The Flesh and the Devil (56 page)

         
Through the iron grille that fenced the balcony she could
see the plaza below with its great bronze fountain, and the clusters of people
who were always gathered round the basin to find coolness in the heat of the
day. Today the crowds had lessened, for the fiesta was over at last and the
town was lapsing back into its customary quietness, and only a score or so were
lounging or strolling below, their shapes etched sharply against the ochre of
the dusty ground. Her eyes had traveled over them unseeingly, but now something
– some sense of familiarity truer than reason or sight – held her transfixed.

         
She stared down almost unbelievingly, stupid with shock.
The man beside the fountain was leaning negligently against one of the green
bronze dolphins that ornamented the coping, half-hidden in its shadow. He was
dressed in a grey doublet that she had never seen before, and a broad-brimmed hat
shielded his face, but the immense lean height and breadth of shoulder were
unmistakable: Felipe Tristán was watching house, with the untiring patience of
a lion awaiting its kill.

         
Juana forced her gaze away, fighting to quell her inward
panic. She could not guess how he had found her out, but he had not seen her,
and there were still bars between them – she had set them there herself. With a
sudden swift sweep, she whirled and walked back down the room again, to sink in
a billow of satin before Dona Jerónima. Nothing in her expression of haughty,
frozen calm showed that she felt as if she had been stabbed to the heart as she
turned her back on him.

         
‗I think you will prove a sensation,‘ the widow
remarked with a tinge of mockery. ‗My friends will be struck dumb. Now,
off with that gown and try on the scarlet taffeta. Yes, I know you do not like
the colour, but later, when you come to know more of our ways, you may wish for
a bolder choice. The colour should become you well – you need not be so timid.‘

         
Juana forced her mind away from the picture of Michaela,
peacocking in her mistress‘s scarlet gown. With an effort, she said, ‗Señora,
I beg you not to place too many hopes upon these amusements unless they are for
your own pleasure. I am still determined to go to -‘

         
‗Oh, that tedious convent of yours!‘ Dona Jerónima
stifled a yawn, but her eyes were bright and hard. ‗Well, but you must
allow me a few weeks‘ diversion first, that I insist upon! Then, if you still
wish to shut yourself up for the rest of your life, I promise I shall help you.
But you cannot blame me for seeking to turn you from your purpose, can you,
when your presence here brings me so much pleasure? Life has much more to offer
one such as you, Margarita, than years of repentance in a bare cell.‘

         
Juana glanced back at the window as though compelled, and
then flashed suddenly, ‗Nothing that I want – or deserve,‘ before she
turned to the waiting Sanchia for help in discarding her dress. She did not see
Dona Jerónima‘s grimace, a mingling of astonishment and mockery.

         
‗Indeed? What a sinful child you must be! For my
sake, then, put on a better countenance. To please an old woman, yes?‘

         
The question was smooth and deliberately outrageous, and
Juana gave a little wordless sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh as some
of the tautness went out of the set of her slender shoulders.

         
‗For your sake then, señora. Thank you.‘

         
The house appeared to be in a ferment, Felipe Tristán noted
grimly. Tradesmen flocked to and from Dona Jerónima‘s door, but no guests save
the fat mayor, who called in the morning and stayed a bare half-hour. No
question that la vuida was setting up trade again, but it seemed that the
bidding was not yet open.

         
By chatting idly with some comers, Tristán had learned that
Dona Jerónima was providing for a young guest, some niece or cousin perhaps,
and that Don Bautista Zorilla had given his guarantee for payment of all the
bills. One disgruntled tailor had confided that he had vowed never to work for
that witch again except for cash, but Don Bautista dared not renege on his
promise lest his wife should find out that he had given it. Tristán had thanked
the man civilly, and the tailor had gone away wondering what bad turn Don
Bautista had served the tall one, and thanking his stars he had had no part in
whatever it had been.

         
In three days there had been no sign of Juana, by sight or
sound – clearly Dona Jerónima did not mean to allow her latest bait outside the
web she was weaving so swiftly. And the problem of how to gain access to the
house remained insoluble.
La viuda
‘s servants, old and new, admitted
none who were neither known nor vouched for, and there would not be time to
gain their confidence, to talk with them as fellows and earn acceptance so. And
the turmoil of preparation ensured that the house never slept. Tristán‘s
knuckles were white beneath his casually folded arms; time was running out
quickly. At any moment Dona Jerónima might complete her preparations and loose
her new merchandize to the wealthy and well-born of Villenos.

        
A strain of music from a nearby street made him turn his
head sharply, for such extravagance was rare so far from the great cities,
where the nobles of Spain required musicians to play to them to relieve the
tedium of walking. It seemed that lesser folk, too, had studied pretension. Two
pages in gaudy silks, playing upon lutes, preceded an azure canopy borne by
four liveried servants. Beneath it an elegant lady walked on the arm of a
tottering greybeard, followed by two waitingwomen and an overdressed youth who
carried a lapdog in his arms. Tristán studied the spectacle for a few moments,
contempt clear in his eyes, and then suddenly his whole frame stiffened
indefinably, like a big cat which sees a bird; totally, almost hypnotically
still. Then a slight, wry smile twisted his scarred mouth, and as the little
procession approached he swept off his hat and gave a mocking, unhurried bow.

         
The glint of fire on his uncovered head must have caught
the lady‘s attention, because she glanced round sharply and she eyes
immediately widened.

         
‗Is it – can it be Felipe?‘

         
The impatient snap of her fingers silenced the
lute-players, and the entourage came to an abrupt halt. Tristán straightened,
looking down at her with enigmatic eyes.

         
‗You have the advantage of me, señora.‘

         
‗You know me, I think.‘ Her eyes ran over him
admiringly, then lifted to his face with a half-hint of challenge.

         
He inclined his head. ‗Yes, I know
you
. But
not your name, now.‘

         
She threw back her head and laughed, showing off the
magnolia column of her throat; small teeth showed like pearls between her
reddened lips. ‗How foolish of me, of course you do not! It has been a
long time – twele years? Or is it longer than that?‘

         
He recognized the alert sparkle in her eyes and knew that
the words were a test to see whether he, too, remembered. He shrugged
indifferently. ‗Long enough. How is it with you, Dona Elena?‘

         
She smiled dazzlingly. ‗Never better! I am the
Condesa Argote de Molina now – this gentleman is my husband. The Conde.‘

         
Tristán bowed without comment. The thin, stooped figure
with the straggling white goatee, peering up at him with a sort of irritated
resentment, might have been grandsire to the lovely, glowing woman on his arm.
She had changed since he saw her last, he thought: her hair, a darker red than
his own, was piled high in the smooth style he remembered, but beneath it her
face was fuller, her figure more opulent. Plump fingers slid from the Conde‘s
arm and touched her throat as if to draw his attention to its smoothness.

         
‗Elena,‘ the old man muttered peevishly, ‗who
is this? Do I know him?‘

         
‗I do, Iñigo dear. Is it an old friend, whom I have
not seen for many years –

         
and whom I am delighted to see again.‘

         
The Conde subsided, muttering, ‗Never know…so many
friends…‘ and his wife patted his veined hand before she looked up at Tristán
with a defiant glint in her eyes. He said without expression, ‗My
felicitations, Condesa,‘ and a hint of colour crept into her creamy cheeks.

         
‗You must be newly returned, or I would have seen you
before. Do you make a long stay in the town, señor?‘

         
‗I had not planned to -‘ the gaze that held hers was
steady and somehow disquieting, she thought – ‗but I fear my dispositions
must be altered. It seems I must regain something I lost before I can go where
I will.‘

         
A flash of interest lit the Condesa Elena‘s lovely face,
and her eyes sparkled. ‗
Must!
‘. She gave a husky, breathless
little laugh. ‗You were not wont to be so peremptory – it would have
served you better than pining and writing verses.‘ One gloved hand toyed with
the knot of green ribbons at her breast. ‗The years have improved you, I
think.‘

         
‗The years have certainly been kinder than my fellow
creatures.‘

         
The hint of steeliness beneath the courteous reply caught
her attention and she stared, then gave a little gurgle of laughter, her lips
parting provocatively.

         
‗Ah, my poor Felipe! Those friends of mine left their
mark on you, did they not? I never meant it so! Yet I cannot believe -‘ her
voice altered subtly – ‗that yonder scratch has hindered you in any
matters of courtship. Most women prefer a man who looks like a man and not like
a wench in breeches.‘

         
‗I should thank you, then, for ensuring my success
with the gentler sex.‘

         
There was nothing in Tristán‘s expression but an
impenetrable politeness. ‗You must have thought me unmannerly not to do so
at first, and I crave your pardon.‘

         
A look of doubt crept into her eyes for an instant, but
then the Conde‘s hand plucked at hers. ‗Elena…‘