'No.' Yvain's hands clenched in her lap and her eyes sought Senor Fonesca's. He looked kind, tolerant, and he gave her a feeling of reassurance. 'At least, I do feel reborn, for all this is very new to me.'
Raquel played lazily with her black lace fan, whose pattern of roses matched the colour of her dress. 'I believe you were a companion, were you not?'
'A maid-companion,' Yvain corrected, knowing very well that the other girl knew and had forced her to put it into words.
'No wonder all this should seem like a birthday to you.' Senor Fonesca smiled at her. 'Juan wishes me to teach you Spanish and other subjects, and I think I am going to enjoy being tutor to such a charming young lady.'
Yvain could have hugged him. 'I'm very eager to learn, senor. And I warn you I shall be an avid pupil.'
'Oh dear,' Raquel laughed and her eyes flirted with Don Juan over the top of her fan, 'you have a blue-stocking in the family, amigo. Father will love cramming her with knowledge, but I think it is much nicer to enjoy life and much more fun to collect sweethearts.'
'Do you see what happens, Juan,' laughed Senor Fonesca, 'when a Spaniard allows his daughter to become emancipated? She immediately reverts to the true Latin type and thinks only of romance.'
'What is nicer to think about than romance?' Raquel coquetted with Don Juan, who seemed to enjoy it in his enigmatic fashion, a quirk to his left eyebrow. 'Of course, if a girl is quite plain, then it is better for her to be clever. I was never very clever.'
Only at insinuation, Yvain thought, and she knew that beside the Spanish girl she looked naive and awkward, and unused to carrying off with an air a gown from the Gran Via. Her Coronet was absurd, she told herself, and her lips felt pallid. Did Don Juan believe that Raquel's lips were naturally like rose petals against her pale golden skin?
The arrival of the waiter with their champagne came as a relief. The cork popped so loudly that it made Yvain jump and Raquel laugh. 'Your first taste of champers?' she asked, using a word that had surely gone out with the cloche hat?
'My very first,' Yvain agreed, watching wide-eyed as it bubbled golden into the wide glasses on their long hollow stems.
'Salud, amor y tempom,’ smiled Senor Fonesca. 'A true Spanish toast, Senorita Yvain. Love and time, both of which we make the most of.'
After that it was a gay dinner hour, with dishes of a piquant flavour, an easy flow of conversation to which Yvain mainly listened. The orchestra played, couples danced, and she knew that soon in a single spotlight Manrique Cortez would appear and make magic with his voice and his guitar.
The thought made her eyes sparkle, and all at once she became aware that Don Juan was looking directly at her. 'You like the champagne?' he asked.
'It makes one feel - relaxed.' She dared to smile at him, and then her attention was diverted to the floor in front of the orchestra dais, where a lean figure in narrow dark trousers and a ruffled shirt had appeared to a thunder of applause. He bowed, he looked around, and Yvain felt a thrill of excitement as his eyes met hers. He smiled and she felt as if everyone knew that he smiled at her alone.
'Senoras y senors, I will sing an old love song of Seville.' He leaned against a pillar and cradled his guitar, and the lights began to dim. 'Imagine a balcony and a girl, and below in the night a young man in love but aware that another man stands between him and his desire.'
Manrique began to play, and it was as if the guitar came alive in his hands; he began to sing and there wasn't a murmur, not a clink of cutlery Or wine glass. On the beach the other day Yvain had sensed his magic, and tonight his music mingled with the wine she was unused to and she felt as if she were the girl on the balcony. A girl desired and torn between two men who adored her.
During the applause that followed the song, Dona Raquel remarked that he was very attractive. Yvain was aware of the flick of her eyes, and she shrank inwardly, as if the other girl had the power to spoil her dream.
'He's a fine musician, eh, Juan?' Senor Fonesca leaned forward with a light for the other man's cigar, and his eyes were twinkling. 'But no doubt our two young ladies are more aware of his personality.'
Smoke wreathed about Don Juan's dark eyes, and Yvain felt him looking at her as Manrique began to play some music of Malaga, a wine-treading song which was gay and full of the Latin love of insinuation and rather naughty wit. He moved from the pillar and began to thread his way among the tables, and Yvain's heart was in her throat as he paused beside their table and sang a line of his song just for her ... then he moved on.
'Well,' chuckled Senor Fonesca, 'at one time only innocent young girls were allowed into the vineyards.'
'No wonder he came to this table.' Raquel's fan was fluttering like the wing of a scolding bird. 'Yvain has been making eyes at him ever since he started to sing.'
For a moment Yvain was speechless, then she looked at the other girl and felt a primitive urge to pull her hair. 'As it happens I know him,' she retorted. 'I met Rique Cortez on the beach the other day and we became friends.'
The chandeliers brightened in that moment and applause for the singer drowned all speech for several minutes. But Raquel's look was eloquent, and Yvain was defiantly aware that her guardian's eyes had narrowed.
'Why did you not invite Senor Cortez to the castle?' he asked, as the applause died away. 'It is customary among Spaniards for a young man to introduce himself formally to a girl's parent or guardian.'
'I'm British,' she replied. 'Such Victorian ways are outmoded in my country.'
At once, deep in his eyes, a flame seemed to burn. 'You will follow our customs while you are a guest in my house. The next time a young man approaches you — '
There he broke off, for as the orchestra began to play dance music, Manrique Cortez approached their table again. Now he was clad formally in a dinner jacket, his face a polite mask as he bowed to the Marques and his guests.
'Would the Senor Marques permit that I ask the senorita Inglesa to dance?' he inquired. 'We have met, but I take this opportunity to present myself formally to her guardian.'
To Yvain it was like a scene from a play which she watched from a distance, part of the audience instead of one of the stars. She saw Don Juan tap ash from his cigar, while Raquel's fan was held like a broken wing in front of her. 'Senor Cortez, I must congratulate you on your skill as a guitarist,' said Don Juan. 'We were much entertained, and had I known that you were acquainted with my ward I should have asked you to join us in a glass of wine. Perhaps you will do so now?'
'The Senor Marques is most kind.' Manrique glanced at
Yvain and smiled into her eyes. 'It would be more than wine to me if I could dance with the young lady.'
'You wish to dance?' Don Juan was looking directly at Yvain.
'I'd love to,' she said in confusion. 'But I ... I'm not very good at it.'
'Let me teach you, senorita.' Manrique drew her to her feet and led her on to the dance floor, and there she was encircled by his arms, while he murmured: 'Hullo again, La Soledad. Dios, it was like entering a lion's cage to take you from your stern guardian!'
'I know what you mean.' She laughed shyly as she fell into the rhythm, of the music and found Manrique a perfect partner. His arms felt strong around her and his shoulder was at just the right height, shielding her from the gaze of her guardian, and the eyes of Raquel Fonesca.
'You said you were a poor dancer,' Manrique teased her. 'I think you are a mystery girl — come now, with whom have you danced before?'
'With the butler,' she giggled, 'at the servants' Christmas dance when I was a maid. It was considered quite an honour to be asked by Higgins to dance, and when he'd had a few ports there was no holding him.'
She danced for an hour with Manrique. They hardly left the floor, and when they did she found herself on the terrace with him, under the stars, her head and her heart in a whirl. She laughed, softly and breathlessly. 'Oh, I've never had such a good time! Is it midnight yet? Must I dash away in case my finery turns again into a shapeless beige
frock?'
'How you intrigue me!' Manrique took her by the chin as if he would kiss her, and at once she took fright and darted down the terrace steps into the garden. He followed, and soon they were lost among the almond trees and the flowering hedges, and she knew herself less nervous here, the shadows and the roses a barrier against Don Juan and his authority over
her.
'You are very sensitive, aren't you?' Manrique caught and held her against a tree, and his eyes sparkled down at her like dark stars. 'But I like you the way you are - the girl who is generous with her kisses is a miser with her love.'
'Isn't it a little early in our friendship to start discussing such a subject?' she asked, and though her heart beat fast from the wine and the dancing she wasn't nearly as nervous of Rique as she was of Don Juan, who could so daunt a girl with that black frown of his.
'But no, the Spanish boy and girl talk all the time about love.'
'I'm not Spanish, senor,' she said demurely.
'You mean to tell me that you have never discussed el flechazo with a young man?'
She shook her head with a smile, for until tonight she had never even danced with a young man; never known the excitement of being alone with someone who was attractive and full of daring remarks. The arrow of love had never flown her way.
'You have been very sheltered,' he said.
'Obscured would be a better word.' Her fingers caressed the bell-like skirt of her velvet dress. 'It still feels so strange to be dressed like this ... as if I'm masquerading in someone else's clothes.'
'But you are not.' Rique's eyes gleamed down at her in the half-dark. 'The Marques is a rich man and he has made you his ward. This necklace you wear is set with diamonds and emeralds.'
His fingers touched the stones and she shivered for some odd reason.
'I'm grateful to him,' she said, 'but it's like being possessed.'
'How do you mean?' Rique's hands were suddenly gripping her. 'He treats you like a daughter, does he not?'
'Yes — '
'Then why do you talk of being possessed?' Rique's face was close to her and his eyes were no longer smiling. 'We use this word to mean something else. Te quiero. I want you! Not as a daughter but as a woman!'
'Don't!' She wrenched away from him. 'I never meant to imply such a thing - Don Juan is my guardian and I meant that he takes it so seriously. He has sent to Spain for a duenna for me, and before I make friends with anyone I must present them to him for his approval.'
'Ah, now I understand!' Rique gave a laugh. 'That is how it is with a parent or a guardian. You must expect the Senor Marques to act in this way, for as his ward you are now a very eligible young lady.'
'What do you mean?' She was perplexed. 'To speak of someone being eligible is to imply marriage and a dowry. I assure you — '
'Now you are annoyed.' Rique touched her cheek as if to feel its embarrassed warmth. 'Carina, as ward of the Marques de Leon you will reap all the benefits he can bestow. Surely you know this? A Spaniard takes seriously his responsibilities.'
'But all I want is an education!'
'How charming and innocent you are!' Rique laughed, and caught her in his arms. 'All you need is educating in matters of the heart, so let me be your teacher, let me show you how exciting a kiss can be.'
'No, Rique!' She struggled with him, and then stiffened into stillness as she caught the sound of footsteps limping along the path between the trees. 'Oh - it's him!'
'Yvain?' His sharp ears must have caught her terrified whisper. 'Where are you?'
She couldn't answer him, and Rique seemed as dumbstruck. There they stood so close together, his arms still around her as Don Juan parted the tresses of the trees with his stick and stared at them. 'We are about to go home,' he said, and his voice was as expressionless as his face. 'Release my ward, if you please, senor. She has had quite enough excitement for one evening.'
Rique's arms loosened from around her tense young figure, and she knew she looked as pale and guilty as she felt. Don Juan stood aside for her to pass him, and she heard him say to Rique: 'In future you will remember that Yvain is my ward. Any more of this kissing in the dark and I shall forbid her to see you.'
She turned to protest at this, but he waved her along the path, so tall, dark and grim that she didn't dare to disobey him. She gathered up her velvet skirts and ran ahead of him through the garden. She felt horribly like a child who had been caught doing something naughty, and on the way home in the car she tried to defend her innocence. 'There was no kissing in the dark,' she said, her eyes fixed on the glass panel that separated them from the chauffeur.
'I am quite sure there would have been if I had not come along.'
'Like some Victorian uncle!'
'Is that how it seemed?' A faint smile deepened the lines of irony about his mouth. 'There is a singular innocence about you, Yvain, but I know my countrymen and how expert they are when it comes to flirtation. I don't wish you to mistake the ardent talk of a handsome young musician for the deep feelings that have no words. I wish you to get to know Latin people and their ways, and then you will not need the protection of a Victorian uncle.'
Yvain bit her lip. 'I'm sorry to be tiresome, and a burden, senor.'
'You add words I did not use, senorita.'
'Surely you implied them?'
'You mean by my manner, when I found you in the arms of that young man?'
'I was in his arms on the dance floor ... is there so much difference?' 'My dear child, if you think not, then it looks as though I have other aspects of your education to take in hand.'
She looked at him quickly and again she saw in his dark eyes that disconcerting glimmer of humour. It startled and held her because otherwise his face was unreadable. It was like sunlight held and trapped at the bottom of a pool. A hint of devilry ... a reminder that Juan de Leon had not always been a man with a limp.
'You act the tyrant of iron,' she said, colour in her cheeks, 'just to tease me.'
'Not entirely.' He clasped his hands over the silver top of his stick. 'I meant what I said to Manrique Cortez. He may be a friend to you because you need someone young to talk and dance with ... but I will not tolerate an affair amore. Do you understand?'
'Yes, senor.' She looked at his profile and the smoky hair at his temple. The blend of vigour and maturity, were disturbing, and she wished it were otherwise. She wished this man could be like a father to her. 'I'll try to do as you tell me, but what about my feelings?'
'Your feelings?' He looked deliberately at her, as if it amazed him that she might have any.
'You can't forbid me to fall in love,' she said.
'If you are talking about calf-love, then it is something we all have to suffer on the way to growing up.'
'I grew up when I was fifteen,' she said quietly, and her fingers hurt themselves against the beads of her evening bag. 'In any case, I don't suppose Rique will want to be friends with me after the way you spoke to him.'
Don Juan looked at her and that left eyebrow of his was at its most satanic. 'Spaniards are not that sensitive. In fact they are most persistent in their search for an ideal.'
'Like Don Quixote?' she half-smiled.
'Exactly.' His dark eyes held hers. 'You have read his adventures?'
'In between bouts of reading love stories to Mrs. Sandell.'
He smiled. 'My library in the sea-tower is stocked with many books in English. They are yours to enjoy.'
She thanked him and thought how subtly he had wooed her away from the realms of romance into the classroom again. She might have Rique for a friend, but the Marques did not consider that she was ready for love.
What was love? Was it heaven in a tremor, a tightening of arms that would never let go, a brush of lips that slowly, ardently crushed all doubts to silence?
She dreamed a little, as girls will, and had dozed off to sleep when the car came to rest in the courtyard of the castle. Somewhere in her dream a hand touched her hair and a voice murmured her name
. 'We are home, Yvain.'
'Home?' she said drowsily, and when she opened her eyes her head was resting on her guardian's shoulder and his dark face was so close that she could have drawn his head down to her and felt his cool, chiselled lips crushing hers.
The thought came and went in a second, so startling her that she drew hastily away from him.
'Come,' he spoke brusquely. 'You are falling asleep from the champagne and all that dancing with the handsome Manrique. Tomorrow, remember, you start your lessons with Senor Fonesca.'
Back to the classroom, she thought, as she stumbled sleepily out of the car and followed Don Juan's limping figure up the steps to the wide flung door of the castillo. They entered and he flung her a brusque, 'Buena noche, niha.'
CHAPTER FIVE
THE Villa Fonesca was situated above the silky blue ruffling of the water in the bay. Fishing boats rocked beside the sea-mossed walls that towered to hold the cluster of white houses. There were people buying the wares of an open market. There was a chapel with a bell-turret, an impression of sun-hot shadow and bright flowers spilling from baskets and balconies.
Don Juan drove with Yvain to the house, but she learned upon their arrival that it wasn't from a wish to see her safely installed with her tutor. Dona Raquel awaited him, looking as cool and lovely as a flower in a dress of starched white lace and a wide hat with a rose under the brim. She and Don Juan were going across to the mainland for the day. Raquel wished to do some shopping, and the Marques had business there.
Before they departed, glasses of lemon tea were served on the patio of the villa. It was a place of romantic nooks and twisted old olive trees with a kind of wizardry about them. There was a seat encircling one of the trees and Raquel sat there in her shady hat, graceful and content because for a whole day the lean, dark man in the immaculate white suit would be hers alone.
'You look like a Renoir,' he said to her.
She smiled, and for a moment her eyes dwelt on Yvain in her simple yellow dress with a white butterfly collar. It was sleeveless, showing her slim young arms. The hem was short, revealing her slender legs. Down over one shoulder hung her switch of auburn hair, tied off with a green ribbon.
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