Luz fell silent: she knew what it felt like to have your future as one gigantic question mark. Her mother’s experience had parallels with her own, she thought ruefully. But at least now she had some of the answers. One day, she would try to talk to her mother carefully about the past and show her that she understood what she had been through.
Adalia had completely distorted the truth and given her a fabricated version of what really happened more than thirty years ago. In other words, she had told a pack of lies about her parents, so why should it be any different where Andrés was concerned? There might have been a time when Andrés had dated the young socialite but, somehow, Luz very much doubted that he had proposed to her. Adalia just wanted to warn her off in the hope of creating a misunderstanding between herself and Andrés. Luz had already known about Andrés’ birthday party, too, and he had not seemed uncomfortable about her being there, though it would no doubt suit Adalia if Luz felt too awkward to attend now. Still, she would confront him the next day when he came over to L’Estrella for dinner.
Some of the weight had lifted from her mind, but she would not feel completely at ease until she had clarified matters with the man she loved.
CHAPTER 12
While Luz was having a heart-to-heart with Agustina, she was far from suspecting that, at the far end of the El Pavón estate, just a few hundred yards away, Leandro was mourning the loss of his mother.
The tribe was also grieving. For them, a powerful member of its people had been lost. Though wilful and riotous in her youth, breaking every code of behaviour in the Calés book of rules, Marujita had ripened into a strong gitana with a commanding presence, someone others would follow. The harsh years spent behind bars had changed her. Tough and unforgiving, so different from the nimble libertine she had been in her youth, she had become a she-thug during and after her prison years, as well as a warrior matriarch, respected and feared by all. Despite her wild and disreputable past, not to mention her involvement with a gajo, the gypsies of Andalucía had elected her their queen. That evening they were arriving in droves, advancing in straggling bands from every corner of that sun-kissed region to pay their last respects and see their queen off to her final home.
The orb of day had sunk and the rocks had turned an indigo tinge in the dusk. A full moon high in the sky cast a blue haze, an almost ethereal light, on to the camp. Here, the world was frozen in deathly silence, full of mystery. Soon the place would erupt, first into lamentation and then into jollification but, for the moment, human, beast and nature itself seemed to wait in solemn and reverential hush.
Marujita’s coffin had been moved out in front of a cave, lit by candlelight. There she lay, washed and coiffed, on a bed of red roses and wearing her best finery, hands crossed over her chest. Her favourite mandolin and a pair of ornate castanets had been placed next to her. In her youth she had been a great Flamenco singer and dancer and, over the past few months, even sickness had not prevented her from performing under the stars for her people.
A six-metre-long table had been stocked as for a banquet with cold meats, cheeses and a good deal of wine and brandy to keep the mourners going through the long hours of the wake.
The gitana’s two younger sons, Toñito and Diego, stood at the entrance to the cave with a few other gypsies, keeping their distance, while Leandro, Marujita’s beloved eldest son, sat beside her, his face buried in the long, tapered fingers of his hands. His heart was cold and heavy. He had loved his mother with the strange hungry passion of a starved child and she, in turn, had worshipped him. Leandro had never been blind to her faults, quite the reverse. He saw only too clearly that she had been a hard, spiteful and bitter woman who had harboured a lifetime’s hatred for the people she thought had wronged her. She had always been relentless in her thirst for revenge. Prison had hardened her heart to everyone and everything, except where her eldest son was concerned. He had been the apple of her eye and she had lavished her tenderness on him exclusively. In return, he would do anything for her … and had already done so.
After that fateful night when Marujita had called for vengence on Luz and her family, and Leandro had turned his back on her and walked away, his mother had been implacable. Initially, Leandro had met with hostile silence. Then she began hectoring him at every opportunity. It was only when the doctors had given her six months at most that he had finally softened, loath to let her down. Had she not been riddled with cancer he would never have danced to her tune. Surely he owed her some indulgence?
Leandro was so attuned to the conflicts that fought within her breast, the fierce, wild emotions that stirred her to thoughts of hateful revenge. He could see what had made her this way, but it pained him to think how much of her shadow had been cast upon him. Conflicting loyalties tore at his heart but the very thought of hurting Luz was abhorrent to him.
When he had appeared to Luz at the El Pavón ball dressed in Tuareg costume, it had started out as a simple, mischievous game. He had kissed her because the budding attraction between them had been overwhelming; an attraction that began long before he had known anything about the role her parents had played in his mother’s life. He had tried to stay away from her but it had proved impossible: fate kept throwing them together. He had never planned to take her as he did on the beach that afternoon but their mutual passion had defeated his self-control. Yet he was aware that nothing could exonerate his act, none of the hundred-and-one excuses he could dream up would ever work to alleviate his guilty conscience. Deliberately or not, he had followed Marijita’s plan, causing Luz pain in the process.
But he loved Luz to distraction. Now he couldn’t wait to take her in his arms again but would she ever forgive his deception? He shuddered at the thought of losing her. Surely, now that Marujita was gone, there must be some way he could make it up to her … that was, if she still wanted him after knowing the whole truth?
He could not have spoken before now; he felt he owed it to his mother to make her last months as comfortable as possible, telling himself it would not be long. If he at least appeared to see her plan through then he could endeavour to make amends later. But he knew he had been playing a dangerous game, and one in which he and Luz might both end up being the losers.
There was so much explaining to do and the longer he left it, the worse it would be. Luz would condemn him for playing his mother’s game until the end, which in some ways was true. There was only one thing for it: he had to put his trust in the kindness of the young woman’s heart and in the love she held for him. Because if there was one thing he was certain of, it was Luz’s unremitting love.
Lamentations had begun in earnest now, drawing Leandro from his dark reverie. Men, women and children lined up in an orderly fashion, uncharacteristic for such an unruly people. They all held candles, the ends of which were wrapped in paper, and were now circling the open coffin where their queen lay in peace, her eyes closed to the world. As they circled the corpse, they chanted and then joined hands for the Abejorro, the bees’ dance, which they performed, all the while imitating the insect’s sound.
Suddenly, Juanillo moved out of the circle. Leandro’s uncle began to loudly engage in the age-old ritual of confession and absolution, claiming the sins of his sister as his own, then challenging Marujita in a loud, powerful voice for all to hear: ‘Take your mandolin, dear sister, and play. Hold your castanets and dance. If by these actions I have done wrong, may your music strike me deaf. But if you find I have not sinned, then stay quiet, do not move and do not play, so I may receive absolution.’ A few moments of quietude followed and then, turning to the crowd, he cried out: ‘Let the festivities begin!’
His invitation was received by a great number of Olés! The driving thrum of a guitar sounded, taken up by the fast yet mournful accompaniment of a violin, the notes of its melody spilling out furiously like an infernal call to the dead. Men, women and children began their frenzied singing, clapping and leaping about. Food and drink were devoured in no time; even the animals joined in, wai
ting for morsels to fall from the table.
Leandro knew that the merrymaking and revelry would go on well into the night and probably till dawn. He joined in, allowing himself to be pulled into the crowd in their bacchanalian requiem for his mother, but his heart was not in it: he was still thinking of Luz and how he would earn her forgiveness. Having hurt her once, he would have to do so again before things could come right between them. He would have to tell her some things she would not want to hear.
After a round of dancing, he stumbled back from the circle as a wineskin was thrust roughly against his chest. He looked up to see Toñito rocking slightly before him. As Leandro grasped the wineskin, he studied his brother’s face, lit by the vivid moon. The young gitano’s eyes were red, whether from crying or too much brandy he wasn’t sure, but he saw the mixture of anguish and animosity that burned in them.
‘So our mother’s finally gone. Now, you will drink with me, brother.’ There was nothing familial or welcoming in the harshness of Toñito’s voice.
Leandro paused before lifting the wineskin, taking a long gulp of brandy and then wiping his mouth with his sleeve. ‘You’re right, Toñito. Our mother is gone, our people have lost their queen and so now it falls to us to carry on in her place. We’re family, Marujita’s family. Everyone will be looking to us for leadership. You have a duty, same as me, to be part of what keeps our people together now.’ He handed the wineskin back to his brother. ‘That’s what we should drink to.’
Toñito’s gaze wandered blearily to the ground. ‘Family. Blood. Duty. That’s all she ever talked about!’
‘And she would want us to stand together,’ said Leandro.
Toñito’s eyes filled with scorn as they swooped to meet Leandro’s. ‘Is that what you think, brother? Stand together? You stand alone, like you’ve always done.’ He gestured to the crowd of gypsies who were cavorting wildly to the galloping music. ‘You think you can look after our people? And I am to be the lapdog at your heels?’ He shook his head. ‘We may share her blood, but we will never be what she wanted us to be.’
‘Is there anything left of that brandy for your Uncle Juanillo?’ came a rasping voice from behind them as the older gypsy sauntered towards them. ‘My belly needs warming on this dark day.’ He grasped Toñito’s head in his large hands as they touched foreheads in a gruff embrace of mutually acknowledged grief.
‘It’s yours, Tío,’ said Toñito, slapping the wineskin into Juanillo’s hand. He glanced back at Leandro, his face a sullen mask. ‘I’ll find another one.’
They had been standing next to a jumble of upturned crates and Leandro sank wearily on to the nearest one as he watched the hunched figure of his brother disappear into the throng. Men and women were now falling over one another, casting long shadows in the light of the candles that still burned around Marujita’s coffin. Some had even leapt on to the banquet table and were stamping and clapping to the music that raged on.
Juanillo took a deep swig of brandy and lit up a cigar, setting his carbon-black gaze on his nephew. ‘I’ve been watching you, sobrino. You should honour your mother’s memory with more fire in your gut.’
Leandro simply stared ahead. ‘I honour her memory well enough. Though if I need absolution, I need only ask her to rise up and play her mandolin till I go deaf.’ He glanced up sharply and held Juanillo’s hard gaze.
‘Even when my sister is laid in the ground, she can still do harm to the living if it’s her will,’ noted Juanillo, the cool edge of menace in his voice. ‘As fast as a man runs, he can’t outpace a ghost in a shroud. A curse of the dead will reach him, however far he wanders the earth. In case you have forgotten, it’s still your duty to carry out vengeance against Marujita’s enemies. Revenge is justice, sobrino.’ Juanillo chewed on his cigar and threw the wineskin at his nephew’s feet. ‘Drink and be a man.’ With that, he walked off to join the whooping mourners.
Leandro kicked the wineskin away and, though he had not taken a swig, he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, his face impassive in the spectral moonlight.
* * *
Luz sat on the veranda at L’Estrella looking bleakly out to sea. The light of the day had faded into a hazy apricot glow while the sea, darkened to a smoky blue, murmured against the sand. On the opposite shore, Puerto de Santa María and its marina of boats was already a mosaic of beckoning lights as the town prepared for approaching dusk. It seemed as if she had been watching the seascape for hours.
Early that morning she had left El Pavón to return to Cádiz, wanting to spend the day at home before Andrés met her for dinner at L’Estrella. She had not slept much at her parents’ house, disturbed by nightmares and the noise that came from the far end of the grounds, where the gypsies seemed to be having some sort of wild party. Moreover, she had been increasingly on edge since Adalia’s visit and her conversation with Agustina. She had thought a lot about Adalia and her unpleasant accusations. Agustina might have convinced her that the socialite had been lying about everything for the sake of her own agenda, but Luz did not like the sense of shame that swamped her every time the young woman’s venomous words came to mind. The housekeeper’s explanations had not really alleviated that feeling.
Her parents’ love affair had obviously been a salacious topic of conversation at the time and disapproving tongues would have wagged and accusatory fingers pointed. However, were she to be honest with herself, it was not her parents’ threatened idyll that niggled away at her for they had risen above such defamatory gossip and survived it with consummate dignity, their true friends still loyal and loving. No, something else in Adalia’s diatribe gnawed at Luz far more persistently: He would never marry a woman who is not a virgin on her wedding night. La honra is very important to him …
But Andrés had not seemed unduly concerned by thoughts of la honra at the time and nor had she, lost as they were in the throes of passion. Adalia’s words had somehow managed to taint something that had seemed so pure, so natural, and Luz now blushed at the thought of her wantonness during those days and nights she and Andrés had spent together. No, a woman who had sacrificed her virginity – and to another man at that – was probably not what a Spanish hidalgo looked for in the woman he chose to be the mother of his children. The thought brought with it such anxiety that the feeling was more akin to pain.
Children. That was something else that had lurked at the corner of her mind as they rushed headlong into passion. What if she were pregnant? They had never been careful, never given a thought to the repercussions of their involvement. Luz stared at the darkening sky. She must get a grip on herself and shake off these alarming feelings before Andrés’ arrival.
The day had seemed never ending, even though she had busied herself with cooking, preparing succulent dishes of tapas in anticipation of her dinner with Andrés. She had given a disappointed Carmela the whole day and night off in order that she might be alone with him. Luz wanted it to be some sort of celebration. She had not seen Andrés for ten days; he had never been away for so long and she had missed him terribly.
Luz had spent hours in her bath, washing her hair and buffing her body, rubbing deliciously scented oils and creams into it to make her skin even silkier than it already was. Andrés had once commented that she had such pretty feet, so she had gone out and bought a new pair of gold lamé sandals, which she was wearing tonight. She wore a soft, lightweight, summer mini-dress with with an all-over design of vibrant, abstract swirls, a heavy ruffle hem and low-scooped bodice and back. The wide peacock-coloured cuff encircling her slender wrist was eye-catching, though of no great value.
She tried to rehearse what she would say, anticipating his answers, playing various scenarios over in her mind. What if Andrés admitted that he was actually engaged to Adalia, that what he and Luz had shared in the past few weeks was a casual affair that would have to end once he had pronounced his marriage vows? She could not bear to think of the misery it would cause her. Never had she known such happiness as in those times they ha
d spent together. Life without him was inconceivable.
Still, where was he tonight? Luz glanced at her watch. He was never late. It was past eight o’clock; he had been invited for seven-thirty. She went to the front door and opened it. Maybe she had not heard the bell ring. She walked to the gate. Her eyes pierced the distance, looking for his convertible. Maybe he’d forgotten they were meeting? Unease began to rise. Should she ring him? Pride killed that idea; she would not cheapen herself by running after him. Adalia’s spiteful words had poisoned her mind and all sorts of misgivings had crept into it.
Time marched on. She was getting edgier by the second. Maybe he had been held up by traffic or work? Surely he would have called, though? He was very particular about such things and punctuality was important to him. She smiled as she remembered his comment the day of her first interview. Maybe he had fallen asleep in his bath. Maybe, maybe, maybe … maybe he was not coming.
The clock struck ten; the phone rang. Luz ran to answer it, nearly tripping over in her mad rush, but it was her mother telling her they had finished their work in Granada somewhat earlier than planned and would be coming down to Cádiz the next day. Alexandra didn’t mention Agustina nor the fact that she was aware of Luz’s visit to El Pavón, but Luz knew the old housekeeper and her parents only too well. She had no doubt the duenna had been in touch with them and that they, the loving parents they had always been, were now rushing to be by their daughter’s side.
Night had fallen. The nearly full moon shone in a broad silver path across the calm sea. Across the water Puerto de Santa María, with its twinkling windows and lit church steeple, now lay fully luminous in the streaking shadows of clouds, like a silent poem of colour and light in the deep brooding darkness. Luz often found it a captivating sight at this hour but, this evening, the town’s nocturnal magic merely seemed distant and excluding. She found herself pacing up and down the moon-flooded garden in the soft night air, from the iron gate to the front door, on to the terrace and back again. Her hands were clenched at her sides, her ears subconsciously straining to catch the sound of his car or the telephone ringing.
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