Image of Love

by Rebecca Stratton

'I'd no idea the last time I came here, Beatriz, that you were Pablo's sister, or even that you were anything to do with him at all.'

  'I know.' Beatriz' smile banished any thought of her not telling the truth. 'I did not see Pablo for several years before he died, and so I knew nothing of his— friendship with you. It was when I mentioned your name that Mama remembered him speaking of you; we thought it must be you because of your pretty name; not a usual English name. Mama asked if you could be the same Rosanne, and there was only Jaime who could tell her.'

  'And he didn't want to!'

  Rosanne could guess just how reluctantly he had confirmed her identity to his aunt, and she could do nothing about the sense of disappointment she felt. She knew for certain now that the invitation had not been issued because Jaime had sought an alternative way of lifting his ban on her. He was probably as reluctant as ever to let her come.

  Beatriz obviously regretted his behaviour while still understanding his motives, and she was shaking her head as they went into the house and across the tiled hall to the sala. 'Jaime acted as he did out of consideration for Mama, Rosanne. He must have seemed very harsh to you, for Jaime is not given to explaining his actions unless it is forced upon him—but still I think he is glad that Mamd has asked you here.'

  Rosanne still had doubts, but her smile was meant to reassure Beatriz, and she had understood, she told herself. 'From his point of view he behaved reasonably, Beatriz, and I even saw the sense of it to some extent, once I knew his reason.'

  Dark eyes scanned her face for a second, noting the faint flush in her cheeks and the slightly evasive eyes. 'And you forgive him,' she said softly, 'that is good.

  Will you now come and meet Mama and Catalina?'

  Of the two, Rosanne thought she looked forward to meeting Catalina Ostera least. It was too difficult to forget those moments when Federico had looked into her eyes and given the impression that she was the only girl in the world, or paid her extravagant compliments that no man soon to be engaged to another girl should pay. Nothing serious had developed, there had not been time, and perhaps it never would have, but she felt uneasy about meeting his novia, knowing what she did.

  But when she walked into the room it was neither of the two women there who caught her eye, but Jaime's tall lean figure as he rose from one of the armchairs and spent a moment crushing out the cheroot he had been smoking before he looked up.

  There was no reason why she should have expected him to be out, except that she had not expected him to relish being in a roomful of women, and obviously she had been at least partly right, for he was clearly on the point of leaving. He caught her eyes for a second only when he looked up, and her heartbeat became rapidly urgent as he came striding across the sala towards them.

  He addressed himself first to Marta, inclining his head in that brief and very formal little bow as he took her hand. 'Buenas tardes, Senora Segovia, como esta usted?'

  'Muy bien, gracias, Don Jaime. Y usted?'

  Spanish formality having been completed, the dark shadowed eyes turned to Rosanne and she knew she was colouring furiously when he looked down at her with that steady and disconcerting look before he spoke. 'Buenas tardes, Rosanne.'

  He spoke so softly that it was doubtful if even Marta heard it properly and she was taking a great deal of interest. His use of her first name had been unexpected, even though he had used it the last time he saw her, and it required a deal of effort to sound as cool and confident as she hoped she did.

  'Good afternoon, Don Jaime.'

  The use of his title had been instinctive, but she saw one black brow arch swiftly when he heard it, and she knew he had expected the same kind of familiarity he had shown himself. Catching his eye, Rosanne noted again that unmistakable look she had noticed each time they met; only this time there was no mistaking the message. The use of her first name gave-the impression of familiarity, but that dark look in his eyes warned her to take care where his aunt was concerned.

  He smiled, including everyone when he spoke, and once more he made that curiously formal little bow. 'If you will excuse me, ladies, I have business to attend to, and I am sure you will prefer that I am not here when you discuss ' his broad shoulders shrugged expressively, 'whatever it is that women discuss. Adios, seiior as!'

  There was a curious lull for a second or two after he had gone and Rosanne found herself wishing he had stayed, though she had no idea why except that he somehow suggested practicality and the next few minutes could be emotional. It was Beatriz who took her gently by the arm over to where her mother and her sister sat in adjoining armchairs. And the few moments it took her to introduce Marta gave her the opportunity to make a brief study of the two women.

  Seeing Dona Elena made it clear where Pablo had inherited his good looks. She was middle-aged and definitely plump, but her features were still clean-cut and handsome and her black hair, although beginning to grey, was still thick and lustrous. The mouth was like Pablo's too, full and slightly sensual, and the dark eyes between thick lashes watched as she was introduced, with the same intense and slightly speculative gaze she remembered. Apparently the visit to Paris had not been entirely for her younger daughter's benefit either, for the simple dark blue dress she was wearing had the unmistakable mark of haute couture.

  The younger woman was simply a younger version of her mother. Slimmer and perhaps a little taller, but enviably good-looking even though the mouth had, at the moment, a rather tight look that was uneasily reminiscent of her cousin. Catalina Ostera, Rosanne thought, was less ready to be friendly than either her mother or her sister. For all that, she shook hands and murmured polite greetings in English, then sat back and left conversation to the rest of the company.

  'He talked of you sometimes, senorita,' Dona Elena told her, when talk inevitably came around to Pablo, 'but not too much, you understand. He was discreet, my Pablo, and kept his love close to his heart.'

  To Rosanne the idea of him discussing her with his mother was something she had not' anticipated, and she wondered uneasily if he had perhaps given her the wrong impression; suggested that things had been more serious between them than they had been, in fact. She wondered, too, if he had told his mother about the portrait of her. She felt sure Beatriz knew nothing about it, but Beatriz had admitted that she and Pablo had not met for several years before he died, and Jaime had kept it hidden afterwards, for his own reasons.

  It was almost irresistible to try and discover whether or not anyone else knew about the painting, but it wasn't a subject that could be raised too carelessly. In fact it was raised by Dona Elena herself, and in such a way that Rosanne was too stunned to know what to do about it.

  'I was so bitter about his going,' Dona Elena said softly, and a half smile sought Rosanne's understanding. 'My only son, senorita, you will understand?'

  'Oh yes, of course I do!'

  Rosanne thought Catalina looked much less ready to forgive her for being alive when Pablo had died, but by concentrating on Dona Elena she could cut Catalina out of her line of vision. It could not be easy, even after all this time, but the older woman coped well with remembered agony, and her eyes misted only slightly as she explained.

  'I hated you for being alive when Pablo was dead, senorita, and for that I did many penances, for I knew that you were not to blame.' For a moment Rosanne felt a chilling shiver along her spine, for hate was a violent emotion, and she was not at all sure that Catalina's had been as thoroughly erased as her mother's. 'He was an artist, you knew that, did you not, senorita?'

  Rosanne nodded, her pulse suddenly more urgent. 'He told me how he liked to paint, senora, but I never saw anything he did.'

  'There are many of his works here, most of them in my rooms,' Dona Elena went on, 'but the most beautiful one of all ' She shook her head as if to dismiss

  something too painful to recall. 'Pablo painted your portrait, Senorita Gordon, did you know that?'

  Marta was watching her, Rosanne knew, wondering how honest she was going t
o be; how honest she dared be, and she took a moment to choose her words. 'I know of it, senorz.' It was as near the truth as she dared go at the moment, and Dona Elena seemed not to have noticed that it sounded vaguely evasive.

  But Catalina was frowning and Rosanne realised that she, like Beatriz, had known nothing about it until now. 'I have heard nothing of this portrait, Mama.'

  As if she doubted even her mother's word, Rosanne thought; as if she-did not believe that the brother she had loved so deeply could have painted such a portrait and not shown it to her. It caused Rosanne an involuntary shiver when she saw that frown and realised just how capable of hate Catalina Ostera was, and she prayed the other girl would never discover Federico's brief indiscretion.

  'I knew nothing either,' Beatriz told her quietly, and with much less resentment. She smiled understanding at her mother. 'But Pablo would always confide in Mama, Catalina, much more easily than he could in you or me.'

  'He confided in me' Catalina's dark eyes flashed resentment, and Rosanne realised just how much closer she had been to their brother than Beatriz had. The darkly accusing eyes turned on Rosanne and it was plain how jealous she was, even in retrospect, of anyone who could claim her brother's attention. 'He told me about his—affair with the English girl!'

  'With Rosanne,' Beatriz corrected her gently, and Catalina allowed the correction because she knew she had been so nearly rude to a guest in their home. It was Beatriz once more who smoothed over the gaffe. 'You saw the portrait of Rosanne, Mama?'

  'Oh yes.' Dona Elena's voice trembled slightly, as if the recollection disturbed her. 'Such a beautiful portrait; a lover's token with his heart in its creation!' The pulse beat relentlessly in Rosanne's head as the unsteady voice went on, betraying the depths her bitterness had reached. 'I made my nephew take it and destroy it because it was of you, Senorita Gordon, and you had not died with him!' She held her hands tightly together, holding on to her self-control and believing that what she had ordered to be done had been done and the picture irretrievably lost. 'May God forgive me—it was Pablo's finest work, and I made Jaime destroy it!'

  'Dona Elena '

  It was impossible not to be moved, and Rosanne longed to speak out and tell her that the painting she mourned was still intact and standing safe in Jaime's study next door. She would have done so without hesitation if she hadn't considered Jaime's possible embarrassment. She was much more concerned with Jaime's feelings than with consoling his aunt at the moment, although it surprised her to realise it.

  Catalina had left her chair and she was standing beside her mother, her hands on her shoulders and looking across at Rosanne in such a way that there was no mistaking who she blamed for her distress. 'It would have been well if you had not come, as Jaime said, senorita!'

  'No, no, no, Catalina I' Dona Elena was much too conscious of her duty as hostess to allow herself too much indulgence, and she patted her daughter's hands in gentle reproach, indicating that she should return to her chair. Then she smiled across reassuringly at Rosanne's anxious face. 'I apologise, Senorita Gordon, but I am still so ashamed of what I did in my first anguish. To destroy anything so beautiful is unforgivable, especially an image of love created by my own dear son.'

  'But understandable in the circumstances, senora.' Once more Rosanne felt the temptation to tell her that the painting was still intact, but she still lacked the courage to risk something that Jaime would not like.

  'I'm sorry if my visit has upset you; if you would like me to '

  'Oh no, por favor, Senorita Gordon—Rosanne.' A smile sought permission to use her first name, and Rosanne nodded automatically. 'I had meant to speak of it calmly and without the emotion, but I failed. I must apologise to you, Rosanne, for upsetting you.'

  'There's really no need, senora.'

  'But I do not like to think of you being forbidden this house because of my bitterness,' Dona Elena went on. 'I know that Jaime did what he did for my sake and I am grateful for his love for me, but I am not a vindictive woman and I know he did not have his heart in forbidding you to come.'

  'Evidently not, Mama, since he was so warm in his welcome when Rosanne arrived!'

  Beatriz' dark eyes sparkled with mischief, anxious to light on a less disturbing subject than her late brother, and the glance she exchanged with Marta suggested that the two of them were of a like mind. The sudden warmth in Rosanne's cheeks did not go unnoticed either, except possibly by Dona Elena, who looked faintly scandalised at her elder daughter's suggestion.

  'Beatriz! How could you embarrass our guest so? And such a suggestion, when it is little more than a year since your brother died! Can you believe that Rosanne has such thoughts for another man, even dear Jaime, when she loved Pablo so much?'

  Rosanne looked up quickly, her eyes wide and startled, until she remembered that Dona Elena had seen the portrait of her, the portrait that showed her with a look about the eyes and mouth that gave the viewer quite the wrong picture of her feelings for the artist.

  A glimpse of Marta's face stopped her from declaring there and then that she had never loved Pablo the

  way that picture suggested; even though she had liked him a lot. Beatriz knew it too, she realised when she saw her face, and it gave Rosanne a curiously trapped feeling to realise that they both expected her to keep up the pretence, at least for the time being.

  She said nothing to either support or deny Dona Elena's assumption, but Rosanne's hands were tight in her lap, and she wished for the nerve, the next time she saw Jaime, to ask him what she should do about it. Only she was too afraid that he might be of the same mind, and she didn't think she could face that.

  Federico was the last person Rosanne either expected or wanted to see, but there was little chance of avoiding a meeting in the present situation and, contrary to his recent attitude, he seemed not to want to avoid her.

  A shopping expedition to Ciudad Roca had been Marta's suggestion. She was anxious to try the facilities of a grand new hairdressing salon while they were there, and so it was that Rosanne found herself with an hour to spend looking around the kind of shops that Almaro's sleepy little square had never seen. She had bought a beautiful tortoiseshell comb for Marta to wear with her church-going mantilla, and she was leaving the shop, feeling very pleased with her purchase, when a hand caught at her arm from behind and brought her to a halt.

  Turning swiftly, she prepared to reject the too bold advances of someone mistaking her solitary walk around the streets for something it wasn't. She angled her chin and had a scathing dismissal ready on her lips when she realised she was looking into Federico's good- looking face.

  'Federico!' She eased away her arm from his hold automatically, although he appeared to be alone.

  'What are you doing here?'

  'Like you, Rosanne, I am shopping. You are shopping, are you not?'

  'Yes. Yes, I am, but '

  She remembered their last uneasy parting, and glanced around, wondering at his boldness in the circumstances, and a hint of defiance showed in the angle of his head for a moment. 'I am alone>' he said, obviously following her train of thought, and there was no disguising that he was on the defensive. 'I hope that Don Jaime is not coming along at any moment to whisk you away from me.'

  The dig was irresistible, she guessed, and could not find it in her heart to blame him too much. 'It's far more likely to be Marta Segovia who comes along,' she told him. 'We came together, but I've left her in the hairdresser's while I look around.'

  'Ah!'

  It amazed her how often the Spanish seemed to utilise that one syllable, and it was equally expressive in all its uses. 'Isn't Catalina with you?' she asked, before she stopped to think, then she shook her head before he had time to answer. 'Oh no, of course it wouldn't do, would it? It's only foreign girls that you're allowed to take out alone!'

  'Rosanne!'

  It had been rather uncharitable of her, Rosanne supposed, but she could not forget how ready he had been to discard her when he knew Catalina
was coming home. It had hurt her pride, and Jaime had realised it even though Federico had not. Nevertheless there was no point in making a big issue of it and she was prepared to forgive and forget.

  'I'm sorry, Federico, I'm just being—bitchy. You'll have to forgive me, it's a matter of hurt pride!'

  He glanced over one shoulder at the thronging sidewalk, and the gesture reminded her of how often he had done the same thing in Almaro, but with a different reason, she thought. 'Is Senora Segovia expected to join you very soon?' he asked, and Rosanne anticipated the rest of his question in her answer.

  'No, not yet, Federico, but I can't go anywhere with you—I haven't the time.'

  'But I have so much to say to you, Rosanne. I would like to—to explain how it was

  'I know how it was, Federico!' She interrupted him quickly because she saw no point in prolonging something that was already over and done with. There was nothing to prevent them from meeting socially and being friendly, but there was much to be lost in secret meetings alone, with the chance of someone seeing them who could betray them to Catalina. He simply did not mean that much to her, and she wasn't going to risk Jaime finding out. 'You did the right thing when you said you wouldn't be seeing me again,' she told him. 'You shouldn't have taken me out in the first place, Federico, but it's over and done and it's better that way.'

  'Just for one coffee?' The way he looked was almost irresistible, and Rosanne had to make herself shake her head more firmly.