White Witch (4 page)

‘
Querida
, please, please not to weep,’ he besought her distractedly. Could this be Luis’ voice, that hard, sophisticated man with that tender note in it? She turned her face into his chest, as he held her closer. ‘
Pequena
, it is all over now. You must never go back to that dreary life. You shall have Pedro’s villa, and I ... we will take care of you.’

What heaven that would be, she thought, always to have his strength to support her, and wept harder, because of course it was impossible. Men didn’t make such offers without expecting a return, and she couldn’t pay his price.

‘Please dry your tears,’ he bade her softly. ‘You are soaking my shirt.’

She raised her head, smiling wanly, and wiped her eyes; the handkerchief smelt of sandalwood, The liquid notes of the guitar came up to them from the lounge below, and now a man was singing, his deep voice full of passionate yearning. A bowl of lilies and jasmine on the desk gave out a heady perfume; Laurel lay against him, wrapped in a sensuous dream.

But the serpent was invading Eden. Luis moved uncomfortably, his nostrils flared slightly, and his breathing quickened, while tremors ran through Laurel’s limbs. Gently she withdrew herself from his clasp, and he stood up. Going to the window, he closed it, and the song faded on a dying note. He came back and finished the wine in his glass, and when she was sure of her voice, she told him quietly:

‘You’re very generous, Luis, and oh, how I wish I could stay, but it isn’t possible.’

‘Why not?’

Was he being deliberately obtuse? He must know he was a match to her tinder; already she was longing to be back in his arms, to feel his lips on hers. Or did he know it very well and wanted to cash in upon the physical attraction between them? What would his family think of such an arrangement, and the so suitable
senorita
he must, marry? The very worst, even if it weren’t true, and she didn’t want to be present when Luis was courting his intended bride. She said steadily:

‘Because I’m English, and I don’t want to live permanently in Spain. I’m independent and don’t want to be beholden to anybody. I would like to marry, and probably shall, but it must be to an Englishman—we’ve seen how disastrous a mixed marriage can be, and I’m unlikely to meet an eligible husband here.’

Luis’ eyes narrowed. ‘You already have one in mind?’

She smiled. ‘A possibility,’ she lied.

He gave her a long smouldering look, and she tried to meet it bravely.

‘
Bueno
, you sound very positive, but you have only been here a few hours.’ (It seemed more like a year.) ‘I hope you will change your mind and learn to love Andalucia so much you will not want to leave it.’

But it wasn’t Andalucia she was learning to love.

CHAPTER FOUR

Laurel was awakened next morning by Peter thumping her pillow and pulling her hair.

‘Wake up, wake up! It’s time to go swimming.’

She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. ‘Good heavens, child, I’ve got to bathe and dress...
’

‘Not if you’re going in the pool.’

She remembered Luis’ threat to include her in the swimming lessons; she would like to acquire a little more suntan before exposing herself in a swimsuit; white limbs looked so naked among the bronzed bodies.

‘It’s too early,’ she said firmly, looking at her watch. ‘They won’t have uncovered the pool yet,’ for a net was drawn over it at night, ‘and we must have breakfast.’

It was only half past seven.

Peter looked mutinous. ‘Can I go and ’mind Tio Luis?’ he suggested. ‘Case he’s forgotten?’ Luis would not appreciate the intrusion of this small imp at that hour, though he was probably up to take advantage of the morning cool, as most Spaniards did, taking a siesta during the hot afternoons, but, Laurel thought mischievously, he had better learn to cope with small boys against the time when he had one of his own.

‘Very well,’ she agreed, and told him the room number.

She took a leisurely bath, wondering if Peter would return crestfallen, but he didn’t. Full marks for Uncle Luis! Dressed in her white outfit, she sat down to attend to her face, her mind reverting to the previous evening.

Before she left him, Luis had presented her with a thick wad of peseta notes, saying vaguely, ‘For current expenses.’ When she had protested he had told her not to be silly. She was giving up her time for Peter’s benefit and at least she must have pocket money if not a salary, and she must come to him when she needed more.

Laurel had finally accepted the money, though with reluctance. Dona Elvira had sent to them their tickets to Malaga, but her resources were perilously low, as Luis had surmised, which was thoughtful of him, though it irked her pride. She had said hastily that she was sure it would be ample for her small needs.

He had given her another of his penetrating looks, and told her caustically she should make the most of her opportunities, to which she had retorted that although the amount might be chickenfeed to him, she was not a sponger, a statement that seemed to amuse him.

They had parted with the usual handshake, though she had half expected him to kiss her, and was furious with herself for the keen disappointment she felt at this omission. Kisses must be strictly forbidden if she were to retain her sanity.

She had told Luis the truth when she had said she hoped to marry; it was the only way she could ever have a family of her own, and though no likely candidate for matrimony had yet presented himself, she was only twenty-four, and there was plenty of time. During the last three years she had had little opportunity to go out with men friends and had had to turn down those who had asked her, but now she would be on her own, and she could probably hitch up with one she liked—but, she thought ruefully, it was not going to be easy to eliminate the memory of jet black eyes in an aquiline brown face.

Laurel had not hurried, for Peter was presumably with his uncle and she did not want to join in the swimming session. She was thinking she ought to go in search of him when the boy came in carrying a dripping pair of underpants, and two thousand-peseta notes, which he plonked down on the table in front of her.

‘Tio says you must buy me some swimming trunks and those wing things to put on my arms,’ he told her. ‘Then I can go in alone as he won’t always be here. We can get them in Mijas.’

They looked at each other doubtfully.

‘I’d much rather he was around,’ Peter added dolefully.

‘So would I,’ Laurel agreed—for Peter’s sake, of course. ‘But we mustn’t forget he’s a busy man. We’ll go shopping after breakfast, if your grandmother doesn’t send for you.’

Peter didn’t look very enthusiastic about that, though he brightened when he remembered Pom-pom. He was passionately devoted to animals, and the restrictions of the flat had prevented him from keeping a pet. Laurel thought that if he could be given a puppy it might help to console him when she had to leave him.

But when they came into reception, they were informed that Senora de las Aguilas sent her compliments, but regretted she could not receive them that day as she had one of her migraines.

Feeling they had been granted a holiday, Laurel and Peter ran down the wide marble stairs lined with the universal aspidistras to the buffet where breakfast was served, for although the Hotel Isabella was only three storeys high from ground level, owing to the steep incline of the hill a large portion of it was below it, and here the buffet and restaurant were situated. The large central table was heaped with many varieties of bread rolls, conserves, fruit juices, fresh fruit, and there were hardboiled eggs for those who fancied them. On a counter coffee and tea were available in glass jugs on hotplates.

Peter was charmed and helped himself lavishly. They sat down at a table by the floor-to-ceiling glass windows along the outer wall. These looked on to a paved terrace, a grass lawn and an ancient olive tree. In very hot weather they were slid open, so the guests could sit outside. The manager himself came to speak to them and ensure that they all had what they wanted, being anxious to please his boss. Of Luis there was no sign.

Breakfast over, they set out to explore the town.

Mijas was built along a shelf in the mountains, steep tree-clad slopes going up behind it terminating in craggy peaks. They came first to an open square, below the rocky eminence Laurel had seen from Luis’ window, which had once been a fortress. The streets were on several levels, connected by steep picturesque alleyways. Mijas’ most advertised feature was the donkeys,
burro-taxis
they were called, provided to assist visitors up the slopes. A group of these patient little beasts were gathered in the square waiting for hire. Peter clamoured for a ride, but Laurel could not bring herself to mount one, they looked too small to bear an adult’s weight, though other people had no qualms. While he was gone she wandered among the nearer souvenir shops, which sold enormous Mexican hats, Spanish shawls, flamenco dolls, leather goods, inlaid woodwork which was done on the premises and every sort of bric-a-brac. She bought a miniature matador’s sword, which she knew Peter would love, as well as the trunks and water-wings, the two latter articles going in her capacious white handbag.

It was as Peter descended from his long-eared mount that she caught sight of Luis coming across the square towards them. Unlike the tourists, he wore a cream linen jacket, for the upper-class Spaniard is still formal in his dress, with a panama hat tilted at a rakish angle. Laurel’s heart began to perform acrobatics as he approached, but Peter saved her the necessity of speaking, as he called shrilly:

‘Hi, Tio Luis, I’ve learned to ride!’

Luis glanced contemptuously at the donkey.

‘A poor mount for a
caballero.
We must get you a pony.’

‘A pony?’ Peter gazed at him ecstatically. ‘Ooh, a pony! And a dog, and a cat...’

‘No, not a menagerie,’ his uncle said firmly. He turned to Laurel. ‘What do you think of Mijas?’

‘I haven’t seen much of it yet,’ she told him, now in complete control of herself. ‘I’ve just bought Peter’s things...’

‘What’s that?’ Peter interrupted, catching sight of the sword, which would not go in her bag.

‘A little present for you.’

‘Trash,’ Luis muttered, but he smiled indulgently at the boy’s delight in the toy. ‘When you have finished waving that lethal weapon about, let me show you the bullring where it is used.’

‘Is there one?’ Laurel asked doubtfully.

He gave her a satirical grin. ‘Of course, but there is also a fine view from the top of the hill where it is situated.’

‘That will be more to my liking.’

He conducted them up a steep slope at the side of the castle rocks, and they came out on the top in an open space, on which there was a church, a magnificent view as promised, for the ground dropped sheer away on the farther side to the rolling country below, and the bullring. It was not very large and used only very occasionally, but weather-worn posters were evidence that it was. Luis showed Peter the entrance through which the bull came, which he must call
toro.

‘
Toro, burro
—soon I know lots of words,’ the boy declared proudly.

‘The sooner the better,’ Luis observed drily.

They went into the small circular arena, and Peter became wildly excited, rushing about shouting: ‘Come on,
toro,
come and fight me,
toro
!’ waving his sword, until his uncle captured him.

‘Calm down,
chico
! You appear to have the Spanish excitable temperament, and their delight in making a noise.’ He said it with satisfaction. ‘Shall we go back and find some refreshment?’

They returned the way they had come, and found an open-air cafe, wedged in a corner, a few steps up from the road. Luis seated them at a table under a striped umbrella and a waiter came hurrying to take their order. Laurel looked about her with pleasure, at the white buildings on either side, the stairway behind them going up to a higher level, with above them the blue sky, and in front a border of roses between them and the street. The sun poured down, the golden sunshine which brought so many people to Spain.

‘This is nice,’ she said contentedly.

‘Ah, Andalucia is beginning to weave its spell about you.’

She met his laughing glance across the table, and there was a wicked glint in his black eyes. His brown, shapely hand lay within inches of her own on the table top, and she dropped her eyes to it, aware of turmoil in her breast. It was not his country that had laid a spell on her, but the man himself, a dark enchantment that chained her senses. He covered her slender fingers with his own.

‘Cannot you bear to look at me?’ he asked softly.

Every nerve thrilled at his touch. Far from decreasing, his fascination grew with each passing moment. Peter was gazing up at a caged canary hanging on the houses opposite, pouring out its little heart in song, and did not notice their clasped hands.

‘The sun is in my eyes,’ Laurel explained. ‘I must put on my dark glasses.’ She made to withdraw her hand, but Luis’ grip tightened.

‘Then I shall not be able to watch your expressions. You have very eloquent eyes, Laurel, they show your moods.’

Which was exactly why she wanted to obscure them. She gave him a nervous smile, and then to her relief the waiter arrived with their refreshment, ice cream for Peter, orange juice for her and beer for Luis.

As soon as her hand was free, and he loosed it as soon as the man approached, Laurel fished out her sunglasses from her handbag and fixed them firmly on her nose.

‘Eclipsed,’ she said provocatively.

‘If we were not in a public place, I would soon have them off, and perhaps...’ his eyes went to the narrow bands supporting the top of her sleeveless cotton blouse, ‘other things besides.’

It was the first time he had made a suggestive remark, and Laurel looked at him disdainfully.

‘I think you must have got a touch of the sun,’ she rebuked him.

His face changed, became sombre, and he sat back in his chair, seeming to withdraw into himself.

‘You are an enticing little witch, Laurel,’ he said coldly, ‘but you do right to remind me that I cannot afford to indulge in midsummer madness.’

‘Who’s mad?’ Peter enquired, his interest caught.

‘Your uncle has occasional bouts of lunacy,’ Luis informed him. ‘Fortunately they can be controlled before any real damage is done.’ He turned his shoulder to Laurel, as he informed the boy that on the morrow he had to go on business to Seville, but the day after they would go to Ronda.

‘To see my hotel?’

‘And other things.’ He began to talk about that town, but his manner was abstracted. Laurel felt she had been snubbed by this exclusion, but what else could she expect? To flirt with Luis was to play with fire, and they both knew it. It would have been more generous to allow her to be one to withdraw, but perhaps he feared she wouldn’t. It was galling to think that he might imagine she wanted to encourage him.

Their refreshments finished, he asked when Peter was going to see his grandmother, almost as if he suspected she was trying to keep him from her, which was totally unjust. Coldly she explained about the migraine, of which it seemed he had not been informed, adding that in the meantime she supposed they could amuse themselves as they pleased.

‘Riding
burros
?’ he asked with a sneer. ‘You are not
turistas
.’

‘We are this morning,’ she retorted. ‘Don’t be stuffy, Luis—all this,’ with a sweep of her hand she indicated the crowded square, ‘is new and exciting to us both.’

‘You are easily pleased.’ Then he begged to be excused—he had an errand to perform, and must leave them. ‘Do not stay too long out in the sun,’ were his parting words.

‘Why does he change like that?’ Peter, who was a perceptive child, demanded. ‘First he was quite matey, then he goes all snooty.’

‘He must have remembered some business worry,’ Laurel said vaguely. Luis had changed because he had recalled his position and that it hardly became it to be exchanging backchat with a little nobody in public, for in spite of his gallantries, that was all she was to him.

Next morning, Peter refused to go in the pool in spite of the water-wings, and loudly deplored his uncle’s absence. Laurel was still trying to persuade him when Esteban came out of the hotel to tell her his mother had recovered and wanted him to fetch Pedrillo to spend the morning with her and stay to lunch. He seemed embarrassed, and guessing what was troubling him, Laurel declared it was an excellent idea to have Pedro to herself for a while. He seemed relieved and flashed her a grateful smile.

‘
Bueno,
she thinks he will more quickly adjust if you are not always with him. Not that we do not appreciate your care of him,
comprende
?’

She did, all too well. Grandmother wanted to wean Peter from her as quickly as possible. He went off quite happily with Esteban, ‘to see Pompom.’ The dog was much more to his fancy than the lady.

The hotel seemed extraordinarily empty without Luis and Peter, though there were plenty of pleasant people willing to talk to her. Laurel had her hair done—the place had its own beauty salon—and lay in the sun, treating her arms and legs with sun lotion. She was pleased to see they were browning nicely. Esteban brought Peter back at siesta time, and was quite prepared to flirt with her, but Laurel was not responsive, for Peter seemed subdued and she knew there was something wrong. She said the boy needed a nap and she must take him indoors, much to Esteban’s disgust.

‘
Hasta manana
,’ he said, shaking her hand and gazing soulfully into her eyes. ‘I am hoping his business keeps Luis in Sevilla, and we can go without him. He ... what do you say, cramps my style.’

Thank God for that, Laurel thought, for she had no wish to become involved with the young Spaniard, though he was nearer her own age than his brother. Although she knew Luis’ society
was far
from good for her, she was looking forward to the expedition ... in his company.

Their room was dim and cool, the chambermaid having drawn the curtains against the sun; not being sun-starved like the British, the natives knew the value of shade.