‘Yes, thank you. I think I get the picture.’
‘But you haven’t heard it all yet. Our audience get Beba—and then you remind the viewers about Maria, the greatest flamenco dancer in Spain! She’s agreed to come for the filming, by the way—the old and the new, two for the price of one! What do you say, Zoë?’
‘I’d say if I was Maria I’d be pretty insulted.’
‘That’s where you come in to it. You write the script and make sure she isn’t insulted.’
‘I can see you’ve got it all worked out, Philip—but after I write the script what will I cook? You do remember this is a cookery series?’
‘Stop worrying, Zoë. I’ve got it all worked out. We’re going to have a café-style setting, with a fabulous selection of food.’
‘I see. And where are the ingredients coming from for this fabulous selection of food? And who is going to eat it all?’
‘There’s a vanload of produce arriving any time now. Come on, Zoë, don’t be difficult.’
The thought of having Beba under the same roof for a moment longer than necessary didn’t appeal—and Zoë wasn’t happy about casual arrangements for food she hadn’t picked out herself. But if she agreed she would be so frantically busy there would be no time to think about her personal problems…
‘The girls have been round the village already, and everyone is keen to come back and act as extras for the programme, so we have our audience.’
‘I do have some stock in the deep-freeze…’
‘Don’t get hung up on minor details, Zoë. This is going to be a sensational programme and you know it.’
‘Food is a pretty large ‘‘minor detail’’ on a cookery show,’ Zoë pointed out dryly. But it would prove to Beba—and Rico?—that she had bounced back without causing more than a ripple in her everyday schedule if she could pull it off. ‘OK, I’ll do it.’ And then something else occurred to her. ‘Was it you who installed Beba in my bedroom?’
‘No, of course not. I didn’t even know she had done that.’
His shock was genuine, Zoë realised. ‘Don’t worry, I moved her out. But you had better see she gets a nice suite of rooms if you want her happy for the programme.’
‘She’ll have the best.’
‘No—I’ve already got that,’ Zoë said, savouring her one small victory. She was starting to fire with enthusiasm. She always did for a new programme. ‘I’ll need some quiet time to work on the script, then I can get on to the food. When are we filming?’
‘Tonight.’
‘Tonight!’ Get over it, Zoë thought. True, it didn’t give her much time. But if they were filming, and Beba was dancing, Beba couldn’t be with Rico. That suited her. And if Beba could dance as well as everyone said, it would make great television…
Zoë worked on her script in the bedroom, where she knew she would be undisturbed. She had one call from Philip, to warn her that Beba had insisted on complete artistic control over her performance. Zoë was happy to give it to her. The film would be edited before it was shown. Philip also told her that Beba was now happily installed in one of the grandest suites at the castle. Zoë was relieved to hear she was keeping a low profile, and had been most co-operative. One less thing to worry about, she thought with relief, replacing the receiver.
By the time the food was ready Zoë had to admit the team had done a great job. The Great Hall looked magical. Jewel-coloured tapestries and Persian rugs glowed in the candlelight, and there were colourful floral displays everywhere.
The setting was that of an intimate cellar club, with café tables arranged in groups around a circular wooden stage. People from the village had started to arrive, and were already being shown to their places. Zoë smiled with anticipation. She couldn’t help it. This tense air of anticipation for the unexpected was what had drawn her to television in the first place.
But Rico was always there in her mind.
The worry, the uncertainty about him didn’t go away. There had still been no word from him. She had tried telling herself it didn’t matter, but that was a lie. All she wanted was for him to walk in now, walk up to her, take her in his arms and tell her she had nothing to worry about—that Beba meant nothing to him and never had.
There was no sign of Beba either.
People smiled, and she smiled back, but concern was nagging away at her. He should have been in contact by now. He drove too fast. Surely he hadn’t had an accident?
Zoë spun round as the door opened. ‘Maria! I’m so pleased you agreed to come.’
‘I wouldn’t miss this night for the world.’
‘Have you seen Rico?’
‘No.’ She looked at Zoë with concern.
‘I’m sorry, Maria, I’m sure he’ll be along later. How’s your arm?’
‘Sore, but mending. I don’t need the sling now, and I took the bandage off.’
‘That’s good.’ Zoë could see Maria felt her agitation. So much for not brandishing her private concerns in public! ‘You are dancing tonight? I’m sorry it’s such short notice…’
As Maria touched her arm she smiled warmly into Zoë’s eyes. ‘Maybe I will have the chance to dance with you, Zoë?’
I hope not—for the sake of the audience, Zoë thought wryly—though even that, whether she bodged it or not, would make good television. ‘Do you know Beba well?’ she said, returning to the subject uppermost in her mind.
‘Beba?’ Maria paused. ‘Yes, I know Beba.’
‘Was she always so friendly with Rico?’
‘You know about that?’
Zoë’s heart plummeted. Time to act her socks off. But they were standing very close, and Maria was very shrewd. ‘Yes, Rico told me all about it. They make a handsome couple.’
‘You do know that she used to be my pupil?’
‘Your pupil?’ Of course. It all made sense now. ‘I saw the poster at the mountain hut.’
‘My most celebrated pupil.’ There was an odd expression on Maria’s face.
‘I see.’
‘No, you don’t,’ Maria assured her, patting Zoë’s cheek.
‘Is she with Rico now?’
‘It would not surprise me.’
Zoë couldn’t stop now. ‘Have you seen them together here at the castle—tonight?’
‘Stop worrying, Zoë,’ Maria said gently. ‘Rico will be here. He will not let you down.’
He already had, Zoë thought.
Her legs felt like lumps of lead as she showed Maria to her table at the front of the stage. She felt sick and light-headed; there were icy cramps in her stomach. She really had no idea how she was going to get through the rest of the evening. But then the floor manager beckoned to her urgently. She welcomed the distraction. Work had always proved a refuge. Quite soon Wardrobe and Make-up would want her too, and she still had to make a crucial addition to her script to explain that Beba had been Maria’s star pupil. The news couldn’t have come at a more useful time. As far as the show went, Zoë reflected dryly, it couldn’t have worked out any better.
Half an hour later the cameras were ready to roll. The main lights had been switched off, and apart from the necessary television lights the only illumination now came from candlelight. It was the most romantic setting imaginable. But as Zoë stood waiting for her cue to introduce Beba she was sure her heart had shrivelled to the size of a nutmeg.
Her sights were firmly fixed on the single spotlight trained on the main entrance. The guitarist was already seated on his stool, and at any moment Beba would appear.
She started when the tio from the village touched her arm. She didn’t want to offend him by pointing out that the red light would flash on at any second.
‘You look worried.’ He frowned.
‘Always am just before we start recording,’ Zoë explained in a whisper. ‘Maria’s saving you a seat at the front.’
Worried? Concern was eating her up inside. Was Rico with Beba? How could Rico be with Beba? The two thoughts were spinning in her mind until sh
e thought she would go mad.
‘You must be looking forward to seeing Beba dance?’
‘She is a fine dancer.’
Zoë wondered at the tio’s lack of enthusiasm for the local star. Maria had taught Beba to dance, so surely Beba’s success reflected well on Cazulas as well as on her teacher?
A sudden sound made Zoë jump, and with another light touch to her arm the tio was gone. Preparing to do her voiceover, Zoë realised the sound she had heard was the rattle of castanets, played by an expert.
There was one more imperative tattoo, and then, wearing a scarlet dress so tight it might have been painted onto her naked body, Beba stepped into the spotlight—on the arm of Rico Cortes.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SHE couldn’t break down. Not here—not with everyone to see. Zoë forced her concentration on to the small performance area and cleared her mind of everything but the music—that and her commentary between the various dances.
Beba danced with such purpose, such certainty, it made Zoë shiver. It was as if the young flamenco dancer siphoned up energy from the music and spat it out again in furious movement. Her stabbing heels beat faster than a hummingbird’s wings, and there was such passion in her dance that inwardly Zoë recoiled from it. The swirling skirts of Beba’s tight scarlet dress shattered the air into smothering perfumed waves.
The dance ended on a crashing chord. The proud head tilted down and Beba’s fierce black stare found Zoë’s face. At the same moment Zoë knew Rico was making his way discreetly around the back of the hall towards her. After a brief moment of silence the thunderous applause came. She took the chance to move away, but someone caught hold of her arm.
‘Maria!’ Looking round, Zoë saw the tio was talking to Rico. They were trying to hold a conversation above the cheers, the shouts and the stamping feet—the tio had his hand cupped to his ear.
‘Do you hear that?’ Maria whispered in her ear.
How could she not? Zoë thought, forcing a smile. The noise was deafening.
‘Do you hear duende?’ Maria persisted.
‘No,’ Zoë admitted. She could hear, ‘Olé! Brava! Eso es!’
She really wanted to go. She couldn’t bear this any longer. What difference could one word make?
‘Now you will hear duende!’ Maria’s voice was commanding as she thrust the beautiful lilac dress she had been holding over her arm into Zoë’s hands.
‘Are you mad?’ Zoë looked down at it in amazement. ‘I could never follow that.’
‘I can.’ Maria’s eyes were twinkling again. ‘Let us go now, and change into our performance clothes.’
‘No!’
‘Would you let me down, Zoë? Would you?’ she said again, when Zoë remained silent. ‘I have told your director; he knows all about this. He says it will be the perfect final sequence for your series.’
Zoë shook her head, thinking of Rico and how he would view her dancing right after Beba’s spectacular display. She felt bad enough about the situation. How much humiliation could she take? ‘No, Maria. I don’t want to let you down, but I can’t do it.’
‘Yes, you can,’ Maria insisted fiercely. ‘Whatever happens on that stage, it will make good television.’
‘Maria, please—’
‘And I need you to help me into my dress. My arm, as I already told you, is still a little sore…’
Zoë made a sound of despair. She couldn’t refuse. And now the tio had finished talking to Rico, and he was making fast progress around the hall towards her. ‘All right,’ she agreed tensely. ‘I just hope you know what you are doing.’
‘Of course I do,’ Maria said firmly, pushing Zoë in front of her with her good arm.
Zoë would never know quite what happened on stage that night. She only knew that concern for Maria took her there, and the thought of how Rico had betrayed her supplied the passion.
Maria performed as she always did as if she had absorbed the emotional energy of every person in the audience and released it in breathtakingly fluid moves, and by the time the finale came Zoë hardly cared that Beba had joined them on stage.
‘Do you hear it now?’ Maria whispered in Zoë’s ear.
Zoë listened. She had been so absorbed in her dancing she was hardly aware that it had come to an end, and that now the three of them were standing side by side, acknowledging the gratitude of the audience.
The cries of ‘Duende!’ were coming from all around her, Zoë realised incredulously. She could hardly believe it, and then Rico was on stage too, and her mind was reeling as he seized her hands and raised them to his lips.
‘You did it, Zoë! You did it!’
He seemed pleased…even proud. And he looked so handsome, with his seductive mouth curving into a grin. She couldn’t bear it, and turned her face away. But he cupped her chin and brought her back so she had nowhere to look but into his eyes.
‘You have just earned the ultimate accolade in the world of flamenco, Señorita Chapman.’ Then he raised her arm and the crowd went wild.
Why didn’t you tell me about Beba? Why didn’t you warn me? Why did you make love to me when you knew she would be here? Was I just something to fill a gap in your schedule before you had to meet her?
All Zoë’s pleasure had drained away. She was like a rag doll, limp and unresponsive. Rico hadn’t noticed. He was already moving away from her to embrace his mother. Then finally he took Beba’s hand, and Zoë saw the way the dancer looked at him, her dark eyes shining with adoration as he raised her arm in a victory salute.
As another great roar went up Zoë felt her eyes fill with tears. She hated herself for the weakness and could think of nothing but getting away—out of the spotlight, out of Cazulas, and out of Spain. Everyone was happy to see Rico and Beba together again—of course they were. And she was a fool if she thought El Señor Alarico Cortes would choose a cook over his very beautiful, very gifted fiancée.
She could never stand by and see the man she loved with another woman at his side. She had built a new life, won back her self-respect. Making herself available whenever Rico had an itch to scratch was not for her. Smiling brightly at the cameras for the last time, Zoë seized the chance to slip away.
When the knocking started up on her bedroom door, Zoë clutched the sheet to her chest and stayed motionless, listening.
‘Zoë, it’s me,’ Rico called to reassure her. ‘Open the door.’
She tensed. Was Beba with him? No—even Rico would not go that far. But Maria was right; the Cortes family did move in sophisticated circles. Rico might think they could make love all day, and again at night, with Beba sandwiched in between. She would not open the door, no matter how much he knocked…
But he didn’t knock again. Zoë frowned. She couldn’t help but be disappointed that he had given up so fast.
She turned to the window. ‘Rico!’
‘You should lock these doors at night,’ he said, stepping into the room from the balcony.
‘I always do.’
‘Well, tonight you forgot.’
Instinct made her gaze past him, just to make sure he was alone.
‘Who are you expecting?’ he said quizzically.
‘I didn’t think Beba would want to be left alone.’
‘Beba is never alone.’ Rico laughed as he bent to switch on the light.
‘Do you mind? I’m asleep.’
‘No, you’re not—unless you talk in your sleep.’ He smiled as he sat down beside her.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’
‘I’m taking my shoes off. I don’t usually wear them in bed.’
‘You’re not getting into bed with me!’
‘Why not?’
‘Rico. I can’t—’
‘You can’t what, Zoë?’ He brushed a strand of hair back from her face. ‘I thought we’d got past this.’
Even though every fibre of her being was filled with longing she pushed his hand away. ‘Please—don’t.’
‘What’s happe
ned, Zoë?’
‘Beba happened.’
‘Beba?’
‘You went to her after you slept with me.’
‘She wanted to see me.’
‘You don’t even bother to deny it?’ Zoë stopped. She could hear the hysteria rising in her voice.
‘No. Why should I?’
This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. She had intended to be brisk and to the point, to confront him with facts, hear him out, and then tell him to go. But life was never that clear-cut, or that simple. She should have known. ‘I can’t do this, Rico—this is never going to work for me.’
‘What isn’t going to work for you, Zoë? Are you afraid of me? Is that why you’re pushing me away?’
She was afraid of him, but not in the way he thought. She didn’t have what it took to sustain a relationship. A career, yes—she had proved that—but for some reason it seemed she wasn’t meant to find happiness with a man. ‘I can’t believe you misled me again, Rico.’
‘About Beba?’ He stood up and looked down at her, the proud angles of his face harshly etched in the lamplight.
‘She told me—’
‘She told you what?’
‘That you and she were an item.’
‘Then she lied.’
‘You never cared for each other?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
Zoë didn’t want to hear any more; she couldn’t bear to. ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ she mumbled. Swinging her legs over the opposite side of the bed, she hurried to the bathroom. She closed the door and leaned back against it. Everything she had rebuilt before coming to Spain was in danger of collapsing, thanks to Rico.
But when she had calmed down a little she knew the answer didn’t lie in hiding away from him. Grabbing her robe down from the back of the door, she threw it on, belting it tightly. She went into the bedroom again, and switched on the main light.
‘Sit down, Rico.’ She pointed to the elegant sofa positioned to take in the view from the balcony. ‘We really need to get everything out in the open.’
Mediterranean Men Bundle Page 46