by Lucy Gordon
‘I wonder if that was the only reason,’ she challenged Sebastian. ‘If I was suspicious, I might think you were checking up on me.’
‘And if I was suspicious, I might ask you where your charge is. There seems to be no sign of Catalina.’
‘She’ll be here in a moment. We’ve all been on a shopping trip.’
‘All?’
‘José’s friend is also with us. He’ll be arriving with Catalina in a moment.’
Sebastian frowned. ‘And you’ve permitted them to be alone together?’
‘As alone as anyone can be in this place.’
A hint of amusement in her manner made him bite back whatever he might have said, and the next moment Catalina appeared, accompanied by what seemed to be a mountain of parcels on beanpole legs. She waved to them and took hold of the mountain’s arm, guiding it gently in the right direction and causing it to halt just in time. The removal of the top two parcels revealed Horacio, puffed, amiable and red-faced.
‘I apologise for misjudging you,’ Sebastian murmured to Maggie when the introductions were over. ‘The most prurient gossip in the world couldn’t associate scandal with that idiot. But what about the other one?’
‘José came to see me,’ she murmured. ‘I knew him years ago and he had a boy’s infatuation for me.’
‘And now he plans to make up for lost time?’
‘So it would seem.’
‘He’s far too young for you.’
‘Thank you!’ she said, half-laughing, half-indignant. ‘It’s a matter of three years.’
‘Years,’ he said dismissively. ‘Did you think I was talking about years?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said tartly, although she actually knew very well.
She told herself she was annoyed with Sebastian for coming here. They had agreed that it was a question of honour. Where was his honour now? But then, where was hers to have felt that lifting of the heart at the sight of him? Was it honourable to notice how handsome he was, how much taller than every other man, and how everyone looked at him, especially the women?
But then she told herself to stop being melodramatic. There were six of them. What could happen?
Sebastian gallantly informed the ladies that he would meet them for lunch in an hour. José and Horacio would also be welcome. Horacio prepared to carry Catalina’s booty up to her suite, but at a nod from Sebastian Alfonso firmly removed the parcels.
They ate in the open at the hotel’s balcony restaurant, which seemed to hang over a sheer drop. Above them rose the splendid vista of the mountains, the white broken only by little coloured figures dashing down the slopes.
‘How can they do that when it’s as steep as a wall?’ Catalina squealed, covering her eyes with her hand.
‘Catalina is happiest on very easy runs,’ Maggie explained to Sebastian.
‘But if you want to try the red or black,’ Catalina offered, ‘I shall-I shall watch you.’
She finished with an air of triumph. Everyone laughed at this anticlimax, and Sebastian said something polite about her forbearance.
Catalina was as good as her word. When the meal was over, they all went up to the top of a red run that made her gulp, but raised Maggie’s spirits. She looked at it so longingly that Sebastian read her face.
‘Go on,’ he said, grinning. ‘You can leave Catalina with me.’
She needed no more urging, but raced away with José in hot pursuit. It was glorious. For the first time since coming to Spain she felt free, speeding down the slope so fast that her furies were left far behind. José could barely keep up. At the bottom they immediately joined the queue for the ski lift, and reached the top in time to see the other four beginning the descent in a careful convoy, Catalina flanked by Sebastian and Alfonso, with Horacio bringing up the rear.
‘This I have to see.’ José chuckled. ‘Coming?’
‘You bet!’ she cried, taking off ahead of him.
They passed the others on the way down, reaching the bottom first and waiting for them with grins on their faces. Sebastian scowled. He was an expert skier who’d had his sport ruined by a nervous novice and, since he was no saint but a fallible man whose pleasures were few, he wasn’t in the best of moods.
‘I’m sorry,’ Catalina said, at her most charming.
‘It wasn’t your fault,’ he said resignedly. ‘But be off with you to the nursery slopes. I’ll see you at dinner. Not you,’ he detained Maggie.
‘I must go with Catalina,’ she protested.
‘Horacio can go with her,’ he growled. ‘So can Alfonso, and José, and every man on the mountain for all I care. Did you say something?’
‘Nothing,’ she said, trying to keep a straight face.
In the end they separated into two parties. Sebastian and Maggie returned to the top of the ‘red’, while the other four made their way to a nice, safe ‘green’.
‘Whose idea was it for Catalina to try that run?’ Maggie asked as they settled themselves on either side of the lift and felt the chain tighten, beginning to pull them up again.
‘Mine, for my sins,’ he growled. ‘I thought she just needed a little encouragement, but we proceeded at a snail’s pace, then she freaked out and we nearly had a collision with the skiers behind us-stop laughing, damn you!’ But he was grinning.
‘You’ll feel better when you’ve had a good dash down the slope,’ she said cheerfully. ‘There’s nothing like it for getting rid of the tensions. Mind you, “black” is even better.’
‘You ski “black”?’ he asked, turning his head and looking at her with interest.
‘When I can. How about you?’
‘I like it above everything.’
She looked him in the eyes. ‘Really?’ she said brightly. ‘Then I hope you’re not planning to spend your honeymoon skiing.’
Sebastian ground his teeth. ‘Perhaps you should give your attention to the snow. We’re nearly there.’
Skiing with Sebastian was even more exhilarating than with José, who either travelled beside or just behind her. Sebastian edged in front in what might or might not have been a silent challenge. She tested him, urging her skis faster, but he kept just ahead.
He was beautiful to watch, smooth and graceful, turning with ease, never losing his rhythm or his control. It took all Maggie’s skill to match him at every point, but she managed it. At the bottom they stood for a moment, leaning on their skis, breathing hard, smiling.
‘Again?’ he asked.
She nodded.
They took the lift again, and as they glided upwards Sebastian suddenly turned his head and gave her a full-hearted grin. He was almost a different man and she guessed, because it was the same with her, that the hell-for-leather run had done this to him. He too had known the joy of cares left far behind as he flew down the mountain, and for the first time she wondered about the weight of those cares. He was an autocrat, and sometimes a heavy-handed one, but she had seen how he’d looked after Isabella, not merely making phone calls and giving orders, but taking the old woman’s hand between his, speaking to her gently, and calming her fears with kindness.
The next moment, almost as though their minds were connected, he said, ‘When I was a boy I practically lived in these mountains. Nothing mattered to me but skiing. I lived and breathed it, and dreamed of competing in the Olympics. They say I would have won a medal, perhaps a gold.’
The last words were said without arrogance, only a touch of wistfulness.
‘What happened?’ Maggie asked.
‘When I was eighteen my father died, and I had to take charge of everything.’
‘Couldn’t you have done the Olympics first?’ Maggie asked sympathetically.
‘That’s what I thought at the time. But the lawyers explained all that I needed to do, how many people on my lands depended on me.’ He shrugged. ‘And that was that.’
That was that. With this bleak little phrase he consigned the boy’s dream to perdition, shouldering
a burden years before his time. He had been the same age that Catalina was now.
‘How sad for you,’ she said.
‘Nonsense!’ he growled. ‘I always knew what my life had to be. My father trained me for it.’
‘But you didn’t expect him to die so soon, surely? There should have been a few years for your own dreams first.’
‘Yes,’ he said after a moment. ‘There should have been. Here we are at the top.’
The moment had passed. He was Sebastian again, scowling to cover his embarrassment at having given her a glimpse into his heart.
They did the run five times. As they walked back to the hotel through the snow Maggie said wistfully, ‘There’s a run here that’s so steep it’s known as the “Wall of Death”. I’ve never dared try it yet, but I’m going to come back and do it just once before I go.’
‘Don’t!’ he said at once. ‘I’ve done that run and it’s no place for a woman.’
‘How nice to know that you’ll be on your honeymoon,’ she said tartly, ‘well away from me, and unable to give me orders.’
‘You take precious little notice of any order of mine anyway.’
‘True. And this one I shall ignore completely.’
He stopped in the entrance to the hotel. ‘It’s not an order, Margarita. It’s a plea. I’ve done that run and it isn’t known as the “Wall of Death” for nothing. You’re a good skier, and perhaps if there was somebody there with you-a friend to care for you-but there won’t be. It would worry me to think of you doing it alone. Promise me that you won’t.’
There was an unfamiliar note in his voice, almost the warmth and gentleness of a true friend. It made Maggie say impulsively, ‘All right, I promise.’
He took her hand. ‘Thank you. That means a lot to me.’
But then she recollected herself, remembered that in a few weeks he would be married to another woman and out of her life forever. She swiftly withdrew her hand and said brightly, ‘I’ll hire a professional for the day and he’ll guard me like a mother hen. Now, shall we get inside? I’m hungry.’
They found the others already in the balcony café. The three young men rose at their approach, and Alfonso went off to find a waiter. Sebastian seated himself beside Catalina, and waved José to the seat on his other side. This left Horacio sitting blissfully next to Catalina. Watching the moonstruck youth strain her good nature to the limit Maggie wondered if Sebastian had more sense of humour than she’d credited him with.
Sebastian turned his attention to José. ‘I’ve been meaning to talk to you. I know someone who’s interested in exactly the kind of goods you supply, and would like to arrange an early meeting.’ He pushed a small paper over to José. ‘That’s his number. Call him now.’
José vanished and returned with the news that he had an appointment for the next afternoon.
‘Then you should leave immediately and spend this evening with your files,’ Sebastian said with a smile of ice. ‘This man will expect you to be extremely well prepared. Let’s say our goodbyes now, to avoid delaying you.’
Put as bluntly as that, there was no mistaking the message. José forced a smile, nodded and departed, hauling the reluctant Horacio with him.
Catalina was indignant. ‘How can you just steamroller over people like that?’
‘He practises,’ Maggie observed dryly.
‘No need-it comes naturally,’ Sebastian capped. ‘That young man was in the way. Now forget about him. I believe they have ballroom dancing in this hotel in the evenings, is that right?’
‘I’ve got nothing to wear,’ Catalina sulked.
‘Then go and buy something and charge it to me,’ he said with the air of a man patting a child on the head.
Catalina flounced off. Maggie rose to follow her, but Sebastian detained her and nodded to Alfonso, who slipped away.
Maggie glared. ‘I just hope that one day I see that girl toss your credit card back in your face.’
‘Do you think you will?’
‘No,’ she snapped. ‘Now I’m going up for an early night.’
‘You can have a nap, but you’re on duty this evening. Someone has to keep Alfonso company.’
Maggie returned to her room in a temper. After their exhilarating afternoon she’d felt charitable towards Sebastian, but that had vanished in the face of his casual demonstration of power. Her mood wasn’t improved by the realisation that she had only her black cocktail dress, and if she wore it tonight Sebastian might think she was sending him a message.
Determined not to let him take another trick, she stormed down to the hotel’s boutique, found nothing there that she would have been seen dead in, and stormed back up to her room. In the end she presented herself for dinner, wearing the black dress, in a sulphurous mood and mentally daring Sebastian to react by so much as the raising of an eyebrow. But he gave no sign of having seen it before, or even noticing her particularly.
Which should have made her feel better.
But it didn’t.
The four of them met up in the late evening, in the hotel’s restaurant and dance area. It was on the second floor, with windows overlooking the main street where coloured lamps glowed against the snow. By day there was also a glorious view up the mountains, but now the summits were cloaked in darkness.
The men, too, had dressed for the occasion, in dinner jackets and frilled shirts. Sebastian’s swarthy skin was startling against the brilliant white of his shirt, and his dark eyes seemed almost to swallow light.
When he had ordered, he said, ‘Isabella will be flying home next week.’
‘I’m so glad she’s well again,’ Catalina said warmly.
‘Not quite. She’s recovering very slowly, and she’ll have to go into a hospital in Granada for a while. But I hope to have her with us for Christmas. You look surprised.’ This was to Maggie.
‘It’s just that I’ve spoken to her a few times on the phone, the last time yesterday, and she didn’t mention returning to Spain.’
‘She didn’t know. It took me a while to arrange, and I only told her this morning. She’s thrilled.’
This was Sebastian at his best, Maggie realised-shouldering, without complaint, the duties for which he’d been born. She had a sudden fierce wish that she could have known him as a carefree boy.
The band struck up. Sebastian took the floor with his fiancée and Maggie accepted Alfonso’s polite invitation. But he didn’t dance well and fairly soon they returned to the table and settled down to talk.
She liked the young man a lot. Perhaps he would never set the world on fire, but she sensed that there was a lot more to him than met the eye. He gave her all his attention-probably, she thought, to avoid having to look at Catalina in Sebastian’s arms. This was something she understood. She didn’t want to look at them, either.
Sebastian and Catalina came off the floor to find the other two deep in a political discussion.
‘Andalucia is potentially the wealthiest part of Spain,’ Maggie was saying eagerly. ‘You’ve got the tourist areas, and some of the most fertile ground in the country. Yet this is the poorest region, and that’s a scandal-’
Alfonso nodded and rattled off a list of opportunities wasted. She countered with some examples of her own, gleaned from her years in Granada. So deeply absorbed were they that they didn’t notice they were no longer alone until Sebastian coughed, and they looked up to find him and Catalina sitting at the table.
‘Maggie!’ Catalina squealed in horror. ‘How can you talk about such boring things?’
‘I don’t find them boring, and neither should you. This is your country and what happens in it should interest you.’
Catalina shuddered. ‘You sound like a schoolmistress.’
‘Exactly,’ Sebastian said. ‘And when there is wine and music, to sound like a schoolmistress is an unforgivable crime. Come.’ He seized her hand and rose. ‘I shall dance it out of you.’
To her dismay, a waltz was beginning: the worst possible dance for a w
oman who wanted to keep a man at a distance. His light clasp on her hand called up the evening of their first meeting. She didn’t want to remember that night when she’d been caught off guard, reacting with her body and her instincts instead of her head, like a rational woman.
Well, she was on guard tonight. She would ignore the feel of his hand in the small of her back, and the way his hot breath drifted against her bare shoulder.
One dance and she was through.
Full of resolution, she took the battle into the enemy’s camp. ‘You thought that was shocking, didn’t you?’ she challenged him. ‘A woman, talking politics! Why doesn’t she keep quiet and know her place?’
‘Is that what I was thinking?’ he asked mildly.
‘You know it was.’
He shook his head, smiling. ‘You make a brave battle, Margarita, but your technique is flawed. Never try to put words into your opponent’s mouth. It merely puts you in his power, which is where he wants you.’
‘I don’t admit that I am in your power.’
‘But you do know that that’s where I want you, don’t you?’
She recovered herself. ‘You’ll die wanting.’
He laughed at that. ‘Bravo!’
‘Anyway, I didn’t put words in your mouth. I know what you think because you’ve said so. “I share my thoughts with men, not women,”’ she quoted.
‘Touché! I’d forgotten that. And now of course I’m supposed to add to my crimes by saying that a woman shouldn’t discuss serious matters, that her body counts more than her mind, and that her place is in my bed, using a woman’s intimate skills to please me and letting me please her.’
She tried to fight down the heat that rose in her at this frankness, but Sebastian was a devil who knew how to excite her with words alone. Worse still was the stunning ease with which he’d turned the trick against her. This was exactly what she’d resolved not to let happen. And the wretched man knew it.
‘That was roughly the script you’d written for me, wasn’t it?’ Sebastian continued. ‘Well, I’m sorry, I can’t oblige.’
‘Wh-what?’
‘I was impressed by the way you spoke to Alfonso. Clearly, you know your subject. There’s a lot wrong in this region, and it’ll take a great deal of work to put it right. That’s my job. For me, that’s what it’s all about. I’ve met very few people who understood. You must have learned a lot during your marriage. Was your husband in politics?’