Image of Love

by Rebecca Stratton

  What stunned Rosanne for the moment was that he had simply walked away and said nothing about finding her in what would appear to be his private study; that was something she did not begin to understand, and it troubled her. Her legs were unsteady as she made her own way back to the sala and she wondered how on earth she was going to face him when she got there.

  For sure she had been given Beatriz's permission to look at the miniatures he owned, but she had not found them at all. Almost certainly she had somehow misunderstood the directions given to her and strayed into the wrong room, but that simply made it more difficult to understand why Don Jaime had not immediately demanded to know what she was doing in his private room.

  With a shaking hand she opened the door of the sala and at once three pairs of dark eyes turned to her. It was at Don Jaime that she looked first, instinctively and because she could not help herself, and he' looked at her down the length of that arrogant and aristocratic nose in a way that brought shivers to her spine as she walked across to join them.

  Marta, it seemed, had suggested it was time that they leave, but from politeness both Don Jaime and Beatriz had pressed her to stay longer. Almost as if she sensed there was something amiss, Marta renewed her insistence on leaving when Rosanne joined them, but Beatriz was curious to have her opinion.

  'You found the miniaturas, Rosanne?' She was obviously puzzled, as Marta was, by Rosanne's obvious discomfiture in her cousin's presence, and she looked at Don Jaime, confident that he would support her suggestion that Rosanne should see them. 'Senorita Gordon is a lover of art, Jaime, and I knew you would be pleased for her to see your miniaturas.'

  'I am delighted for the senorita to see them.' That cool, deep voice was shatteringly calm in contrast to her own uneasy reaction, and Rosanne held her breath for fear of what he would say next. 'Did you enjoy them, Senorita Gordon?'

  Rosanne longed to tell him that he knew perfectly well she had not found them, but somehow she managed to appear at least fairly cool when she answered him, though her hand shook when she reached down

  to retrieve her handbag from the chair she had occupied earlier. 'I'm afraid I didn't find them, Don Jaime. I rather think I went into the wrong room by accident—the one next to this one.' 'Ah!'

  He seemed much less disturbed than Beatriz, who was looking at her anxiously. 'I am sorry if you mistook my meaning, Rosanne,' she told her, hasty to apologise. 'The room next to this one is Jaime's study.' She laughed, obviously trying to give the incident less importance. 'My. English is not always as good as I would wish.'

  'It's far more likely that I simply misunderstood,' Rosanne told her, horribly conscious of being watched, and she turned to Don Jaime, doing her best to meet that infinitely disturbing gaze. 'I had no intention of going anywhere I shouldn't, Don Jaime, I'm sorry.'

  It was clear, to Rosanne at least, that the room she had so inadvertently strayed into was normally regarded as a holy of holies by her host, and in the circumstances she found it harder than ever to understand his reaction to finding her there. It would have been so much more in character, she thought, if he had tackled her there and then, instead of simply closing the door and walking away as quietly as possible.

  Marta, it was clear, knew there was something behind her slightly defensive manner, but she was not likely to pry unless Rosanne told her anything. Instead she did her best to smooth matters over by once more suggesting that it was time they left. She smiled at Beatriz, inviting her to join in a situation that only another married woman would understand.

  'It is not wise to be absent when a husband returns, eh, Beatriz?' She gave her friend a brief hug, then offered her hand to Don Jaime, who inclined his head in that ghost of a bow he affected, while he briefly pressed her fingers. 'It has been delightful to see your beautiful house, Don Jaime—muchas gracias.'

  'Su casa senora!'

  He was being very formal and polite, and Rosanne thought a little dazedly that he would have been equally at home two or three hundred years ago. He had the autocratic gallantry of a bygone age and his arrogance was part and parcel of his fascination as a man. She felt a strange stirring of excitement when she thought of him keeping her portrait in his study, and it was irresistible to look up at him when she said goodbye.

  His dusky gold features looked even darker in the shadowed coolness of the sala, and his long brown fingers held hers tightly while he shook hands, dark eyes holding her uncertain gaze with a curious and disturbing steadiness until she looked away once more. He knew she had seen that portrait and he wanted her to know he knew, but she could not yet understand his reaction and she could do nothing about the thudding beat of her heart as he slowly released her fingers.

  'Buenas tardes, senorita.'

  'I hope you will come and see me again very soon, Rosanne.' Beatriz shook her hand warmly and obviously meant to take up the invitation. 'I hope that you will both come and see me again.'

  Rosanne nodded, but she did not commit herself verbally, not with Jaime Delguiro's dark eyes watching her so steadily, as if they sought to convey some kind of message. It was the same sensation she experienced each time she met him, and she wondered if she would ever discover the reason for it.

  Now that she had found that rather disturbing portrait, it might suggest a reason, but she felt somehow that there was more to it than that. There was so much, she felt, that she still had to discover about Don Jaime Delguiro, and she wondered if she would ever be given the opportunity.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  To Rosanne the discovery of that portrait in Don Jaime's study remained a puzzle that she felt an ever-increasing need to solve, and yet she could see no way of approaching the subject unless he raised it himself. And in view of events recently, she saw little chance of their meeting again, let alone indulging in reasonable conversation. Officially she did not even know it existed, and it would prove horribly embarrassing even to mention it the next time they met.

  More puzzling still was his silent departure after seeing her there in his study; such an action was so completely out of character, as she saw it, that it simply defied explanation. More than once she had thought of confiding in Marta, but had second thoughts when she remembered Marta's penchant for matchmaking. As far as Martajvas concerned there would be only one interpretation to be put upon the fact that Don Jaime kept a portrait of her in his study, and she found herself curiously averse to such suggestion^ where he was concerned.

  With Marta fully occupied with her household business, Rosanne sought her own amusement and, not feeling like a trip to Almaro, she chose instead to take a stroll around the patio. It was much smaller than the one at Casa Delguiro, but still very attractive and full of scents and colours that should have a soothing effect on a restless spirit.

  But inevitably, having brought Casa Delguiro to mind, her thoughts turned once more to its owner and she fell to musing yet again on the mystery of her portrait. With the advent of Jaime Delguiro into her train of thought she felt the need for a more spacious environment and, after a while, she walked out into the road, ignoring the heat for the moment while she sought the meagre shelter of a stunted tree that somehow managed to survive in the inhospitable soil without benefit of irrigation.

  She could see Almaro from where she stood, right down in the lush valley and surrounded by the more fertile land where, they grew vines and olives as well as oranges and palms. It was a strange landscape, with that barren, arid countryside between the fertile fields lower down and the lush gardens of the houses up here where an irrigation system, centuries old, enabled those who lived in houses like Casa Delguiro to have their beautiful gardens in the midst of country that was little better than desert.

  The road that cut scythe-like through desert and valley alike afforded one of those violent contrasts that seemed to characterise this fascinating country that she was becoming increasingly fond of. A land of contrasts, like its people; varied and with the ability to arouse emotion in people like herself, who came into contact
with them.

  Impatiently dismissing the comparison, she turned back to the house. She had thought it might help if she walked for a while, but the same intriguing questions still niggled away in her mind, and Rosanne kicked at the dust in the road as she approached the gates-into the patio. She already had one hand on the gate when she heard a car draw up behind her and turned to see who it was. Almost sure it would be Federico, she was already smiling when she turned, but the smile faded into uncertainty when she recognised the driver.

  Don Jaime was already half way out of his car, and there seemed nothing she could do about the sudden more urgent beat of her heart when she recognised him. She watched him come across to where she stood and her eyes were wary, noting the long-legged stride that suggested impatience, and the arrogant angle of the dark head.

  He was wearing grey slacks and a white shirt, and the effect with his dusky gold skin was startlingly attractive, so that Rosanne found herself gripping the cool of the wrought iron unconsciously tightly. Dark eyes, almost black between their thick lashes, looked at her for a second before she said anything, and it could still surprise her that he sounded so coolly formal when his eyes showed so much more expression.

  The gates were shaded by the spreading branches of a scented acacia tree that covered the entire gateway and gave them a cool oasis in the heat of the day. Its leaves fluttered slightly in the faintest of breezes and cast small shifting shadows over that darkly remote face.

  'Buenos dias, senorita.'

  If she had not known it was so unlikely, Rosanne would have suspected he was actually hesitant about what he had to say, and she wished she could forget that tall figure moving silently away from the door of the room she had strayed into at Casa Delguiro. It made her so horribly uneasy to remember he had seen her there.

  'Buenos dias, Don Jaime.' She sought for a reason other than her own shortcomings that could have brought him there. 'Are you calling on Senora Segovia?'

  A hastily arched brow suggested he found her facetious and he was shaking his head. 'I wished to see you for a few moments, Senorita Gordon, if you will allow me. It is fortunate that I saw you here.'

  Rosanne had to agree, for his calling at the house to see her would have played right into Marta's hands. Nevertheless she had to make all the right moves that Spanish good manners required and she pushed the gate open a little wider. 'Will you come in?'

  She prayed he wouldn't, and it seemed he shared her reluctance to make the visit too formal, for he was shaking his head. 'I would prefer to speak with you alone out here, if you do not mind, senorita. What I have to say will not take very long.'

  It was most unusual, but there was probably a good reason for it. 'Oh yes, by all means!' Rosanne flicked a very brief upward glance at his face and thought she could guess what it was he wanted to say to her. He meant to raise the matter of her being in his study, and tell her exactly what he thought, without embarrassing her in front of Marta. In the circumstances she supposed she should be grateful to him. 'Please say whatever you like, senor. I imagine it has to do with you finding me in your study or your private office, whatever you call it.'

  'It has nothing at all to do with that, senorita, the matter is closed. It is simply that I wish to advise you not to accept any further invitations to visit my cousin at the Casa Delguiro, Senorita Gordon. It would be most—unwise.'

  Too stunned for a moment to say anything, Rosanne stared at him, her eyes flicking uneasily over that dark and very discouraging face, trying to believe that she had done anything awful enough to warrant a ban on her ever visiting his home again. It was not only that it was unfair to judge her so harshly, but it was not in keeping with the kind of code he had been brought up

  to observe, and she did not understand his reason for defying every rule in the Spanish book of hospitality and good manners.

  Swallowing hastily, she tried to sound as cool and unmoved as he appeared to be, even though she was trembling like a leaf and her impulse was to be tear-. fully angry. 'I don't think I quite understand you, Don Jaime. If I '

  'I am concerned only that you do not visit the Casa Delguiro again, senorita!' The deep, decisive voice cut across whatever she had been going to say, but it suggested cold practicality rather than the heat of anger. 'Do I have your assurance on that, Senorita Gordon?'

  Rosanne was angry, whether he was or not. She was furious that he could stand there so coolly and tell her that she was not welcome at his home, even as his cousin's guest, and she wanted to hit out. His reason was obvious, of course; Federico Sanchez had told her that Don Jaime did not like foreigners very much. Her eyes were bright and stormily dark between their dark brown lashes and her cheeks burned as she faced him, ready to let him know she was fully aware of his reasons.

  'You have my assurance on it, Don Jaime! I don't force my way into anyone's home when it's been made so very clear that I'm not welcome—though I have to say that this is an aspect of Spanish hospitality that I haven't come across before!'

  That, she knew, was bound to hurt his pride, for no Spaniard likes to be considered inhospitable. But he had left himself wide open to the accusation and she found herself curiously anxious to know why.

  'I apologise for my lack of hospitality, senorita, but I have a very good reason for wishing you not to come to my home again, and—'

  'You don't like foreigners)' She interrupted him without hesitation and noted the sudden tightening of his lips with a certain satisfaction. 'I know, I've been told about it, and I gather you dislike the English in particular, which includes me, of course!'

  'Senorita '

  'Oh, barring me from your house in the circumstances is quite understandable, senor, though hardly hospitable! But you've already apologised for that aspect, haven't you?'

  She would have gone in through the gates then and stalked off through the gardens, but strong hard fingers curled tightly around her wrist and held her, making her gasp at the strength of his grip. 'You accuse me unjustly, senorita, and I will not allow you to do so 1'

  His anger was like a physical thing between them, burning in that lean hard body like fire and giving an alarming look of violence to his powerful features. Rosanne was alarmed by it, but at the same time drawn by the aura of almost savage turmoil that seemed to emanate from him.

  'Then why?' she asked huskily, unable to take her eyes from the face that looked down at her so threateningly, and he was a moment before he answered.

  'Because, senorita, Pablo Ostera was my cousin also— Beatriz was his sister!'

  He could scarcely have caught the sound of her swiftly indrawn breath before he thrust her captive arm away from him and turned to walk back to his car, while Rosanne's fingers rubbed absently at the marks he had left on her wrist. Staring after him as he went striding across the dusty road without a backward glance, she tried to think clearly.

  His movements were sharp and jerky, as though he held himself in check, and as Rosanne watched him drive the big black car on up the hill towards the Casa Delguiro she knew at last who had painted that portrait of her that Don Jaime kept in his study.

  She should have guessed it before, she thought, for Pablo had been the only one sufficiently skilled and who knew her well enough personally to have done it. What she still did not understand was why Jaime Delguiro still kept it, hidden away in a room that only he used.

  Rosanne felt an increasing need to confide in someone and, in* the circumstances, Marta seemed to be the obvious person, even though she might be laying the foundation for even more determined matchmaking in the future.

  She began by quite casually mentioning that she had recently discovered Pablo Ostera and Jaime Delguiro were, or had been, cousins, without yet disclosing who had actually told her. She did not yet mention that Don Jaime had more or less forbidden her to go to his home again, either. Knowing Marta, she would find the idea impossible to accept; Rosanne could still hardly believe it herself.

  The more Rosanne thought of it, the more unrea
sonable it seemed, for she could see so little reason for him to behave as he had, whether Pablo had been his cousin or not. She had been the last one to see Pablo alive, but that was no fault of hers and she did not like to think she was being punished for it. The injustice of the ban, in fact, rankled far more than the manner of his informing her of it, and the fact that she had lost her temper with him seemed not unreasonable in the circumstances.

  'This is most unexpected,' Marta confessed, looking at Rosanne with speculation as well as curiosity in her dark eyes. 'I had no idea that Beatriz was Pablo's sister; but then I did not know her name before she is married.' She took a moment to consider, as if she might be wondering how much it hurt her to- talk about Pablo. 'Are they the same to look at, Beatriz and Pablo Ostera?' she asked, and Rosanne shook her head.

  'Not at all—I'd never have known.'

  Rosanne recalled that Marta had never actually met Pablo, but even she could see nothing similar between Pablo's good looks and his sister's gentler features, and she had got to know him pretty well during those three weeks she had spent in his constant company. Beatriz was pleasantly pretty to look at, but she resembled her cousin, Don Jaime, far more closely than she did Pablo. It was curious, she supposed, but not unknown for cousins to be more alike than brother and sister.

  But the main factor that niggled away at the back of her mind at the moment was the mysterious portrait she had found, and she wondered if it was possible Beatriz Manola had mentioned it, but with a caution to her friend to say nothing for the sake of discretion. Anxious to find out, Rosanne nevertheless chose her words.