Masquerade

by Hannah Fielding

  Luz was flabbergasted by this condescending admission and by his mercurial mood. Fascination and indignation caught her in a tug of war. She could walk away – it would be enormously satisfying but so short-sighted. He was watching her now with that disarming smile of his. Andrés de Calderón was most definitely a charmer and whether she cared to admit it or not, Luz was suitably charmed. Anger died as relief settled in. She looked at him steadily, her deep-blue eyes trying to penetrate the mask of his dark glasses.

  ‘Thank you, señor, I’ll do my best to live up to your expectations.’

  The warmth in his smile would have melted all the glaciers in Alaska. ‘Splendid, you’ve just made me a happy man.’ Though she could not see his eyes, she sensed they were caressing her. He pushed back his chair and stood up. ‘I’ll get my office to draw up the contract. Unfortunately I’ve been called away this week on business. If you don’t mind, the signing will have to wait a few days, so I’ll understand if you want to delay starting work until then. My assistant will make an appointment with you. I hope this will be the beginning of a very fruitful and enjoyable partnership.’

  By the time he had finished, any belligerent thoughts she had been nurturing had evaporated. He led the way to the lift and held the gated door open for her. She took his outstretched hand and again a tiny shock of awareness ran through her nerve-endings at his touch. That slow, secret smile of his reappeared and once more she wished she could see the expression in his eyes. How like the gypsy he was, but how very different, too.

  Her curiosity had been piqued and even though she remained wary, as she left Caldezar Corporación, SA Luz was already under the notorious Andrés de Calderón’s spell.

  CHAPTER 3

  A couple of days had passed since her interview at Caldezar Corporación, SA. Alexandra and Salvador had returned to Jerez for the preparations of the El Pavón annual masked ball, but Luz had elected to stay in Cádiz. The fancy dress ball had been a tradition at El Pavón since the time of Count Rodriguez Cervantes de Rueda, Salvador’s grandfather, almost a century before. It had started off as a celebration of late spring and the last harvest of oranges. In the old days it was a much grander event, which lasted a week, and to which a great number of the European nobility were invited. Today, it was done on a smaller scale and only the great Spanish families were asked, along with famous names in the art and literary worlds.

  Luz had loved the romantic glamour of it all ever since she was a teenager, when she’d been allowed to stay up late to see the guests arrive: the music, the dancing and the fascination of watching a host of characters in costume, guessing who was beneath their velvety and bejewelled masks. It had always been a magical event for her.

  But now she had other things on her mind, her new job as biographer being uppermost. On her first morning alone, without her parents, Luz was just finishing her breakfast and reading her notebook when Carmela breezed on to the veranda.

  ‘Por favor, señorita, please make sure you lock your windows properly if you leave the house today.’ Carmela stood next to the table with her hands on her hips. ‘The gypsy horse fair’s in Cádiz and the town is apparently flooded with these people. I don’t need to tell you what ladrones, thieves, they are! They have more than one trick in their bags to rob from you. Pickpocketing, house breaking … nothing is beyond them. Every year they bring chaos to the area.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ll be going out today, I’ve some work to do.’ Luz told her. ‘Thank you for warning me, though. It’s true, I do have the habit of leaving the house without locking my windows, but it’s so isolated and calm here. It saves me taking my keys.’ She glanced up at Carmela. Of course she wasn’t going to admit that only a few days ago a young gitano had walked straight into the villa and through her bedroom door, not to mention the fact that he had carried her, unconscious, from his gypsy camp. She almost giggled at the thought and took a sip of coffee. ‘Anyhow, today if I decide to take a walk, I’ll make an exception.’ She smiled at Carmela.

  As the housekeeper turned to go, Luz asked nonchalantly, ‘Where does this fair take place?’

  ‘Oh, I think they usually set up camp on a plain the other side of the hills, always the same site. You know, that big space of derelict land just beyond the old forge,’ Carmela told Luz, waving a dismissive hand. ‘But that doesn’t stop them from coming over and invading the town.’

  Yes, Luz knew exactly where that was; she had seen the large area of scrubland on one of her long walks and wondered why it had remained undeveloped. She wouldn’t need a map to find it.

  Carmela paused and untied her apron, not noticing that Luz had put down her notebook and was deep in thought. ‘The gitanos overrun the taverns with their wild music and brawls. The women – iay! – the women are often the worst when they come to blows … more like claws than hands … and it’s usually over a man or money, or both. You should see them, carrying on with the sailors down at the port,’ she tutted and prattled on, folding her apron and tying her long dark curls back with a brightly coloured scarf.

  Luz’s attention returned to the housekeeper. ‘But Carmela, surely you’ve seen the Flamenco dancing and heard their music?’ She picked up a peach from her plate and moved to the marbled balcony wall of the veranda, leaning back against it. Her sapphire-blue eyes fixed on Carmela brightly. ‘Aren’t you the tiniest bit impressed by the spectacle – the passion, the skill, the grace of the dancers? It’s like watching colourful birds swirling, about to take flight.’

  She gazed out to sea and the sound of Leandro pouring his heart out over the strings of his guitar echoed through her mind. ‘And the music is exciting and sad, all at once, as if your heart will stop just from listening to it.’

  She looked up to see Carmela regarding her curiously. ‘Doña Luz, mark my words, these gitanos can hypnotize you with their music and sultry looks, but no good ever came of us gajos mixing with them. They have their world, we have ours. Así tiene que ser, that’s the way it’s meant to be.’ She sighed. ‘Now I must be off and back to my kitchen or Pedro will be wondering where his favourite baked cinnamon ensaimada are!’ She chuckled and gave the young woman a wave as she disappeared around the side of the villa.

  The sun baked fiercely over the great expanse of the Atlantic. Luz thought of Leandro and of Andrés, the two men who had made such a strong impression on her in the past week. Both were so similar physically but so completely different. How could they look so alike? Were they related? The idea sounded preposterous.

  Luz bit into the ripe peach, exposing the dark core. She had never come across the kind of man who tested her feelings and excited her in a way she’d always thought a woman should be excited, but who also made her nervous and unsure of herself. Generally, the opposite sex did not affect Luz to this extent. She was astonished at herself.

  She had never spoken to Leandro; still, the gypsy stirred emotions to the depth of her soul. Andrés, the cool, sophisticated businessman, had captivated her in quite a different manner. She had the vague impression of being the prisoner of an invisible net, cast by some strange twist of fate; and though it mystified her – disturbed her even – she found it enormously exhilarating. Now, whether she knew it or not, Luz was giving herself up to the current of destiny.

  Somewhere, an unfathomable need to see Leandro again swept through her. Her eyes skimmed over the distant view of dazzling water; it shimmered like a spangled sheet of silk, dotted here and there with little beads of gold. She could hear the seagulls squalling and the horns of big ships booming in the harbour. Luz glanced down at the manuscript she had been reading and then at her book of notes. Such a beautiful afternoon and there she was, cooped up at home working. Her decision to start before the contract was signed, to get ahead with the job – and perhaps impress Andrés de Calderón in the process, she conceded – now seemed an onerous task.

  Her mind automatically wandered back to his green-eyed gypsy doppelgänger. Becoming involved with gypsies is a bad idea, a small
voice at the back of her mind nagged. She thought of her parents and their strange reticence about the gitanos, and about Carmela, who had made no bones about her opinion. Certainly, such behaviour wasn’t in keeping with the sense of decorum she’d tried to adopt while growing up in England either. But I’m not going to get involved, I’m just curious about these people, another part of her argued. The dialogue went on in her head: curiosity killed the cat, went the proverb. Ah, but curiosity alone inspires every step, according to Goethe. Anyway, it was all part of her research, she told herself. One or two of Eduardo’s best pieces portrayed aspects of their lives.

  She searched her wardrobe for a scruffy-looking sleeveless top and a pair of faded denims and pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail with wispy strands coming away from the band. A last glance in the mirror assured her that she was inconspicuous enough; it would not do to be noticed. Luz was unaware that her kind of beauty was never unobtrusive and, however much she tried to blend into the crowd, she would always be noticed.

  She found the fairground without any difficulty. The hilly route she took was hot and dusty with no merciful shade. At last, though, the road fell away and the old forge appeared in the near distance on the edge of a scrubby plain; a matter of minutes and she would be there. As she approached the site she could hear the low, continuous, rumbling murmur of the gypsy gathering, like the raging winds that thundered over the coast on stormy nights. The commotion held numerous sounds. There was the resonating clamour of speech and laughter; the whinnying of excited horses stamping their hooves and the clanking of the brass ornaments on their harnesses as they shook their beautiful manes. There was the barking of dogs and the rattling of their chains as they pulled on them. And now, as the camp came into view, there was the distinctive, heavy pounding of her heartbeat filling her ears.

  The scene was humming with life. Under the fire of the sun a rainbow tapestry of people, beasts and inanimate objects came together in happy, organised chaos. Mules and donkeys mingled with goats and pigs, braying, bleating and squealing as children ran around whooping and chasing each other with catapults. Men led horses round on ropes while others gesticulated on the merits of a particular beast as they huddled in groups, smoking cigarettes and grunting their approval or rejection. The chaláns, the gypsy horse dealers, with their bronzed faces and broad-brimmed felt hats, presided over the buying and selling of every beast under the shade of a huge wooden shed roof. They stood in front of a bigger crowd who shouted things back at them in Caló. Men and women chatted and laughed behind stalls of food, copper pans, bright clothes and baskets. There was even a barrel-organ player, grinning toothlessly and nodding along to his music as some gypsies clapped and danced, or swigged from glasses of manzanilla. The air was a heady mix of smells: earth, sweat, dung, tobacco and strong coffee.

  At first Luz was overwhelmed by it all; but as she slipped through the crowd and roamed around the stalls, feasting her eyes on this colourful and mysterious world, she began to enjoy herself.

  She had almost forgotten what she had come for when she spotted him in a group of men gathered under the shed roof. Leandro was accompanied by the lanky, tattooed youth she had seen with him on the beach. His back was to Luz and he was busy arguing with the owner of a beautiful horse, explaining himself with animated gestures. He was dressed in a faded olive-green vest and washed-out black Bermuda shorts, a dark scarf around his throat. Despite his slim build, Leandro’s whole body was the picture of vitality and strength. When looking at him, the words ‘tall’, ‘lean’ and ‘energetic’ came to mind. Luz’s gaze lingered on his bare arms and thighs, which were evenly tanned and knotted with muscles. He had held her in those arms against his powerful chest and she had been unconscious: how infuriating! She wondered what it would be like to live the life of a wild gypsy. Luz felt herself blush as sensual, unfamiliar images invaded her mind and delicious warm sensations flooded her body. What was wrong with her? Never in her whole life had she been subjected to such unbelievable inner mayhem. It must be the heat, she thought. She had read somewhere that the sun sometimes did strange things to a person.

  His friend was the first to notice her. He nudged Leandro and whispered something in his ear. Leandro turned to look over his shoulder and she felt the strength of his magnetic stare. He nodded in acknowledgement of her and smiled, then returned to his business, shaking his head at the owner of the horse: no deal. The seller said something. Leandro yawned, shrugged his shoulders and scratched his head, then his chin. Finally he laughed, shook hands with the trader and came towards Luz, pulling the beautiful animal behind him. The deal was done after all.

  ‘Buenas tardes, señorita,’ he greeted her courteously as he drew nearer. ‘Que me han traíde suerte, you’ve brought me luck,’ he declared, his glittering eyes arresting hers with an enigmatic stare. He raked long, slender fingers through his unruly shock of shiny dark hair. For the first time she had a clear view of him. He was around her own age, she guessed, though something about him seemed older somehow. Under the two-day stubble his narrow face had a golden darkness, different to the usual rougher gypsy tan, with a pronounced bone structure and regular features. It was highlighted by the deep green of his irises that watched her now between thick black eyelashes with a strange remoteness.

  He glanced casually behind him before returning his gaze to her. ‘You have to be doubly careful at these fairs. Some dealers can make you believe that oranges grow on cactus trees.’ His voice had a gypsy cadence to it that she did not find unattractive. This was certainly not the measured, sophisticated drawl of Andrés de Calderón.

  Luz laughed, mustering up enough courage not to run away and hide. ‘I’ve been meaning to thank you for taking care of me after my fall and returning me safely home. It was very kind of you.’

  ‘You were hurt, what else could I do?’

  She thought she glimpsed a spark of something in his eyes: frustration, anger, impatience, but then it was gone and his expression became unreadable again.

  ‘Still, not everyone would have been so … gallant,’ she stammered, trying to find the right word. As she said it, she thought of him delivering her directly to her bedroom and felt her face warm at the suggestion of just how gallant he had been.

  As if reading her mind he looked down at her and gave a slow, mischievous smile. ‘This is true. But we gypsies can be honourable, too.’ Green eyes glittered at her with amusement as he lowered his face closer to hers and added: ‘Or did you think we were all rogues and bandits, perhaps?’

  ‘Of course not, I didn’t mean to …’

  ‘But I see you’re fully recovered,’ he interrupted, straightening up. His gaze travelled over her in a way that made her insides blaze and melt at the same time.

  ‘Yes, I slept well and felt fine the next morning, thank you.’

  ‘Your bed is very comfortable, that always helps.’ His voice was low and provocative.

  Luz’s eyes widened. ‘You were …’ was all she could manage as the heat deepened in her cheeks.

  He laughed. ‘Don’t look so shocked, señorita. I laid you down on your bed, that’s all. As I told you, we gypsies are honourable, though you would sorely test any man’s control, I think.’

  She blinked rapidly, telling herself to concentrate. He was standing close enough for her to reach out and touch him and although she yearned to, she would never have dared. Men did not normally have this effect on her and her heart was thundering in her chest as though she had just finished a run on the beach.

  ‘And are all gypsies so forward?’

  ‘No, just me … and only with you.’ He flashed a grin and began stroking the side of his horse absentmindedly. ‘Do you often ride on the beach?’

  Luz noticed the way the smooth muscles in his arm flexed as his hand moved up and down the creature. She swallowed before saying, ‘Yes, most days. I love the sea air and the exercise.’

  He nodded, wicked humour still alight in his bright green eyes, which remained fixed on
Luz’s. ‘Exercise is good. What other exercise do you enjoy, señorita?’ His gaze darkened and flicked down to her mouth before settling back on her eyes.

  Luz felt an involuntary quiver in a strange and uncharted place deep in her belly. He was flirting outrageously and she found it intoxicating. ‘I often swim, too. Do you swim?’ she found herself saying, huskily.

  An eyebrow arched. ‘Yes, of course – we are sea gypsies. I should take you swimming one day, I think we would both like it. You can race me. Though I warn you, you wouldn’t win.’

  ‘You think not? I was on our school swim team,’ she answered, still trying to control her breathy voice. Suddenly she realized that she hadn’t even introduced herself. ‘By the way, my name is Luz. Doña Luz de Rueda.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’ He lifted an eyebrow and gave a lazy, enigmatic smile. ‘So why is a girl like you alone at the horse fair, Doña Luz de Rueda?’ He pulled gently on the reins of his stallion as it snorted and tossed its head.

  Luz was distracted from the fact that he already knew her name and was more concerned about how to explain her appearance there. She could not possibly admit that she had gone there solely to find him, and yet the fairground was too out of the way to pretend she had just been out for a walk.

  ‘I heard the fair was on at the moment and I’ve always wanted to see it for myself. Your horse is beautiful, I’m quite envious.’

  He was about to answer when two young gitanas came out of nowhere, joining their little group.

  ‘Oh, Leandro, what have you got there?’ said one as she trailed her hand over the horse’s chestnut coat. ‘He’s a beauty!’

  ‘Indeed, he’s quite a find,’ Leandro agreed, his well-defined mouth breaking into a satisfied smile. He patted the creature’s flank and stared at Luz for a brief moment before looking away.

  ‘You’re so clever, you have a real business talent,’ the other gypsy girl told him in a sugary tone, sliding an arm around his waist possessively and cuddling up to him. Her flame-coloured hair framed a striking face and there was a boldness about her that Luz found slightly vulgar.