stretched out on the cane lounges on the
patio,
away from the sun. Catherine had encouraged Teresa to read aloud, usually from one of the books which had been forwarded from England, and they were half-way through
Wuthering Heights,
which the younger girl found enthralling.

‘Were there really such passionate men and women in England in those days?’ she asked, lifting her dark eyes from the printed page. ‘I thought the average English young lady was quiet and prim.’

Catherine laughed.

‘Not all of them, apparently, but I think the Cathys of
Wuthering Heights
were few and far between.’

‘She had a strange upbringing,’ Teresa reflected. ‘Do you think that makes a difference?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘She was a heartless creature who would not have made poor Heathcliff happy, anyway,’ Teresa declared. ‘Even if she had married him she would have gone on tormenting him till he died.’

‘It was an ill-starred love in the beginning,’ Catherine admitted. ‘In the end it destroyed him.’

‘Don’t tell me!’ Teresa cried. ‘I hate to hear the end before I am half-way through.’

‘Then you’d better read on. If there’s anything you don’t understand you must ask.’

Teresa was still reading at five o’clock when Ramon came in. followed, surprisingly, by Don Jaime.

‘We’re going to have a storm,’ he said, laying his riding- crop on the glass-topped table near Catherine’s chair. ‘It’s been brewing all day.’

They looked up at the copper-coloured clouds beyond El Teide.

‘We could do with some rain,’ said Ramon, reaching for a glass of the dun-coloured liquid which was still in the carafe on the floor by Teresa’s side. ‘How you can drink this Spanish Coca-cola is beyond me!’

‘You needn’t punish yourself!’ Teresa stretched to her full length on the cane recliner. ‘It must be quite warm by this time, anyway. Jaime will pour us all an aperitif if we are on our best behaviour.’

Jaime smiled, looking down at Catherine.

‘You will take a glass of sherry?’ he asked.

She nodded, wondering how long he would stay afterwards. Normally he had plenty to do in and around the house once the light had failed. He strode off to return after five minutes with the wine and glasses on a tray.

‘The kitchens are in an uproar,’ he announced. ‘Are we having company?’

‘It’s been like that all morning,’ Teresa informed him. ‘Lucia has been on the warpath.’

He set down the tray.

‘Perhaps she will join us for a drink,’ he said.

‘She will, if you ask,’ Teresa returned drily.

‘It might prove equally effective if you were to make the suggestion,’ Jaime told her. ‘There’s such a thing as an olive branch.’

Teresa flushed.

‘I could build a tree-house with the branches I’ve offered Lucia,’ she declared.

‘Another one won’t hurt, in that case,’ said Jaime, pouring the wine into their glasses.

Teresa rose reluctantly, but before she reached the communicating doors into the hall her stepmother was there. They stared at each other in silence.

‘What’s wrong?’ Teresa demanded, at last. ‘Are you ill?’

Lucia seemed unable to speak for a moment, one hand clutching the lace at her throat as if she were choking. Jaime stepped forward to take her by the arm, but she avoided his touch.

‘The ruby,’ she said in a hoarse whisper. ‘It has gone.’