Masquerade

by Hannah Fielding

  Andrés speared some lobster with his fork. ‘I see you spent most of your childhood in England. Are you planning to stay in Spain for good?’ His face was impassive.

  ‘I have lots of friends from boarding school and my great-aunt is in England, but my parents are here and this is where my heart lies,’ she explained.

  He nodded as if satisfied with her answer. ‘Did you find it difficult growing up away from home?’

  Luz glanced up at him in surprise at this sudden intimate question. ‘I would have preferred to stay in Spain, I think, but I learned to be independent there and think for myself.’

  ‘You think that an English boarding school education is the reason for that?’

  ‘Yes, in a way.’ She took a sip of water and looked at him, suddenly a little bolder. ‘Forgive me for saying so, but you yourself said that my written work today was far superior to that of the other applicants and I can’t take all the credit for that.’

  Andrés cocked his head to one side, studying her. ‘You can’t?’

  ‘I might not be sitting here if I hadn’t lived and studied abroad. Boarding school taught me to be self-sufficient and rely on myself and not others. That gave me the drive to be as good as I could be at everything I do.’

  Now one side of his mouth lifted with amusement. ‘I’m sure you are good at everything you do, Doña Luz.’ His gaze stayed on her as he sipped his wine, making her flush once more. ‘Perhaps there is a connection, as you say. You were the only candidate educated abroad, I believe.’

  ‘As I said, though, Spain is where I belong,’ Luz went on, keen to reassure him that she was committed. ‘That’s why I wanted to find challenging work in this part of the country. I love it so much.’

  ‘This biography will certainly be a challenge. No one has ever written anything of much quality about Eduardo’s work.’

  ‘Then I shall be the first,’ she answered, without thinking, taking another mouthful of the delicious, creamy shellfish.

  ‘Are you always this straightforward, Doña Luz? I like that.’ His broad smile flashed at her and Luz coloured again slightly, though relieved that she seemed to be making a good impression.

  ‘What I meant, I suppose, is that I’ve always had high expectations of myself.’

  He was still smiling as he took a sip of his wine. ‘And in all things?’

  Her brow furrowed. ‘Of course. How can one live without expectations and standards in life?’

  He raised his eyebrows at her artless response and then chuckled. ‘That sounds like your English boarding school speaking.’

  Realizing how earnest she must have sounded, Luz smiled sheepishly at his obvious amusement. ‘Yes, maybe it is.’ He was perceptive as well as ridiculously handsome.

  They talked and ate, and Luz found herself laughing in spite of her nerves. She was starting to feel more confident now, even beginning to enjoy Andrés’ playful banter.

  A waiter cleared the first course as another brought in the second: poussin filled with a Provençal stuffing, made distinctive by the addition of spicy local sausage, he told her. Andrés de Calderón was obviously a gourmet.

  Now that she was at ease, she sensed the more rigorous part of the interview was about to start.

  Andrés refilled Luz’s glass with water. ‘Eduardo’s Surrealist influences are well known but how would you say they informed his architecture?’ His polite, professional tone had returned.

  ‘Yes, people often cite Magritte, Dalí, Ernst and Miró as influences for his paintings, but his extraordinary, strident colours are often reminiscent of Fauvism. And there’s no doubt that he admired the old masters too, especially Velázquez and Caravaggio for their dramatic realism. You can see how it shaped the more representational aspects of his style.’ Luz felt him watching her intently as she spoke and realized that she was gazing at his mouth again. Already she was moving off the point.

  ‘And his architecture?’ he asked, a faint smile playing around his lips as if he knew what she was thinking.

  Annoyed with herself, she pulled her distracted attention back to the question. ‘Some say, and I agree, that his architecture as well as his paintings owe the greatest debt to Escher and his use of impossible constructions, all those odd perspectives and the exploration of infinity in his black-and-white woodcuts.’

  ‘For example?’

  ‘For example, the interlocking stairs in many of the elaborate castles and towers that Eduardo painted and his doorways placed in bizarre, illogical places. For Eduardo, Escher was a genius.’ Luz began to relax into her subject. ‘And just look at his museum in Cádiz. It’s an obvious homage to both Escher and the Surrealists. There’s no doubt that the Surrealist painters he was exposed to in Paris when he was an art student also inspired him to create buildings like that, as well as his landscaped gardens – they’re fantastical, too.’

  Andrés broke in here, fully locked now into the debate. ‘André Breton, who, as you know, was the father of Surrealism, said: “The imaginary is what tends to become real.”’ He gave a wry smile. ‘The boundary between illusion and reality is a fictitious one.’

  Luz stared at Andrés’ unfeasibly handsome face. Now that he was fired with enthusiasm, it was almost as if Leandro was sitting opposite her. ‘Does that apply to your own life?’ The words had left Luz’s lips before she had a chance to think.

  ‘I have my uncle’s blood running through my veins so I have a certain way of looking at the world, yes. Life is a masquerade, as Eduardo knew. What is truth from one angle is a lie from another.’ He ate a mouthful of food and seemed to regard her appraisingly. ‘People suppress their inner truths and desires all the time and present an illusion to the world and even to themselves, wouldn’t you say, Doña Luz?’

  She glanced down at her plate, feeling like the conversation was suddenly moving in a direction with which she did not feel comfortable. Though it had been tempting to fish for information about Andrés, he was clearly adept at turning the tables. Luz shifted in her chair. Not being able to see the expression in his eyes was intimidating. The thought crossed her mind that he had worn them for just that reason. She sat a little more upright in her chair, determined to return to the subject of Eduardo.

  ‘Yes, illusion and reality is at the heart of Surrealism and what you say fits with Eduardo, and even more so with Dalí. But then Dalí was such a strong influence in all those years Eduardo lived in France after he finished art school.’

  Andrés gave a slight wave of his fork. ‘True, but Eduardo was not fond of Dalí’s grandiose behaviour and the publicity stunts that so often eclipsed his actual work.’

  Relieved they were firmly back on track, Luz continued the thread: ‘And, of course, he didn’t share Dalí’s politics either. Having said that, he may have frowned upon Dalí’s support of Franco, but he didn’t return to Spain to fight for the Republican cause.’

  ‘His war protest was in his art, like Picasso and Miró. Like many of the Surrealists.’ Andrés broke off some bread and continued to look at her. ‘But I see you’re not about to let Eduardo off lightly.’

  ‘I don’t think you can write an insightful account of an artist’s life unless you look squarely at those things for which they can be criticized …’ She paused. Would he take exception to that?

  ‘Indeed,’ Andrés nodded his head, conceding the point. ‘But life is not just black and white, right and wrong. Circumstances often weave a complicated pattern that can obscure the way forward,’ he said softly.

  A furrow appeared between his brows and as he said no more, Luz carried on.

  ‘I’ve always found the darker side of Eduardo’s paintings interesting. His use of magic and fairy tale can either feel uplifting or menacing and despairing.’

  ‘Yes, some of the images are unsettling, even when beautifully painted. His obsession with death is as potent as his celebration of life. Which works do you prefer, Doña Luz?’

  Luz thought for a moment. She knew exactly which paint
ing was her favourite. It was The Immortality of the Crab, in which a naked woman sat on a chair on the beach, her face covered with a giant butterfly, the sea calm behind her. Out of her head protruded two long feelers and from her lower belly a huge lotus flower with giant petals bloomed, on which a whole new fantastic, vibrant landscape was rendered in miniature. The flower’s long stem plunged straight into the ground, where thick roots tendrilled outwards to take hold of the earth. The image always spoke to her own desire for something suppressed within her, fighting to get out, and was strangely erotic. This particular painting was not one she wanted to discuss with Andrés.

  ‘The ones dealing with freedom, release and rebirth – The Mannequin and the Princess, Song to the Mountain, Gypsy Carnival, Dominion of the Phoenix. I love the jewel-like colours and sense of magic and movement. The element of surprise and wild imagination is breathtaking.’

  ‘The element of surprise and mystery was what Eduardo excelled at,’ he observed.

  Eduardo wasn’t the only one, Luz mused. She sensed his nephew was an unpredictable puzzle and it made her uncharacteristically wary. She watched the long, perfectly formed fingers of his hand reach for his glass and for some unknown reason it made her cheeks warm.

  ‘The symbols of sex, death, hope and love are equally fascinating …’ Luz hesitated, not knowing how to finish her train of thought.

  ‘Go on, Doña Luz,’ Andrés said smoothly.

  ‘Well … it’s a combination of traditions. The mythological and pagan, but also harking back to medieval and renaissance Christian symbolism, which was used so that the illiterate masses could readily understand its meaning … the pomegranate as a symbol of eternal life and resurrection, the fig as the loss of innocence, and so on. In those days people were constantly reminded that Satan would be ready with his pitchfork in the fires of Hell for anyone indulging in carnal pleasures or even indecent thoughts.’ She blushed again as her eyes inadvertently took in the smooth line of his jaw and she took a sip of water.

  Andrés put his fork down and leaned back in his chair. His amused smile had reappeared. ‘And you think that Eduardo was warning against the dangers of carnal pleasure?’

  Luz cleared her throat. ‘No, not at all! His paintings are far too erotic for that.’ Why was she finding this so difficult to talk about? She needed to steer towards safer ground. ‘I mean that he depicted human experience and also saw the repercussions that our actions have. His symbolism was deeply personal, too. There are so many references to the fact that he witnessed his mother fall from a horse that trampled her to death. Horses figure repeatedly in his paintings – The Lady of the Forest with the woman on horseback riding through the trees, her head facing the wrong way on her shoulders.’

  ‘Ah, yes, that’s one of his best. Beautiful and disturbing at the same time.’ Andrés cupped his chin in his hand and his brow furrowed. ‘Her neck was broken when they found her.’

  Luz nodded and pushed her plate away. ‘It must have been hideous, completely devastating. Psychoanalysts would say that the loss of his mother was Eduardo’s reason for shifting back and forth between reality and illusion in his paintings, refusing to accept what had happened.’

  ‘Yes, he never got over it. He understood loss and loneliness very well.’ Andrés frowned again and then seemed to be on the point of saying more when the waiter appeared to clear their plates. Luz watched Andrés for a moment and although his sunglasses rendered him inscrutable, for the first time he seemed genuinely awkward. Aware of her gaze, he broke the moment by changing the subject: ‘We could talk for hours about Eduardo’s symbolism and I’m sure we will again, but there are other matters we should move on to.’

  All through the remainder of the meal, Andrés put her through a searching and thorough examination, asking intricate, ambiguous questions pertaining to Spain and its place in the international art world. She was aware that he arranged them purposely to trip her, but she was well trained and gave swift, instinctive answers.

  He seemed satisfied and just when she thought that he was going to offer her the post, once the table had been cleared he leaned over and took a file that was sitting on one of the chairs, fingering it absentmindedly for a moment before opening it.

  His face looked suddenly grave and the mouth that had often been so animated during their meal was set in an impassive line. He leaned on the chair arm, chin resting on his thumb and index finger. For a few disquieting seconds Luz knew he was surveying her closely from behind those dark glasses. ‘Is there anything you feel might be of issue if I were to employ you? Anything at all?’ He paused a few moments. Luz cast about in her mind for anything she thought he needed to know. She remained silent.

  ‘Well then, Doña Luz, can you please tell me why you walked away from your first job and why you mentioned it neither in your CV nor in this morning’s questionnaire?’

  The words slipped coolly off his tongue but she could see that he was not enjoying this part of the interview. His question was unexpected, of course, but it was the first that really felt like an intrusion into her private life. How did he know? Then again, he was an experienced businessman. He wouldn’t take any chances; he’d research a person’s background first and be a master at extracting more information from them in the interview than they wanted to relay. Then Luz’s eye caught sight of a tabloid clipping in his open file. He followed her gaze. A couple of uncomfortable seconds passed.

  ‘Did you think it was of no importance to a future employer? Such an attitude deserves a little condemnation, does it not?’

  It was as if a bucket of icy water had just been hurled in her face. Earlier, he had been nothing but complimentary; where was he coming from with this? He had made a good job of unnerving her, if that was his intention.

  The words stuck in her throat. She drew a breath. ‘It was my first job, I was inexperienced … I mishandled a difficult situation …’ Her heart was hammering now as if she had run a marathon.

  ‘Why did you not mention it? Do you not find that dishonest? I’m paying a generous fee for this biography, assigning the writer copyright and putting their name on the cover. Don’t you think I had the right to know?’ The dark tone of his voice was dry and inflexible.

  Something tightened inside her at his hostility. For God’s sake, did he not understand that it wasn’t dishonesty that had prevented her from disclosing the facts but embarrassment? Her only crime in that first job had been that she was too innocent, too trusting. Lifting her chin defiantly, she gave Andrés a look of thunder, her stormy eyes threatening to fill with the tears that she willed away. ‘I honestly did not think you would be interested,’ she replied finally.

  ‘On the contrary, I’m very interested. I’d like to know what would make a dedicated, passionate and talented young woman walk out of her first assignment.’

  ‘There was a difference of opinion between myself and my employer.’

  ‘This man, Cameron Hunt, he was your lover.’ It was not a question but a statement.

  Before Andrés could go any further with his accusations, she put up a peremptory hand. ‘Just wait a second, señor. What gives you the right to presume that he was my lover?’

  ‘Wasn’t he?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘I don’t think it’s any of your business who I do or do not sleep with.’ Luz forced herself to remain calm. ‘Still, I will enlighten you out of courtesy and because I admit that it was possibly wrong of me not to mention the fact. Mr Hunt and myself were never lovers. He commissioned me to write the biography of his ancestor. We went on a few dates, yes. All the rest is newspaper hype.’

  ‘But you walked off the job …’ He was still toying with her and his relentless confrontation was throwing her off balance.

  How she wished he would take off those dreadful glasses so she could speak to him eye-to-eye. This was like talking to a blank wall and it unsettled her. Luz was starting to think that he had worn them as a deliberate ploy. She clenched her fists slightly.

 
; ‘Yes, as I have told you already, I was young and I didn’t know how to handle a difficult situation. I had no option but to resign from the job and return the advance paid. Still, I don’t see what my personal life has to do with you, or with whether or not I’m fit to write your uncle’s biography. Maybe if you had a better look at my CV instead of reading trashy tabloids like the Daily Messenger you would have a fuller picture of my capabilities.’ She was staring at him with fiery eyes.

  The smile that flitted across his lips was darker now. ‘Come now, Doña Luz, you are a very beautiful woman. You were, as you said, very young, just out of university. Were you so naïve as to think that a man of Cameron Hunt’s status would have given you that important assignment without an ulterior motive?’

  ‘Do I take it then, señor, that if you decide to give me this job – and I’m aware it would only be my second significant assignment – you too would have an ulterior motive?’ She blurted out the answer and regretted her words as soon as she had said them but it was too late to take them back.

  One of his black eyebrows flicked up a fraction and she had the horrible feeling that he was trying to assess the reason for her question. The suggestion behind it made Luz suddenly very self-conscious. For a fleeting moment she caught some kind of smouldering emotion burning silently beneath his elegant and composed exterior. Then suddenly Andrés threw his head back and, for the first time, burst out laughing, his handsome, masculine face vibrating with life.

  ‘Touché, señorita!’ He closed the file and slapped it down on the table. ‘You’ve got the job if you still want it. It’s been a pleasure fencing with you,’ he ended with a good-humoured nod of his head.