‘There,’ she said, finally putting down her colours and brushes, ‘I think that’s enough. I’m not used to all this greasepaint – any more and I’ll feel a bit of a clown.’
‘You could never look like a clown, my child,’ Agustina said warmly, her eyes glittering approvingly.
Together they moved to the bed, where the magnificent sultana’s costume lay. Looking down at it, Luz marvelled at its beauty: there were six distinct parts to it, each one a work of art in its own right. She slipped on the close-fitting jerkin of fine and sheer cotton. It felt soft and snug against her body. Over it hung a tunic, called a gömlek, of the purest, sheer ivory-coloured silk, with a round neck slit vertically to the bust and closed by four miniature pearl buttons. This smock had long, full sleeves that bunched at the wrists and fastened tightly with the same iridescent buttons. Then, over the top of this, was the antery, a magnificent fitted waistcoat in heavy off-white damask silk, which boasted the most intricate embroidery of silver thread, seed pearls and precious stones. Luz fastened the buttons and passed her hand over the rich workmanship.
‘I wonder how much time and effort was invested in creating this garment?’ she said, taking the next item of clothing from Agustina’s hands.
‘A great many hours, I’m sure. I suppose it was a way for women to support themselves.’ Agustina helped the young woman into a pair of loose-fitting trousers, the shalwar. ‘Careful now, these are extremely delicate and could easily tear.’ They fell in graceful folds of fine ivory silk and tapered to the ankles, where they were gathered by narrow cuffs of bias-cut fabric, which contrasted subtly with the rest of the ensemble. Luz’s tiny waist was clad in a wide belt, also richly embroidered in silver, gold and small jewels.
‘And now for the final touch,’ Agustina said, holding up the veil of fine voile, to which was attached a black comb. She fixed it gently to the hair on Luz’s crown. ‘I plaited your mother’s hair into a braided chignon when she wore this costume,’ she told her, ‘but, as I said to you before, I will leave your hair loose and hold the veil in place simply with the tiara. The pear-shaped pearl, which is the centre of the jewel, will hang over your forehead like this,’ she went on as she affixed the coronet on the young woman’s head. ‘There! Now, put on the matching earrings and those dainty-looking sandals.’ Luz obeyed without argument.
‘Es decir que ce, that’s it! Parece como si ha salido de una cuento de hadas moro, you look as if you’ve just walked out of a Moorish fairy tale.’
Luz rushed to the mirror and was amazed at the transformation – she hardly recognized herself. The figure who looked back at her was a stranger, from a faraway country and a different era. Alexandra had given her daughter the matching set of jewellery, referred to as ‘Princess Gulinar’s jewels’, on her twenty-first birthday. Originally they had been given as a gift to Alexandra by Doña María Dolores when she first came to El Pavón. They consisted of a tiara, a bracelet, a pair of earrings and a necklace, all minutely worked in gold and encrusted with tiny pearls. Luz fingered the necklace, debating whether or not to wear it. She decided against it. The earrings that hung gracefully from her lobes were long enough. Her neck was left bare; and though she was unaware of it, to admiring eyes it made her look more vulnerable and artless. She turned to Agustina.
‘How do I look?’ she asked, eyes dancing with excitement.
‘Perfecto! You look very enigmatic, completely transformed, a real sultana from the East. With that mask across your face, if it were not for your beautiful hair even I would not be able to recognize you.’ The Spanish woman’s face filled with pride as she contemplated Luz and her mouth broke into a wide smile. At the same time, though, a shadow passed over her aged features. ‘Many men will lose their hearts to you tonight, my child. Be careful who you lose yours to,’ she said softly. ‘I have read the cards and witnessed this before many years ago and, though I can’t see any immediate danger, I can sense deception and evil lurking in the shadows.’
‘Oh, dear Agustina,’ the young woman cried out, half laughing, her heart too full of dreams and brimming with hope to take in such enigmatic and dramatic words. ‘Don’t dampen my fun. Fancy saying something like that to me just as I’m off to a ball!’
‘It is exactly for that reason that I urge caution. Remember, snakes prefer to hide under flowers. I have found that the world outside El Pavón has always been greatly populated with snakes and today mi paloma, my dove, it’s no different. And now you have just enough time to show yourself off to your parents before your guests start to arrive.’
* * *
In the glow of a warm late-spring evening, with crisp linens, flickering candles, the house’s special sangria, champagne and glorious tapas generous enough to make a meal, El Pavón was the most romantic place on earth. The great ballroom, the terrace and the garden gradually filled up with a host of glamorous people in more or less elaborate disguises. It resembled a scene from Verdi’s opera, Un Ballo in Maschera. In this world of fantasy, of illusion and surprise, despite the formal mood, dress and setting, men and women were offered a chance to reveal everything that was normally left unexpressed for the rest of the year. As she stood alongside her parents, welcoming the first guests, Luz was struck by the liberating power of this glittering camouflage. It’s so much easier to have fun under a false identity … Suddenly Andrés’ words made sense to her and, strangely enough, they filled her with an added excitement she had not felt at the previous balls.
Under a sky blinking with stars, the roof of the great hacienda was ablaze with light from multicoloured lanterns, like fireballs, strewn in trees or hanging by slender chains from tall, curved iron poles. An oversize moon beamed enigmatically in the dark sapphire canopy of sky. The atmosphere was warm and scented. It was a night made for lovers.
The ballroom at El Pavón took up most of the width of the ground floor on the east side of the hacienda. It was regarded as an architectural masterpiece, with its vaulted ceiling and French windows looking over the gardens. A gallery, supported by marble columns and with an intricate wrought-iron surround, was where the orchestra was playing tonight.
Guests were still arriving and meandering into the vast ballroom, laughing and admiring each other’s costumes. Luz’s mood was elevated, as though she was waiting for something wonderful to happen. She stood in the wide doorway, her glittering dark-blue eyes peering through the narrow slits of her delicate black-velvet mask at the brightly lit ballroom scene. The atmosphere was charged with myth and fantasy.
Masked couples, living out fantastic identities, swirled, swung, twirled, twisted and glided across the highly polished parquet floor to the haunting melodies of Tchaikovsky and Delibes waltzes that filled every corner of the room. A black and yellow honeybee in black stockings and dainty golden wings was dancing with Peter Pan. Pocahontas in her brown suede outfit and feathered headband looked somewhat swamped by her partner, Minotaur, in his oversized bull mask with snout and horns. Two clowns, one jolly, the other grumpy, were fooling about on the dancefloor in their colourful three-toned jumpsuits with blue pom-pom buttons and matching hats. El Cid and Chimène were making their way to the terrace and nearly bumped into Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, who were coming back into the room. In a corner, gossiping and giggling as they watched the dancers, stood three lady buccaneers sporting ruffles, headscarves and eye-patches.
Some moments passed before Luz spotted him. There was no mistaking the dark figure that turned around on the dancefloor. He wore a close-fitting black jumpsuit that was moulded to his body to perfection. Across the chest was a gold symbol representing the sign of Gemini, the twins. It was his baroque-style papier-mâché mask, cut vertically into half profile, that was the biggest giveaway: it represented his own face with uncanny realism. Secured above the brow with a fine black-and-gold ribbon, it was decorated with a gold frieze on the half forehead and chin. There was something eerie and fascinating about it.
He was dancing with a beautiful blonde fairy in a pur
ple tutu of thin voile and a set of large wings made of the daintiest pink and silver gossamer studded with diamonds. She was leaning back into his arms, looking up into his face, and he was laughing. Luz guessed from their stance that they were equally charmed and was immediately struck by an almost insane jealousy that took her by surprise.
Before she had time to wonder at the violence of her reaction, a pair of gorilla hands suddenly grabbed her waist and King Kong carried her away on to the dancefloor. As they waltzed past Gemini and his graceful partner, she met Andrés’ eyes through his mask. But he made no sign of recognition – he was talking animatedly and the fairy lady was hanging on to his words, spellbound. Although he had taken no notice when they passed, Luz had the feeling that he had seen her, but was deliberately holding back. During this ‘cutting-in’ dance, King Kong had ceded his place to a handsome Cossack, who now chattered away non-stop, distracting Luz’s attention. She lost sight of Gemini but then, out of the corner of her eye, she she noticed he was no longer dancing but standing at the side of the floor, sipping a glass of champagne in the company of Cleopatra and a Roman soldier.
Dinner would soon be announced. If she could get nearer to the door of the dining room there might be a better chance of waylaying him without it looking too conspicuous. With some satisfaction Luz had deliberately left him dangling with her refusal of his dinner invitation and now she had the feeling that tonight he was turning the tables, playing her at her own game. She was quite sure that he was unaccustomed to being turned down; more likely he was in the habit of always having his own way. Well, he was in for a nasty surprise …
‘If you’ll excuse me,’ she said sweetly to her partner, ‘I think I must see to dinner.’ The Cossack, who had become somewhat proprietorial, let go of her reluctantly. Luz moved swiftly towards the dining-room door. She looked towards the spot where Gemini had been standing; he was still there. He then became hidden by taller couples and when she looked again he was gone. She scanned the crowded dancefloor but couldn’t see him among the dancers. It was difficult to spot anyone in the throng of moving disguises, even though his was so very obvious. No doubt he was sitting on the terrace, murmuring sweet nothings to some gullible belle.
But then he was back, standing on the opposite side of the room, the familiar amused smile hovering around his lips while he chatted with the beautiful blonde fairy. Standing there, he could have been Leandro, she thought with a sudden pang of confusion; but he was so different, so poised and sophisticated, with nothing of the untamed spirit of the young gitano. The first trumpeted notes of the popular song ‘Granada’ rang out and Andrés’ partner dragged him on to the dancefloor. Then they were off, jostling other couples as they went. He was moving deliberately and steadily towards Luz, who held her breath, rooted to the spot, unable to tear her eyes away from him. They passed her and there was no mistaking the expression of curiosity in his velvet-black eyes as they locked with hers, or the whimsical smile he slanted at her as everything else, in the flash of a second, spun away into the background. He was introducing a new game of cat and mouse, provoking her with his evasions, and once again she was playing straight into his hands.
Luz took a deep breath and decided to ignore him for the rest of the evening; she would concentrate on having a good time. After all, she told herself, why was she getting so annoyed? If that was what he wanted, so be it: that was what he would get! There were enough handsome and interesting men here tonight to keep her amused, she concluded, as she flipped from the arms of one eager dancing partner to another.
The music played on and occasionally their paths crossed on the dancefloor, neither making the slightest attempt at eye contact. The masks of shepherds and shepherdesses, Romans and Vikings, cats and witches all floated round the enormous ballroom beneath the gilded ceiling. Time went by …
The setting for dinner had been designed to make the guests feel as if they were living in a beautiful dream. After all, this was El Pavón’s traditional annual ball, one of the biggest events in the social calendar, a time for partying, a time to let go and reach for the stars. In the big, airy dining room, with its floor-to-ceiling French windows that opened on to lawns and beds of sweet-smelling shrubs, tables were laid for a banquet. The effect was an impressive spectacle of ornate gilt, with mounds of colourful luscious fruits and bright displays of exotic f lowers. The f lickering candles in tall candelabra, which stood on the tables, threw long shadows on to the pale walls and softened the contours of faces under a clement semi-darkness that made everybody look their best. In this subtle romantic light, delicate off-white lace tablecloths laden with glittering crystal, silver and fine china gave the setting a magical fairy-tale appearance and every guest seemed to wear the same bemused air on contemplating this Shangri-La. Once again, the ball at El Pavón would be the talk of the town for weeks to come.
This year, Alexandra and Salvador had decided to have a sit-down dinner instead of the usual buffet. It meant that more thought had to be given to the menu, but also to the seating of guests. In the past everyone had chosen where they wanted to sit and more often than not, the seat coveted would be already taken, if you were not quick enough. Besides, every now and again newcomers would find themselves left out on a limb, which to Alexandra seemed unfriendly and inhospitable. So on this occasion the hosts had allotted places to their guests, who mingled in front of the seating plan at the entrance to the dining room, excited and curious to see where they had been placed.
As Luz located her seat, she noted that Andrés was settled a couple of tables along from hers with his back to her. She had not been involved in the seating plan, so was not surprised that he had not been allocated a place at her table. Was she relieved or frustrated? He had got under her skin once again that evening and a momentary irritation prickled away at her. She watched him lean forward and clink glasses with a woman dressed as the Roman goddess Ceres in a revealing off-the-shoulder white toga. Luz bit her lip and sat down, smiling graciously at the guests who came to sit beside her.
As she unfolded her napkin, a note fell out. She picked it up, glanced at it and put it aside, her heart hammering against her ribcage: ‘Meet me at the lake at midnight.’ It was left unsigned, but she had no doubt as to the identity of the author. Her cheeks felt warm and it was nothing to do with the wine she had been sipping. She was thankful that Andrés was unable to witness her reaction – she had no intention of giving him the satisfaction of seeing her loss of composure. In a different situation she might have found it romantic, but given the present infuriating circumstances … Anyhow, she was not yet sure whether she would run to his cavalier summons, but would she be able to resist such an intriguing invitation? Perhaps it would be just the excuse she needed to put Andrés de Calderón in his place for his general rudeness and childish behaviour.
Luz barely ate or spoke at dinner, too preoccupied with the message to engage in the revelry around her table; she merely smiled and nodded in all the right places in the conversation, her eyes every now and then flicking to the table opposite. She did not need to turn to see Andrés; his back was in full view. By the look of it, he was being entertained by Ceres and a maharani in a rather garish sari, each seated on either side of him, openly vying for his attention. There was no evidence that he knew he was being watched furtively by Luz; not once did he cast a glance behind him to acknowledge her presence.
There were many courses and the meal was a slow process. A bewildering number of waiting staff came and went, fluttering around the tables like moths, lavishing their attentions on guests. Luz had longed with scarcely concealed impatience for the meal to end and now, at last, it was over. After dinner, coffee and sherry were brought round. She glanced surreptitiously at her watch. Soon it would be midnight and everybody would line up in the ballroom for the moment of truth, when masks and headdresses would be removed and identities revealed. She was waiting to see how Andrés would extricate himself to go down to the lake. It seemed his dining partners had no inten
tion of letting him out of their sight.
Eleven forty-five; guests were getting up. Some were shown to cloakrooms while others were ushered into the brightly lit ballroom. Luz saw Andrés making his way through the throng towards the ballroom. She lost him for a moment but he soon emerged again in the company of his blonde fairy companion. If he wanted to get down to the lake before midnight, he’d better get going, she thought. She felt someone brush against her back and turned: it was the Cossack.
‘Beautiful Sultana, I’m curious to know your real identity,’ he whispered, catching hold of her arm and grinning down at her, hot breath against her ear. ‘Will you do me the honour of standing with me when the masks are lowered?’
Desperation tinted her smile as she tried to disengage herself from his predatory grip. She knew that he was perfectly aware of her identity and did not care much for this sort of lame duplicity. These society beaus with their small talk bored her to tears and, besides, she had other business to attend to.
‘Let me relieve you from the suspense, señor,’ she said, lifting her mask a little and turning innocent blue eyes on him. ‘As you can see, I am your hostess, Doña Luz. And now, if you will excuse me, I must take care of the allocation of prizes for the winners.’ Before the Cossack could protest, she swept off into the crowd.
A rapid look around the room assured her that Andrés was no longer there. He was almost certainly already down at the lake. It was no use pretending now. All evening she had been on tenterhooks; she might as well admit to herself that she was going to meet him, though she was at a loss to know why her reactions to him were so volatile. She had made her point by turning him down once; it was no use persisting down that road. Besides, there was not much to gain from rubbing him up the wrong way. She had agreed to work with him on his uncle’s biography so she might as well clear the air between them and start afresh. Was that not what he was trying to do in raising the white flag and asking her to meet him at midnight, even if his message read more like a summons than an invitation?
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