White Witch (6 page)

‘Who would not?’ He smiled down at her. ‘Red roses, a charming companion, the mood of the moment.’

The mood of the moment ... it would pass.

He glanced at his watch. ‘I am afraid it is time to go, we must find Peter and Esteban.’

‘Oh dear!’ Laurel had forgotten all about Peter. She quickened her steps towards the hotel. ‘I shouldn’t let Peter be such a bother to Esteban. Your brother is very good-natured.’

‘More so than I,’ Luis observed drily.

‘Oh, you have your good points,’ Laurel said flippantly. With the reminder of the others, the charmed atmosphere was dissolving. He gave her a dark look.

‘I am no chivalrous knight, Laurel, but a very human man.’

Was that a warning?

They found Peter and Esteban playing ball with an off-duty receptionist, who was flirting with Esteban. She vanished when she caught sight of Luis, and the young man gave them a worried look.

‘We thought you had got lost.’

‘So we were, for a little while, but we have returned to the mundane world, and it is time we left.’ Luis threw Laurel a wry look. ‘The sinners have been ejected from Paradise.’

‘You do say funny things,’ Peter told him. ‘This isn’t Para ... Para ... what you said, Tio Luis, that means Heaven, where Mummy is. This is just an ordinary garden.’

‘So it is,’ Laurel sighed.

But it had not seemed ordinary to her.

Luis laughed, and patted Peter on the head. ‘Out of the mouths of babes...’

‘I’m not a baby, Tio,’ Peter protested, ‘and you said you’d show me the bullring before we left.’

The harsher side of Spain.

Luis drove them back into the older part of the town. This Plaza de Toros was the largest in the world and the only one to have a stone parapet. An annual
corrida
was held there in honour of Pedro Romero, who had compiled the rules of modern bullfighting, and the Rondan style is considered the purest form of that sanguinary art. Luis showed Peter his statue before they left. The boy stared up at the proud arrogant face with awe.

‘When I grow up I’m going to be a matador and kill six thousand bulls,’ he declared.

His uncles laughed, but Laurel felt sick. The child didn’t know what he was talking about, of course, nor did he connect the unfortunate bulls with his love of animals, but sometimes she wished he was not half Spanish, for lovable as he was, there might well be concealed in him the cruel streak she had detected in Luis.

‘My name is Pedro too,’ he added proudly, for the first time accepting the Latinised form of Peter.

Esteban suggested that they should return by the new road to Marbella and the coast; it was spectacular and Laurel would enjoy the run.

The road certainly was spectacular, running in long loops, blasted in places out of the living rock, with sheer mountain on one side and deep ravines on the other, but Laurel did not enjoy it. She gave a sigh of relief when they reached sea level and the coast, for though Luis was an excellent driver she had had qualms during the descent.

When she was back in the hotel, she put her rose in a glass of water. As she removed it from her blouse, a thorn pricked her bosom, the tiny drop of blood oozed up on her white skin, the same colour as the rose. Heart’s blood, she thought wryly as she wiped it away, but if she were not wary, she might well receive a much deeper wound and one that could not be so easily staunched. For she knew now that she was falling in love with Luis, and could anything be more disastrous?

He desired her, she was not so naive that she did not realise that, but desire was not love and he was going to marry the so suitable Senorita Cristina Ordonez who lived in Seville. He would never dream of allying himself with Laurel Lester, dowerless and of unknown antecedents. Nor, with the fiasco of her sister’s marriage, ever present in her mind, could she contemplate a union with a Spaniard. Pedro and Joanna had rushed into matrimony, and what a tragedy it had all been.

Luis had hinted at an affair, but that was out of the question. Nameless orphan she might be, but she valued her integrity, and she was well aware that she was vulnerable. Although she was nearing her mid-twenties, she had never until now been strongly attracted to a man, and had felt no temptation to yield to the propositions which had been offered to her during her working life, the penalty for being good-looking and attractive. She had in fact been a little scornful of her colleagues’ experiments, which seemed to have little to do with real or lasting love, and she had had no experience of the power of sex. What an irony of fate that two such incompatible beings should be drawn together by the chemical reaction of their bodies over which they had no control. But it must be controlled, because Peter’s uncle was strictly forbidden. The Aguilas family had a poor enough opinion of the Lester girls without adding to it by embarking upon a liaison with its senior member, and she would hate to do anything to give Peter reason to be ashamed of her when he was old enough to understand.

Luis too must be well aware of all this, and in his heart knew there could never be anything between them. They had been given one idyllic day and that must content them. He would not want to risk his chances with Cristina by creating any gossip, and in a hotel like this one, scandal was quickly spread. He would realise, as she did only too well, that they must avoid each other in future. Eventually she would return to England and be severed from him for ever.

The fragrance of the rose filled the room, and she touched it gently with one fingertip. Red rose of Ronda—were not roses the epitome of romance? But her romance could only be, as Luis had said, the mood of a moment.

She would have her memories to look back upon in the lonely days ahead when Peter and Luis had forgotten her, and they must be her consolation. She felt tears start to her eyes as she contemplated the separation. Then Peter came bursting into the room demanding to know if his supper was ready, and she blinked them back as she went to minister to his needs.

The red rose dropped a petal on the wooden table where Laurel had placed it. It would not last long.

CHAPTER SIX

As the summer advanced, the weather became much hotter, the countryside took on a burnt-up look, the lawns surrounding the swimming pool had to be watered daily to keep them green. The days fell into a routine. In the early morning Peter swam, but with Esteban, not Luis. Then he went to the Casa for Spanish lessons, with a somewhat formidable middle-aged gentleman to whom surprisingly he took a fancy.

‘He tells me lovely stories,’ he confided to Laurel, ‘all about El Cid, the Moors, Cortes and Piz ... something, who conquered the Asticks and the Incas.’

‘Aztecs,’ Laurel corrected him mechanically. So Peter was also learning the history of his nation. He spent more and more time with his grandmother, who invited other children to play with him from impeccable Spanish families, but they never came to the hotel, occasionally he spent a night there—in his own room. Laurel knew her time there was running out.

She had little contact with Luis, she had hoped ... and feared he would go away, for she gathered that he seldom stayed for long in one place, but he continued to live at the Reina Isabella and she was always conscious of his unseen
presence. Occasionally
she encountered him in the foyer, the restaurant or on the terraces, and he would exchange a few polite commonplaces, but though their words were few, their eyes were eloquent, hers were unknowingly wistful, and his would kindle with smouldering fire. The attraction between them was undiminished, and their chance meetings were more of a torment than a pleasure. On the rare occasions when she was invited to the Casa, Dona Elvira referred to Cristina as Luis’
novia
, and the engagement seemed to be a foregone conclusion, except by the principals. Why, oh, why, Laurel thought despairingly, didn’t Luis take himself off to Seville and clinch the matter? Esteban, who was more often at the Reina than his mother’s house, told her that if his brother continued to procrastinate, the lady would become tired of waiting for him to declare himself and he would lose her. Mama was becoming anxious about it.

‘Then what’s he waiting for?’ Laurel asked.

Esteban shrugged his shoulders, ‘My brother is unpredictable,’ and looked at her thoughtfully. But she couldn’t be the impediment, for Luis would never turn from his duty because of her.

They were sitting by the pool, as Esteban had been giving her swimming lessons while Peter was absent. She was seeing a great deal of him, for he seemed to have taken it upon himself to entertain her. He was on holiday after completing his military service and was in no hurry to take up the management of yet another of the family hotels, which employment had been provided for him, declaring he deserved a long vacation after the rigours of army life.

‘Mercedes blames you for his dilatoriness,’ Esteban said bluntly.

‘She would—your sister would like to blame me for everything,’ Laurel declared a little bitterly, for the Spanish girl continued to be antagonistic in spite of all her endeavours to placate her; it seemed she could never forgive her for being Joanna’s sister, ‘but I’m not guilty. I’ve hardly exchanged more than a dozen words with Luis since we went to Ronda, and that’s a fortnight ago.’

She sighed, recalling that perfect day, but Luis had made it very plain there was to be no aftermath, not that she had expected one, and he had left her swimming instruction to his brother.

She was reclining on one of the mattress-covered loungers, a towelling wrap more or less covering her one-piece swim suit, rather less than more. Their mattresses were set in the shade of the trees overhanging the garden, for it had become too hot to sit in the sun. She had tanned to a rich brown, against which her silvery hair made a striking contrast, and her eyes looked a brilliant hue. Esteban was gazing at her admiringly.

‘Has Luis made love to you yet?’ he asked suddenly.

Laurel sat up abruptly. ‘Good God, no! What do you think I am?’

‘The most adorable, lovely girl it has ever been my luck to meet.’

‘Oh, shut up,’ she said rudely, for she hated that sort of talk which she never believed to be sincere.

‘
Luz de mi vida
, must you always trample on my heart?’

Laurel knew she attracted him, and he enjoyed flirting with her, but he was not serious, else she would not have dared to spend so much time with him.

‘It will soon recover, it’s a very elastic organ. What about Pilar in Malaga and Maddalena in Torremolinos?’

‘But I may never be alone with them,’ he said mournfully. ‘You do not know, Laurel, how formal and tedious Spanish courtship can be. There has to be weeks of bowing and scraping before one may take a girl out, and then one may only hold her hand for five minutes. The
senoritas
know the drill and insist upon it being followed precisely, though they are becoming more accommodating now. Foreign competition has broken their monopoly.’

‘Poor Esteban,’ she said mockingly, ‘but if all this lengthy ritual has to take place, Luis may still be in the early stages, and therefore your mother has no cause for anxiety.’

‘But the suitor must present himself nearly every day, and Luis has not been to Sevilla since Cristina returned from Madrid.’

‘Oh, really?’ Laurel tried not to feel elated by this information. The last thing she wanted to do was to come between Luis and his prospective bride—correction, she was willing herself to believe that, but jealousy could not be entirely eliminated. At times she hated poor Cristina, whom she had never met, for being all the things she herself was not.

Esteban observed: ‘A Spanish woman’s pride will not permit her to reproach a faithless lover, but she might stick a knife into him, given the opportunity.’

‘But are Luis and Cristina, I mean Senorita Ordonez, lovers?’

‘Only metaphorically speaking. Too bad if another Aguilas jilts the lady, and for the same reason,’ he grinned mischievously. ‘Pale gold hair.’

‘Don’t talk nonsense,’ she said crossly, for she was finding the subject painful; if Luis was neglecting his intended it was not because of her.

‘It is not nonsense. You and your sister have a lot to answer for. The Lester lure seems to be irresistible to the Aguilas. Pedro, Luis, myself have all been caught by it.’

Laurel swung her legs off the couch and stood up.

‘I’m not going to stay here any longer and listen to you...’

‘What was that about the Lester lure?’ said a deep voice behind her. Laurel’s heart gave a leap and she clutched her scanty robe more closely round her. She did not look round as Esteban replied jokingly:

‘An apt description, do you not agree,
mi hermano
?’

‘Very.’ Luis’ tone was dry.

Laurel swung round, lovely colour suffusing her tanned cheeks, blue eyes sparkling.

‘Are you trying to insult me too?’

He was either on his way to, or returning from some business assignation, for he was immaculately dressed—lightweight fawn trousers, holland jacket, white silk shirt and black tie, which he still wore for Pedro. By contrast, his hair and eyes looked blacker than ever, and he was burned to the colour of teak by the sun.

‘I think Esteban meant a compliment, not an insult,’ he returned mildly. ‘Little witch,’ he added below his breath, his eyes sliding over her long bare legs.

‘Then be careful I don’t put a spell on you,’ she said daringly, as excitement stirred in her under his scrutiny.

‘You have,’ he said simply.

‘There, what did I tell you?’ Esteban cried triumphantly. ‘Mercedes was right.’

‘I do not know what Mercedes has been saying, but it was probably inaccurate and unpleasant,’ Luis retorted. He turned to Laurel, who though she knew she ought to retreat was loath to leave his presence. ‘Your swimming is coming along well, Esteban is to be congratulated on his pupil.’ ‘Do you mean you’ve been watching me? When? How?’

‘My suite overlooks the pool, remember? I found the spectacle diverting.’

He had never appeared on the balcony, so she had had no idea that he had been there, watching from the interior, like an animal in its lair. Her efforts had not always been very dignified, and had certainly not been intended as an amusement for him. She said stiffly:

‘I should have thought you would have had better things to do.’

He shook his head, laughing at her dismay, a flash of white teeth in his dark face.

‘Would you deny me such an innocent pleasure? You look charming in only a swimsuit, but might I suggest a bikini might be even better? You can buy them in Fuengirola, two little wisps of material.’

‘Oh, you!’ She clenched her fists. She did not know him in this mood, teasing, mocking, two little derisory devils dancing in his jet black eyes.

‘That is a very good idea,’ Esteban agreed, brown eyes alight with mischief. ‘You can probably get them in Mijas. I will help you choose what suits you.’

‘You will do nothing of the sort,’ Laurel told him coldly. ‘And if you two can’t talk sensibly, I’m going in.’

‘What can I say to please you?’ Esteban asked reproachfully. ‘If I compliment you, you say shut up, if I offer my assistance, you threaten to desert me. They are bringing out the lunch, can we all have it here together?’

‘I am afraid I cannot stay for it.’ Luis’ manner changed to chill formality. ‘I have an appointment in Sevilla.’

His eyes met Laurel’s, and now they were hard as frozen tar. She felt as if a cold wind had blown over her.

‘Courting?’ Esteban asked flippantly.

‘Mind your own business,’ Luis snapped. ‘
Adios
.’

They watched the tall lithe figure stride away and vanish into the hotel.

‘So that is why he was all dressed up,’ Esteban commented. He glanced compassionately at Laurel. ‘I am afraid he has taken Mama’s warning to heart.’

‘It doesn’t worry me what he does,’ Laurel told him with a fine assumption of indifference. ‘Would you mind if I went in? I ... I’ve got a headache coming on, the sun is so strong.’

‘No,
querida
,’ he said gently, ‘but I would like to say this, I would rather have you for a sister than that stuck-up piece in Sevilla, whatever Mercedes says.’

Laurel smiled wanly. ‘Thank you, Esteban, but don’t talk about impossibilities. I’m sure if you think about it, you won’t want
another
English sister-in-law.’

‘You are quite different from Joanna,’ he said quickly.

‘You can’t be sure. Be seeing you!’

Esteban watched her walk away with an uncharacteristically troubled look in his merry eyes.

Forestalling Laurel’s request for a puppy for Peter, Dona Elvira had given him a dog, not what Laurel would have chosen, but a white poodle bitch. She was to be his very own, his grandmother told him, but of course he could not take her into the hotel. Later on, Fifi and Pom-pom would mate and then there would be little ones. Rather to Laurel’s surprise, these Spaniards had no inhibitions about discussing the facts of life. Peter was charmed with the idea, but as Laurel had not seen Fifi, she must come and be introduced.

She promised to come one morning when his Spanish lesson was over, and duly presented herself. There was no one about, and since she was no stranger, she walked in and knocked on the
salon
door, expecting Peter would be with his grandmother. Guessing who it was, he flew to open the door, and too late she realised there was a visitor, while she hastily excused herself; Mercedes, who was present, said in English to the stranger:

‘It is Pedro’s nursemaid, she has come to fetch him.’

This description was meant to humiliate her, but Peter thwarted her object.

‘She’s not,’ he cried, ‘she’s my
tia
, same as you.’

‘Of course,’ Dona Elvira intervened. ‘Cristina, may I present Senorita Lester? Laurel, this is the Senorita Ordonez.’

On the principal that if the mountain wouldn’t come to Mahomet, Mahomet must go to the mountain, Mercedes had asked Cristina to stay, for there
was
a spare room. She expected that the girl’s actual presence would spur her brother into action, and as much as she could feel friendship for anyone, Cristina came into that category.

Cristina held out a flaccid hand, and Laurel touched her fingers. So this was Luis’
novia.
She was as Esteban had described her, dark, handsome, and looked capable of passion. What he had not mentioned was her matt creamy skin and her huge dark eyes. She was short and plump, and would be stout later on if she were not careful, she presented the complete antithesis of the slender English girl with her pale colouring. Her eyes narrowed, as she asked coldly:

‘Joanna de las Aguilas’ sister, I presume?’

‘And very like her,’ Mercedes said with emphasis, and she did not mean only in looks.

Cristina was playing with a little lace fan, attached by a ribbon to her wrist. She wore an expensive silk suit patterned in rich dark colours, and very high-heeled black shoes. Her hair was parted in the middle and drawn into a knot on her nape. There were rings on all her fingers and pearl studs in her ears. Laurel’s eyes went instinctively to her left hand and she then remembered that meant nothing in Spain and the significant token was a bracelet.

‘I hope that you enjoy your visit,’ Cristina said politely. She had a strong accent and her English was not very fluent. Her dark eyes expressed animosity, but she could not be expected to feel friendly towards the kin of the woman who had stolen her first
novio.

‘Yes, very much,’ Laurel returned mechanically. ‘Please forgive me for intruding. I didn’t know anyone was here, and Peter wanted me to see his dog.’