Image of Love

by Rebecca Stratton

  'You will not distract me, senorita.' Another very brief glance seemed to lend meaning to the adjoinder, even though she could not see his expression. 'Your talking will not distract me in the least.'

  Put as he put it there was no mistaking his meaning, and Rosanne's senses responded even to such a mild compliment. She hastily took her eyes from his face and looked instead at the long, strong hands on the wheel. They shifted lightly and smoothly, as the car followed the winding road, and she found their movements strangely fascinating.

  Jaime Delguiro was a staggeringly attractive man, but she wished she knew for certain why he had asked her out to dinner, when only a matter of days ago he had so firmly forbidden her his house. He was not an easy man to either understand or get near to, and for some reason she could not yet decide, Rosanne felt a desire to do both.

  'I love Spain,' she ventured, following her original objective, 'and I really am interested, Don Jaime.'

  'You really wish me to tell you about Arcos de la Frontera and the others?'

  'Yes, please, if you don't mind.'

  'How should I mind, senorita, when you are flattering enough to be interested.' She thought he smiled, but it was impossible to be sure. 'I am afraid your own misconception about the name is a common one. The appendage de la Frontera does not refer to a proximity to the Portuguese border, it is more than one hundred and fifty kilometres distant; the name derives from the frontier that was reached by the Christian kingdoms as they advanced in -the wake of the departing Moors during the struggle to restore Spain to Christianity.' He glanced at her once more, and this time she was quite sure he smiled. 'You find that interesting?'

  'Yes, of course I do!' Somehow Rosanne felt she had found the tiniest chink in that arrogant reserve, and it pleased her quite inordinately. 'Do you know a lot of your country's history, Don Jaime?'

  Broad shoulders lifted a shade as if to make little of whatever knowledge he had, but she thought he did so only because it was not good manners to boast too openly. 'I will be pleased to tell you what I can, if you wish to learn more, senorita.'

  How far, she wondered, did he intend her to take that offer? If she took him seriously, she thought he was not very likely to willingly instruct her on Spanish history, though it might be worth attempting it, just to try and get through that barrier of pride and arrogance.

  Glancing at him from the corner of her eyes, she laughed. 'You might be sorry you made that offer, Don Jaime!'

  The headlights danced and swerved around another corner before he answered her, and still she could not see what was in his eyes; only judge the deep and disturbingly soft voice. 'I think not, senorita,' he said, and inclined his head towards the windscreen and the road ahead. 'San Gregorio.'

  San Gregorio was charmingly Andalurian; fairly modern but still retaining much of its slightly oriental atmosphere, as so many of the once Moorish towns and villages did in this part of Spain. It was bigger than Almaro, but to some extent had the sattie delightfully lazy air about it, except for the number of tourists who walked its streets or sat in the brightly lit tabernas.

  There were a number of restaurants, but the one that Jaime had chosen seemed to be not only the biggest but also the most select. It was probably also the most expensive, but that need not concern her tonight, and it was unlikely to trouble Jaime Delguiro. From the way he was received there, it was clear that he was not a regular client, and that as much as anything started Rosanne once more wondering why he had brought her so far—unless it was because he was unknown there.

  Until this minute, she had almost forgotten Federico's rather hesitant announcement that Jaime was soon to be related to his family by marriage, but the present situation seemed to suggest that could be a reason for bringing her so far from home. Anywhere closer to Almaro, and he took the risk of being seen by someone he knew. It wasn't a thought she relished, but for all that she could not help feeling a certain sense of intrigue that lent excitement to the occasion—perhaps soon she would learn why he had brought her out at all.

  The restaurant was fairly new, but its decor was copied from the traditional and the food promised to be good. Rosanne was hungry and she followed Jaime's translation of the menu eagerly. Bypassing her favourite gazpacho in favour of a more exotic concoction called sopa de pescado she was served with a delicious fish soup not unlike a French bouillabaisse.

  At the instigation of her host she tried conchinillo and found it so young and tender that it bore no relation at all to the familiar roast pork she knew at home. A bland Perilla cheese and fresh peaches from Aragon rounded off a perfect meal, but Rosanne felt somehow, as she glanced across at her companion, that the real purpose of the evening was yet to be revealed, and she was almost sure she wasn't going to like it.

  They had drunk a very good Panades wine with their meal, and the resultant sense of well-being made Rosanne slower in recognising the inevitable signs than she would normally have been. Jaime had talked until now, lightly and upon subjects that were completely impersonal; now, it occurred to her suddenly, he was more serious, and she looked at him with a slight frown.

  Running a finger-tip around the rim of her wine glass, she watched that dark and undeniably attractive face while she spoke. 'Don Jaime?'

  It was much more an invitation to confide than a question, and he held her gaze for several seconds, then reached for the wine bottle as if it gave him something to do while he gathered his thoughts. 'You know that Spain is a country of traditions, do you not?' he asked, and Rosanne nodded warily. 'Do you approve of traditional customs being continued, Senorita Gordon, or are they, in your opinion, outmoded?'

  Completely at a loss for the moment, Rosanne shook her head, a small uncertain smile questioning his meaning. 'I don't think I know what you refer to, Don Jaime. I think some traditions are worth preserving, naturally, perhaps more than we actually keep alive in England, but there are some that are, as you say, outmoded. Too outmoded to be acceptable in this day and age; an awful lot depends on what it is you refer to, and upon the people it concerns; the situation—oh, any number of things.'

  'I refer specifically to a betrothal between a man and a woman, senorita.' His voice was deep and quiet and yet discomfitingly suggestive of someone waiting to spring a trap. 'Do you believe in the sanctity of a betrothal of marriage?'

  It wasn't at all as she expected, and Rosanne's heart was thudding hard; a curious sense of excitement shivering through her body while she hesitated, almost fearful of saying the wrong thing, and at the same time scornful of her own fears. Uncertain what was expected of her, she laughed unsteadily. 'Why, yes, of course I believe in the seriousness of an engagement, Don Jaime. That's one of the traditions we keep in England.'

  'So!'

  His obvious satisfaction puzzled her because she could not imagine what on earth he was getting at. He surely had not brought her to dinner simply to get her opinion on the sanctity of his own engagement; it made no kind of sense, and she wished he would come to the point.

  'Exactly why did you ask me to have dinner with you tonight, Don Jaime? I know why we came here instead of Almaro—it's not nearly as good, I know, and please don't think I haven't enjoyed it here, because I have, very much, but I can't help wondering why we came all this way just so that you '

  She stopped short when she recognised a slightly mocking glint of amusement in his eyes. She had been speaking much too fast and so breathlessly that his next suggestion was almost understandable. Leaning towards her with his elbows resting on the table in front of him, he studied her with disconcerting steadiness, an almost purring softness in his voice.

  'Possibly the Panadas was a little too overpowering for your taste, eh?'

  He was obviously offering her an excuse for her slightly garrulous outburst, and Rosanne nearly convinced herself that he was being very tolerant in the circumstances. She had to agree that the wine was stronger than she was used to, and she had been generously plied with it throughout the meal, but it wasn't only th
e wine that was responsible for her lightheadedness, she knew.

  That dark and intriguingly autocratic face opposite became increasingly fascinating to her as the evening went on, and she was half afraid to look directly at him in case he recognised it. But for all that, she somehow managed to retain enough of her customary self-control to put on a bold front.

  'I'm quite sober, I assure you, Don Jaime—I'm simply curious, that's all.'

  'Curious?'

  Rosanne nodded. She was close now to discovering his real motive for arranging this evening's dinner date, and she was more certain than ever that she was going to find the answer not only unflattering but unpalatable. However, there was little she could do now, so she shook her head slowly as she pressed him further.

  'As a matter of fact,' she told him, 'I wondered why you asked me to have dinner with you when you so obviously disapprove of me.'

  'I disapprove of you?' He apparently gave the idea some consideration for a moment before dismissing it with a shrug of his broad, elegantly tailored shoulders. 'I invited you to have dinner with me, Senorita Gordon, because there is a matter of some importance that I wish to discuss with you.'

  'Oh?' More confused than ever, Rosanne traced endless rings around the rim of her wine glass with a fingertip rather than look at him. 'I can't imagine what it can be, but it must be pretty important for you to drive me here and give me dinner. Obviously you're not so well known here as in Almaro, so it's understandable to some extent, I suppose, why we're here—you didn't want to be recognised while you're with me; that's right, isn't it?'

  The fact that he did not reply immediately seemed to confirm her suspicion, but Jaime was looking at her with more speculation than dislike in his eyes, and she found it disturbing. T agree that the reason we are here in San Gregorio is because I did not want to be seen and recognised by people we both know, but my reason is not as you suspect, senorita, but because I did not wish for interruptions before I have the opportunity of saying what I have to say. For what other reason would I wish not to be seen with you?'

  To Rosanne the whole situation was becoming more and more complex, and she shrugged uneasily. It had never been her intention to let Jaime know that the news of his coming betrothal had been passed on to her, but in view of his almost challenging attitude, she saw herself with little option.

  'In case someone who knows your fiancee sees you with me?' she suggested.

  It could not happen very often, Rosanne guessed, but quite by accident she had startled him so much that he simply stared at her for a moment with those bright dark eyes. Then very suddenly they became narrowedand definitely less encouraging so that she knew she had got something very wrong somewhere.

  "I wish you to explain that to me.' he said in a cool voice that for all its steadiness hinted as a shivering passion barely contained, and Rosanne moistened her lips nervously.

  'I—heard about it at the Sanchez party. Federico told me that you were soon to be related to his family by marriage.'

  'That is so.'

  Rosanne blinked, trying to discover some clue in that dark, implacable face. 'Then '

  'You assumed that I was the novio, hah?'

  He watched her relentlessly and Rosanne felt like hiding her face, while still hating her own nervousness. She had no reason to feel as she did with this man, no matter if she had made a mistake, she had no Call to feel so sorry about it.

  'In view of the way Federico put it, there was nothing else I could think.'

  'You are in the habit of seeing Federico Sanchez, are you not?'

  Rosanne could see no connection with the present situation, and the angle of her chin showed her opinion. 'I've seen him once or twice,' she agreed. 'But I don't see what my seeing Federico has to do with you or the matter in hand, Don Jaime!'

  There was defiance in the stormy greyness of her eyes as she looked across at him, meeting for a moment that harsh and unbelieving gaze, and for a moment she hated him for making her feel as she did. The intensity of his mood seemed to reach out to her and her hands trembled as she held her wine glass tightly.

  'I'm sorry if I got hold of the wrong end of the stick,' she said, her voice slightly husky and sounding breathless. 'But it was an innocent mistake and there's surely no harm done!'

  Long hard fingers flexed as if they would reach out for her and he leaned further still across the small table so that she was unnervingly aware of his nearness, and of the vibrant, irresistible force that seemed to emanate from him. He was arrogant and ruthless, and he aroused her to violent emotions that were quite alien to her, and yet he held such an irresistible attraction for her that she found herself resenting him and drawn to him at the same time.

  'It is to prevent harm being done that I asked you to come with me this evening, senorita!' His mouth was a hard straight line and the blackness of anger gleamed in his eyes. 'Once before you were closely concerned with a tragedy in my family '

  'Pablo!' She said the name barely above a whisper, and yet it stopped him at once. 'You can't blame me for Pablo's death, I had nothing to do with it! Besides, you've already forbidden me' to go to Casa Delguiro again, isn't that expression enough of your disapproval?'

  For a second he looked at her with those glittering and narrowed eyes, then he shook his head. 'You think it is to express my disapproval of you that I advised you not to go to my home again?' Rosanne said nothing, merely stared at him, her head spinning with suspicions and questions with no answers. 'My aunt was overwhelmed with grief when Pablo was killed, he was her only son; I do not want her distressed by coming face to face with the woman who was with him when he was killed.'

  'I suppose you have a point.' Rosanne conceded it uneasily, but she was so sure that he still attached some blame to her, however slight. 'But no one, not even your aunt, could blame me for Pablo being killed.'

  'This I allow.' He too only grudgingly allowed the concession, but she thought that tight straight mouth eased just a little when he looked at her. 'But no matter what happened with Pablo, I still cannot stand by and see you cause further heartbreak to my family. Catalina and Pablo were very close, and I will not see her hurt again.'

  'Catalina?'

  Rosanne looked at him for a moment in genuine don- fusion before the truth began to dawn, and Jaime was frowning impatiently, as if he did not believe her confusion. 'Do you not know that my cousin Catalina, Beatriz' sister, is to be betrothed to Federico Sanchez when she returns from Paris?'

  If Rosanne had been perhaps a little under the influence of that excellent Panades before, she was stone cold sober now, and she stared at Jaime in obvious shock. She could have guessed, she knew. There were the signs there if she had not been so lacking in perception.

  Federico's tact in always being so discreet whenever he held her hand, his hesitation about lunching with her in Almaro and that woman in the blue dress who had spoken to him when they left the restaurant. He had been quite obviously dismayed at seeing her and Rosanne had not realised why.

  'I didn't know,' she said in a small and not very steady voice, and started visibly when a large brown hand reached over and covered her fingers. 'I had no idea at all, I promise you I hadn't.'

  'I am pleased to hear it, mi querida, your face is sufficient to tell me that you knew nothing of what was happening.' The hard fingers squeezed gently as if to reassure her. 'I would not like to think, that you were deliberately flouting convention merely for the sake of bravado.'

  After such intense anger, his sudden gentleness was not only unexpected but completely disarming, and she felt herself trembling as she sat there trying, to think coherently. If he wanted her word that she would not see Federico again, he could have it.

  'I won't see him again, of course,' she told him. 'Although there was never anything—well, anything that need worry your cousin in the least. Any more than there was with Pablo.'

  The mention of Pablo made him look at her narrowly again for a moment, but he still kept his hand over hers and she h
ad to admit to liking the situation. 'You and Pablo were not—lovers?'

  It wasn't the kind of conversation she liked, not with this man. and at this moment. She found it too easy to remember that portrait he had of her in his study at Casa Delguiro, and the look in the face of that portrait. How could he believe her when he must have seen that look in the eyes and the mouth so much more often than she had herself?

  'You're thinking about that—that painting of Pablo's?' She hurried on without giving him time to deny or confirm that he had the portrait. 'It's deceptive, Don Jaime; I never in my life looked like that, and if Pablo put that—that look on my face it was drawn from his imagination!'

  'My poor cousin!' He said it softly, but with such unmistakable meaning that Rosanne flushed and looked down at the table rather than at him.

  'I liked Pablo, he was fun to be with and I enjoyed driving with him.' It was the first time, she realised, that she had spoken to anyone this way since Pablo died, and she wondered why it should be Jaime Del- guiro who heard it- 'I was shattered when it happened, but not in the way you might be thinking. I liked him a lot, but I only knew him for three weeks and I wasn't in love with him.'

  'But he was with you, I think.'

  His voice carried authority, and Rosanne wondered if he spoke merely on his own impressions or if Pablo had confided in him. The latter she found rather discomfiting, and she tried to turn the subject away from such intimate matters.