‘Rosa, you flatter me, as always. But yes, it’s true,’ he shrugged, grinning impishly.
Leandro obviously had a large fan club, Luz noted. Feeling distinctly de trop, she started to turn but he caught her eye. The gypsy gave her a fleeting glance as if he was pretending not to notice her but something flickered in his expression that she couldn’t interpret. Did he recognize her discomfort? Was that a glance of understanding or sudden dismissal now that he had a new female audience? Whatever he was thinking, Luz sensed that the circle now excluded her. She felt like she’d been cast aside but was determined no one would see such emotion betrayed by her face.
A rigid smile touched her lips as she moved away, leaving the three gypsies engrossed in a lively conversation about the newly bought horse. Luz held her chin up, but knives cruelly pierced her heart. All her unrealistic dreams were crumbling into a pile of cinders. Her imagination, not normally quite so febrile, had spun a web of romantic fantasies in which she was now caught. The wretchedness that consumed her now was not the gypsy’s fault but all of her own making, she told herself. From the very first moment she had laid eyes on Leandro, she had been wrong; in her head she had fabricated his interest and misjudged the situation all along. Now, she had only herself to blame.
The air had grown cooler. In different circumstances Luz would have enjoyed the walk back but, as it was, her thoughts weighed heavily on her, making her head hang down. She was weary and humiliated. What had possessed her to act in such a foolhardy way? she pondered miserably. Perhaps Leandro had always been out to make fun of her. Dimly, she could hear her parents’ warnings to keep away from gypsies. Only the other day her father had told her that the gitanos were fond of tricks. Why had she not taken heed of those wise words?
‘My beautiful red roses, my lovely scented roses, who will buy? Fair lady, gracious señorita, why are you so sad?’
Luz jumped, jerked out of her sombre thoughts. A gitana dressed all in black was accosting her at the side of the road with a bunch of blood-red roses, which she clutched tightly in her long brown fingers, despite the spiky thorns. She had come right up to Luz, her dark hawkish eyes peering inquisitively into the young woman’s face. Luz shook her head politely and tried to move on, doing her best to ignore the flower seller.
‘Let me help you, let me make things better,’ the gypsy persisted, close on Luz’s heels. ‘Believe me, I have the remedy. Today he doesn’t love you, tomorrow with this talisman he will be unable to live without you.’
‘Leave me alone, thank you. I’ve no money on me, so just go away,’ Luz told her, accelerating her step. Perhaps fate was laughing at her, too.
‘I do not want any money, fair lady,’ the gypsy said sharply as she caught the young woman’s arm, forcing her to halt, the gold and silver bracelets clinking on her arms as she did so. She then coughed slightly and ran the back of her hand over her mouth. For the first time Luz looked into the gitana’s face. She was a fine-looking woman, with large, blazing, charcoal pupils fixed keenly on the young woman’s eyes. Brass hoop earrings pushed through her blue-black curly hair, which was obviously dyed and fell well below her shoulders in thick unruly locks. Her face was heavily made-up and Luz found it difficult to guess her age, but it was clear that, while she must have been a great beauty in her youth, life had not been kind. There was an ashen pallor to her complexion underneath the make-up.
Exasperated, Luz sighed. ‘So if it’s not money you’re looking for, what is it you want?’
‘I have taken a shine to you, hermosa jovencita. You remind me of the daughter I lost through sickness when she was still a blooming flower,’ she said, switching to a whimpering tone. ‘I want to help you, you seem so sad. Here, take this talisman and wear it underneath your clothes,’ she went on with urgency, as she tried to press a tiny package into the young woman’s hand.
‘What are you up to this time, Jezebel?’ croaked an old woman loudly, moving out of the shadow of a gnarled olive tree. It was Paquita.
The younger gitana turned sharply round as Paquita crossed the narrow road to join them, saying: ‘Show me what you’ve got there.’ She snatched the tiny package from the other gypsy’s hand, throwing her a contemptuous look. ‘Shame on you!’
Then turning to Luz, she gazed at her with shrewd, hooded eyes that were unusually alert and penetrating for an old woman. ‘Go on your way, beautiful lady, go on your way and beware of red roses! The rose is a dangerous flower … it does not just hold the blossom, it also has thorns.’
After both gypsies had disappeared back up the hill towards the camp, Luz hurried home in a kind of haze. To Carmela’s dismay she evaded dinner and went straight to her room. She sat for a long time on the veranda, looking out over the beautiful vista before her without seeing it, ruminating on this painful confusion that was so unfamiliar to her. The waves crashed on to the rocks in the soft light of the fading day. Something had been unleashed in her that she dearly wished she could return whence it came. Nothing made sense and nothing gave her comfort.
That night Luz’s dreams of fire returned, all-consuming this time, and she could not walk out of the flames.
* * *
Luz threw herself fully into her work. Contract or no contract, she must keep her mind occupied and pull herself together. Thank goodness she had swallowed her pride at the interview and secured the job with Caldezar Corporación, SA. She spent her days scanning libraries, museums and art galleries for information about Eduardo de Salazar. In the evenings she would return, exhausted, to L’Estrella and after a quick snack in brooding silence, retreat to her bedroom. So long as she was working, she was safe, but at night, in the deep quiet of darkness, that was when the torment began. Assailed by nightmares and humiliating thoughts she would toss and turn, but also, and that was the worst of it, by a powerful, aching need that was unfamiliar to her. Those brief moments when she’d been aware of Leandro’s strong masculine physique at the horse fair haunted her. No matter how much she fought it, he was always there, his green opal eyes boring into hers, caressing her, calling her.
A new day dawned. She was scheduled to meet Andrés de Calderón that morning to sign her contract. A fresh surge of energy seized her. The sun was shining, the sky was blue without a cloud – a perfect travel-brochure day. There was also the El Pavón annual masked ball to look forward to in a few days’ time. Thinking she should extend the courtesy of inviting Andrés, Luz sealed an envelope containing his invitation and put it in her briefcase. As she quickly pulled on her blue silk robe, she wondered with what costume the charming, urbane businessman might choose to disguise himself. Today she assumed she would be seeing him without sunglasses; if not, it would be a strange reversal to see his eyes for the first time behind a mask if he came to the ball. The thought gave her a curious feeling in the pit of her stomach but she chose to ignore it and ran downstairs to breakfast.
The smell of coffee greeted her as she burst into the kitchen. ‘Good morning, Carmela, what have you made me this morning?’ she said cheerfully, picking up the cup the housekeeper had already poured for her and seating herself at the table on the patio.
Carmela followed, and her features broke into a warm smile. ‘Ah, that’s better, señorita. You are your happy self again, I was beginning to get worried.’ She put down a tray of milk, cinnamon ensaimada and fruit.
‘I’ve been working too hard these past few days and I suppose I was just tired,’ Luz murmured, pouring some steaming hot milk over her coffee. She bit into a peach from the fruit bowl.
The housekeeper eyed her quizzically. ‘I wondered if you had a novio. No hay nada como el amor para que el corazón sufra, there’s nothing like love to make the heart suffer. Tell me about it – I had a lot of experience with my dear Pedro before we married.’
She breathed a deep, knowing sigh as she placed the basket of fresh warm pastries in front of the young woman.
‘You may rest assured, there is no novio in sight and it’s unlikely that there will be for
a long time,’ said Luz with a hollow laugh, helping herself to an ensaimada. The image of Leandro’s face flickered in her mind but she resolutely pushed it away.
‘You never know, these things happen when you least expect them. It’s fate.’
Luz shrugged and grabbed another ensaimada. She was suddenly very hungry. Since the horse fair she had picked at her food and nothing seemed to have much taste, but this idyllic morning heralded a brand new day in her life and she intended to make the most of it.
She loved her work. Eduardo de Salazar’s paintings excited her and it had been phenomenal to view the originals in the museum. Some were vivid and flirtatious: behind the picture you could perceive the humour of a mischievous mind; others were darker, showing creatures that were half-human, half-horse, many of them disturbingly sexual. She was sure she would thoroughly enjoy writing the biography of such an artist, not only to get to know his artworks but also to gain a deeper insight into the life and psychology of the man. Her thoughts drifted to Eduardo’s nephew and she wondered what else she might discover about him, too.
An hour later Luz was sailing through the doors of Calderón Corporación, SA, in a businesslike but feminine cream Yves Saint Laurent suit, the knee-length skirt flaring out above her shapely legs. Her notes were tidily collated in her briefcase; her mood was curious, if cautious. She was immediately taken to the top floor and this time not shown to the veranda but directly to Andrés de Calderón’s office.
It was a huge room, with tall windows that generously let in the light, made even brighter by the white painted walls. A row of six Eduardo de Salazar paintings adorned them, a wild splash of colour against the stark background. It was as if this room, unlike the reception area in which Luz previously waited, was the only place where Eduardo’s presence was allowed to be felt, though no clue to its occupant’s personality was immediately apparent. A cabinet held two televisions side by side, one of which showed a computer-style screen with ‘TVE Teletext’ across the top in colourful letters and beneath it a list of the latest international news stories. No doubt this was one of the eccentric ‘latest things’ her mother had spoken about. A large modern oak desk sat in front of the windows, behind which Andrés de Calderón watched the screen with concentration.
He looked up as she entered the room and greeted her with a beaming smile. ‘Buenos días, Doña Luz. How lovely to meet you again. I hope you’ve had a good week,’ he said, rising from an imposing leather chair behind his desk and extending his hand as he came towards her. As their hands touched there it was again, that fascinating shiver.
‘Buenos días, Don Andrés,’ she said, turning her discerning sapphire eyes on him.
This time the sunglasses were gone. Finally, Luz had the opportunity to scrutinize him more closely. Jet-black eyes met hers and, despite being strikingly different in colour to those of Leandro, she was reminded of the uncanny resemblance between the smooth businessman and the dishevelled gypsy.
She nodded towards the TV screen. ‘How fascinating. I’ve heard of teletext but I’ve never seen it before.’
‘I pride myself on being up to date with technology. Knowledge is success.’ His voice sounded amused but the smile was merely polite. ‘Please have a seat.’ He indicated the chair opposite and resumed his own.
Funnily enough, she thought as she sat down facing him, even though Andrés de Calderón had a good deal of presence in his impeccably cut city suit, immaculately starched white shirt and designer tie, somehow he lacked the energetic and bewitching sortilege which Leandro oozed from every pore.
She must have been staring because Andrés was watching her with slight humour in his sooty irises. ‘Well, do I meet with your approval?’ he asked, his lips twitching. Luz felt her cheeks deepen in colour. Telling him that he resembled a gypsy she had met was hardly an appropriate response.
He looked down. ‘Perhaps the suit needs cleaning …’ She was at a loss for words but he put up a hand, coming to her rescue. ‘Don’t take any notice, señorita, I say strange things sometimes. I’m told it’s all part of my mercurial character.’
He had taken the words right out of her mouth.
‘And do you agree?’
‘It’s a fair assessment.’ His expression was still one of amusement. She searched for something witty to say, but found herself tonguetied and only managed a sunny smile.
Andrés opened a folder and scanned it briefly. His eyes came back to hers as he handed it over.
‘Our lawyers have drawn up the contract. I hope you will find the terms satisfactory. Please read through it carefully and if there’s anything you don’t agree with, don’t hesitate to let me know. I’m always open to discussion, nothing is cast in stone.’ He had reverted to a businesslike tone, his dark eyes not giving anything away, but he was watching her closely.
‘Before I forget,’ she said, relieved to have an excuse to look down as she opened her briefcase and handed him the invitation to the ball, ‘we have a traditional annual masked ball at El Pavón. I hope that you’ll be able to come.’
His glance held soft mockery, glittering with mischief. ‘A masked ball, hey? What an ingenious idea. Everybody has something to hide and it’s so much easier to have fun when under a false identity, don’t you agree? Though Oscar Wilde, I think it was, said: “Give a man a mask and he will tell you the truth.”’ Again, Andrés’ mouth seemed to be suppressing a laugh. ‘Thank you, señorita. If I’m not away on business I will certainly do my utmost to attend your ball.’
Luz smiled uncertainly. I really don’t get his humour, or is there something wrong with me this morning? she pondered, a little discouraged. Best read the contract and get it over with.
‘Good, in that case I’ll just take a minute to look at this,’ said Luz, picking up the folder.
Andrés waved a hand. ‘Please, take all the time you need.’
Luz pored over the document for the next five minutes, aware that Andrés had risen from his chair and moved over to the window, his back to her, hands in pockets. She resisted the urge to look up at him. The contract was pretty straightforward except for one clause, she realized with a disquieting stab. It stipulated that he had the right to decide at a later date whether he would keep the copyright entirely or allow her to share it with him.
Stiffening, she shut the folder and prepared to do battle. She must keep her cool. Considering he had already mentioned assigning the copyright to the author, albeit before he had given her the job, the clause felt insulting, as if she was undeserving of respectful treatment.
‘Well?’ he said, flashing her one of his devastating smiles and returning to his chair. ‘Do we sign?’
She had to restrain herself from giving a straightforward, no, we don’t. Instead, she cleared her throat and drew in a steadying breath.
‘I’m sorry, Don Andrés …’
‘Call me Andrés, please,’ he interrupted, unsettling her and causing her to drop the thread of her thoughts.
In a flash she recovered her cool. ‘Please, let me finish, señor,’ she said softly. Her tone held a dangerous undercurrent that she was sure did not go unnoticed. ‘I’m a little disappointed to find that your terms imply that you are going to own the copyright of this biography, one which I will be writing.’
‘That’s normal, señorita. We are the employer, so naturally all rights rest with us.’
For a few moments their eyes locked. Luz was stung into a new belligerence. The arrogance and cheek of the man!
‘Permit me to contradict you, señor. There is a slight misunderstanding here …’ She tried to keep an even tone despite her seething anger. ‘You seem to be under the impression that I am working for your company, when actually I’m a freelance writer to whom Caldezar Corporación, SA is assigning the job of writing this biography. Therefore the copyright, by law, is entirely mine. You have already stated the rights were to be assigned to the author. Are you now going back on that?’
His lips quirked. ‘Did I? I think th
at would be subject to your probationary period. If you read the contract carefully you will find that this is our arrangement,’ he said coolly.
‘I have read the contract very carefully and that is why I am objecting to its contents,’ she snapped, outraged.
Andrés sighed wearily. ‘You’re making a mountain out of a molehill, señorita,’ he went on as he opened an ornate silver cigarette case resting on his desk and offered her one. She declined, gritting her teeth, enraged still more at this new interruption.
‘Do you mind if I smoke?’ he asked.
‘Go ahead, please,’ she said tersely, repressing an irritated gesture.
His jaw tightened. He helped himself to a cigarette and flicked a flame from his lighter, then inhaled deeply before leaning back in his seat to contemplate the glowing tip for a few seconds. His dark eyes rested intently on her.
‘As I was saying, señorita, you’re making a big drama over a very small issue. We could go back and forth like this, but of what importance is it who keeps the copyright?’ Why did she get the impression he was trying to make her feel small and petty?
‘The main objective here is to combine our efforts to make this work an obra maestra, a masterpiece, one worthy of Eduardo de Salazar’s genius, is it not?’ he ended in a low voice, his eyes studying her flushed, angry face.
‘You don’t understand, señor.’ Luz shifted edgily in the large leather chair, trying to keep the cool that her flashing, stormy eyes belied.
‘Oh, but I do, señorita, I do. This is a very important issue for your pride.’
‘No, it has nothing to do with pride,’ she cut in. Once more, he was doing a pretty good job of riling her. She had to concede he was better at this game than she was. ‘It has nothing to do with pride,’ she repeated angrily, ‘and everything to do with what is lawful and right. The copyright of this book – if I write it – would be my due.’
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