by Anne Weale
She wondered how much further they had to go—how much further he would go before they were dropped off. There wasn’t much more that he could do without the old lady noticing. But what he was doing now was enough to stir dangerous longings in her.
It wasn’t solely out of gratitude to these kind people that, when they were back in the familiar landscape of the valley surrounding Castell de los Torres, Cassia said in English, ‘Would they like to be invited in for a drink or coffee, do you think?’
She couldn’t see Simón’s expression without twisting her neck to look up at him, but the pause before he replied made her wonder if he’d guessed that she had an ulterior motive for the suggestion—to put off being alone with him. It was doubtful if Jack would be back yet, and Laura had an appointment with the hairdresser in the next village immediately after the afternoon closing hours.
His response, when it came, was to ask the driver if he and the two ladies had the time to take some refreshment before continuing their journey.
The outcome was that the Lopez family were still at Casa Mondragón when Laura returned with her hair done in a style which, she told Cassia later, was not at all to her liking.
‘Next time I shall go to Babette’s hairdresser in Benidorm. The girl who did my hair today is useless,’ she said crossly.
In Cassia’s private opinion, the softer style was actually more becoming than the way Laura’s hair had been before. But she kept that thought to herself, saying only, ‘The pharmacist has her hair nicely done. I wonder where she goes. Why not ask her? It would be more convenient to have yours done locally than go all the way to Benidorm.’
Preparations for supper were under way when Jack returned. There had been a long wait at the hospital, and after the X-ray the Belgian woman’s foot had had to be put in plaster.
‘I should think you could do with a stiff drink,’ said Simón, when Jack had finished explaining why he had been so long.
‘Several!’ Jack said, with feeling. ‘But I guess it was useful to locate the hospital’s casualty department in case I ever have to take one of our lot there. How did you two get on, getting back here?’
‘No problems…apart from the fact that the people who gave us a lift outstayed their welcome when we invited them in,’ Simón told him, glancing at Cassia with a look suggesting that he knew she had been glad they had.
‘Although they didn’t find out that their host was a marqués, they were very impressed by the house. They’d never been in such a large one,’ she told Jack.
‘Who did they think he was, then?’ he asked her when, a few minutes later, Simón was answering the telephone.
‘I don’t know. He told them his first name but glossed over his identity. I suppose they assumed he was an employee, like me. Did you tell the Belgians who he was?’
Jack shook his head. ‘Those four weren’t the sort to be interested in anyone except TV personalities.’
Simón came back with the news that the friend on whose plane he had come had had an unexpected change of plan and was returning to Madrid the following day instead of next weekend.
‘I’ll have to go back with him, if you wouldn’t mind running me to the airstrip early tomorrow, Jack?’
‘Sure. What time d’you want to leave?’
‘He wants to take off at nine, so we’d better leave here at eight.’
Disappointed that he wasn’t going to be with them for the rest of the week, Cassia wondered when they would see him again.
After supper, at Jack’s suggestion, the men went out to the bar. Laura, complaining that the tightness of the rollers and the excessive heat of the drier at the hairdresser’s had given her a headache, retired to her room.
Left on her own, Cassia put on a jacket and went up to the roof. It was a mild, clear night, and she stood with her elbows resting on the parapet and her head tilted back to gaze at the starry sky. She had often done this on the terrace of the house in the Albaicín. In some ways she longed to be back there, still working as a receptionist, her senses undisturbed by the turmoil aroused by being pressed close to Simón in the car this afternoon.
She had not been there long when she heard the door to the staircase creak on its hinges, and the next moment saw him stepping onto the roof.
She tensed. ‘You’re back soon.’
‘I wasn’t in the mood for the noise down there.’ He came towards her, his expression unreadable in the pale half-light of a crescent moon and innumerable stars. ‘I kept thinking about you—how you felt against me in the car…the scent of your hair…the enticing glimpse of your breasts…’
He put both arms round her and drew her against him and kissed her.
When the long kiss ended, it was like coming up for air after her first deep dive into the amazing world under the surface of the sea.
This too was a revelation of wonders that she had read about, seen at the cinema and elsewhere, but had never fully understood. Like diving, it had to be experienced. Reading about it, even watching other people do it wasn’t the same as living it, feeling the strength of his arms, the compelling warmth of his mouth.
‘It’s a nuisance I have to leave tomorrow,’ he murmured against her cheek. ‘But anyway not having my car here is an inconvenience. I’ll be back very soon. Meanwhile…’
He kissed her again, sending a long shudder through her. She found herself pressing against him, sliding her arms around his neck, touching the thick black hair with its own distinctive texture—crisper than cats’ fur, springier than her own hair.
When he kissed her eyelids, she felt the slight roughness of his chin rasping her cheek. But his lips were gentle on the delicate skin of her closed eyes.
A few moments later he swung her up in his arms, carrying her to the old chair, sitting down with her on his lap, kissing her again, less gently.
For Cassia this belated experience of passion, until now only imagined, was even more exciting and wonderful than she had thought it would be. Intoxicated by it, she returned his kisses with all the pent-up longing of her innermost nature.
As he cradled her close to him, each kiss a little more demanding, she felt herself coming alive in a completely new way. Her responses were instinctive—as involuntary as laughter or a lump in the throat. There was no other way she could react except with this wordless expression of love and tenderness.
When his hand slid under her jacket, and she felt him unbuttoning her shirt, desire overwhelmed her. It was like being swept off her feet by a powerful wave, but in a warm summer sea so that she felt no alarm, only a willing surrender to an imperative force.
His exploring hand was gentle. She was scarcely aware of the strap being slipped off her shoulder and the cup of her bra being peeled away, replaced by the warmth of his palm. It felt as if all her life she had been waiting to experience these delicious sensations, and now, at long last, they were happening with the man she had always known would materialise some day—the only man she would ever want as a lover.
‘You feel as soft as a dove,’ he murmured, stroking her.
When he kissed her neck, it made her gasp with pleasure. If she felt like this now, at the beginning…
A few minutes later he said, ‘The air’s turning cold. Let’s go down.’
Replacing her bra, closing the front of her shirt, he rose and set her on her feet. With her hand in his, he led her towards the staircase.
They were on the way to his room when, from below, the reverberating bang of the main outer door being closed broke the stillness of the huge house. It was Jack coming back from the bar.
The sound didn’t cause Simón to pause. Leading her swiftly along the glassed-in gallery between the main stairs and his room, he appeared not to notice it.
But for Cassia the muffled thump brought an abrupt awakening from the daze of sensual delight induced by his caresses.
What am I doing? she asked herself. How am I going to feel about this in the morning?
Simón felt her hanging bac
k and misread the reason for it. ‘He’s gone to the kitchen,’ he said quietly. ‘He isn’t coming up here.’
‘I know, but…’ She slipped her hand free, her thoughts in a whirl of confusion. It was another deep instinct which made her say awkwardly, ‘I’m sorry…I know I led you on…but…this isn’t what I want.’
She expected him to be angry. To her surprise, he smiled. Taking her face in his hands, he said, ‘I think I was doing the leading, not you, my sweet girl. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.’
The light kiss he dropped on her mouth was irresistibly tender and seductive. But somehow she did resist it, pushing him away and forcing herself to say firmly, ‘I’m sorry, Simón…truly sorry…but I can’t go to bed with you.’
And then, because she couldn’t trust herself to go on resisting him, or to fight down the traitorous feelings undermining that resistance, she turned and fled.
The following morning, Cassia was tempted to stay in her room until after Simón and Jack had left from the airstrip where Simón’s friend kept his plane. But, apart from the fact that Laura and Jack would think she had overslept, and Laura would bustle upstairs to bang on her door, not to go down would be cowardly. It would also leave her not knowing how Simón was going to react to her chickening out last night.
Unaccustomed to being rejected, would he now be in a rage with her? What man wouldn’t? From what she had heard and read, the one thing calculated to exasperate the entire male sex was being turned on and then turned down. Especially now, when it didn’t happen as often as it had in the past. Now, if women were going to say no, they took care not to get to the stage where yes or no became an issue.
Looking at her reflection as she brushed her teeth, wondering if the others would notice the signs that she hadn’t slept much, Cassia wondered if it wasn’t only men but also most of her own sex who would think her lastmoment panic incredibly stupid.
It hadn’t been the fear of getting pregnant which had made her back off. Nor had she any doubt that a night in Simón’s bed would have been a gloriously sensual experience.
But not the best experience. That was the one she wanted. And for that you had to have love—on both sides. Anything less was bound to be a let-down—something she would have regretted had she woken in his room instead of her own.
The men were already at the table when she entered the kitchen. As he always did, Simón half rose from his chair. Jack stayed seated. Both said ‘Good morning’.
‘Good morning.’ With the briefest of glances in their direction, she went to the hotplate to pour herself a cup of coffee. Then Laura came out from the pantry with a bag of sugar in her hand.
‘Is your headache better?’ Cassia asked.
‘Much better, thank you, dear. But you look a bit heavy-eyed. I suppose you were reading till all hours? Ruins your eyes, reading in bed.’
Cassia said nothing. Many of Laura’s ideas had no basis in fact, but it was pointless to argue. She believed them, and her mind was set.
‘So when d’you think you’ll be back?’ Jack asked, spreading butter on a hunk of bread.
The men were eating French omelettes with grilled tomatoes.
‘I’m not sure. I have other commitments as well as this project. If, for some reason, I couldn’t come back for several weeks, you could manage without me,’ said Simón. ‘All the basic arrangements are set up. From here on, it’s up to you.’
As he spoke he looked down the table at Cassia. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking. The possibility that it might be weeks before she saw him again made her spirits sink. How could she live with the uncertainty of not knowing what he thought about her, if he had written her off as an uptight puritan whom he wouldn’t waste any more time on?
She wondered if he would find a way to speak to her privately before he left the house. Or if he would go without even shaking her hand.
CHAPTER NINE
JACK looked at his watch. ‘If you’ve nothing more urgent to do this morning, Cass, how about coming to the airfield with us? On the way back I’ll give you a driving lesson.’
‘All right…if Simón doesn’t mind?’
Without looking up from his breakfast, he said, ‘Whatever suits you.’
A few minutes later both men rose from the table, leaving Cassia to finish her coffee. She had her sunglasses with her, and was ready to go without returning to her room.
‘He’s not in a good mood this morning,’ Laura murmured, looking sage.
‘Who? Jack or Simón?’
‘Don Simón. I’m very sensitive to atmosphere. I knew he wasn’t pleased about something as soon as he said good morning to me. Perhaps he’s annoyed at having to go back sooner than he intended. He’s a man who doesn’t like having his arrangements altered, except by his own wish. It’s important to him always to be in control. I’m a student of human nature. I can sum people up very quickly.’
In Cassia’s opinion Laura’s judgement of character was elementary compared with Señor Alvarez’s penetrating assessments. But even he would have been unlikely to attribute the Marqués’s mood to its true cause—the failure of an attempted conquest. One which, on the face of it, should have been easier than most.
She was waiting beside the Range Rover when the two men came out of the house.
Simón slung his grip in the back and then, with his usual courtesy, opened the front passenger door for her.
‘No, no…you sit with Jack. I’ll go in the back.’
As she moved to open the rear door he did the same. Their hands reached the handle simultaneously. Her reaction—to recoil as if from an accidental contact with a razor-sharp blade—made Simón raise his eyebrows and give her a sardonic look.
‘There’s no need to be nervous,’ he said quietly, so that Jack, who had opened the bonnet, wouldn’t hear. ‘You made yourself clear last night. We’ll go back to square one…and stay there.’
During the half-hour drive to the airfield the men discussed Jack’s vehicle and various cars that Simón and his forebears had owned. Jack had bought his thirdhand, his dream being to own a new model.
Cassia would have preferred to learn to drive on one of the small runabouts used by the driving schools, but enquiries had revealed long waiting-lists. While the grandparent generation still thought nothing of walking to neighbouring villages and distant parcels of land, all her contemporaries—of both sexes—wanted wheels.
While the men were discussing emission controls and automotive gas turbines, she was preoccupied with Simón’s last remark to her. How could they go back to square one after the passionate embrace on the roof last night? To put back the clock was impossible. Perhaps he, having slept with so many girls, could forget what had happened quite easily. She never could.
Looking at the broad shoulders rising from the seat in front of her, remembering how strong and solid they had felt against her hands, she knew that she would have total recall of every moment in his arms for the rest of her life. And would always be plagued by doubts about her decision not to trust herself to him.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.’
If only that statement had meant ‘for ever’. But she knew it hadn’t. All he had meant was that she needn’t be afraid of getting pregnant.
No doubt with most of his girlfriends there was no risk of that happening. They were too experienced and worldly-wise not to be armed against such eventualities.
Playgirls like Isa didn’t have accidental babies. It was girls like herself who did that—unwise virgins, usually much younger than she, who let themselves be swept away on a tide of reckless emotions, only to be left high and dry when their lovers opted out of the consequences.
At least she wasn’t going to find herself in that situation. The most marvellous night of love in the history of the world couldn’t be worth the ordeal of having a baby on one’s own—especially in her circumstances, with no family to help her. Even with a supportive family it couldn’t be easy to be a single par
ent. And children needed two parents. She knew that better than most.
She wondered how Simón would react in the unlikely circumstance that someone he made love to did become pregnant. Somehow she couldn’t see him walking away from the responsibility. If he were that sort of man, he wouldn’t have bothered to set up this project. His only concern would be to enjoy life, and to hell with everyone else.
On the other hand it wasn’t responsible to make love to a girl with no sexual track record, who might easily take the affair far too seriously.
At the entrance to the airfield, Simón said to Jack, ‘If any problems come up, my secretary always knows where to contact me. In any case, keep me informed. I’d like a situation report twice a week.’
They dropped him off near the building topped by a small control tower. Jack got out to unlock the tailgate and when Simón had retrieved his grip the two men exchanged powerful handshakes.
Out of politeness Cassia had turned sideways to respond to Simón’s goodbye. His good manners were too deeply ingrained for him to ignore her, even if he might feel like it.
For a moment he looked straight at her, his expression at its most unreadable, except that the shape of his face and the tautness of his brown skin made it easy to see the sudden tightening of his jaw.
But his voice, when he spoke, didn’t confirm the impression that inwardly he was displeased. ‘Goodbye, Cassia. The next time I come down you may be able to drive this thing.’ Turning to Jack, he added, ‘When she makes a mistake, remember she’s a girl—not one of your paras.
Jack grinned. ‘I’ll go easy on her.’
Simón clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Hasta luego.’
Then he walked away, Jack closed the tailgate and Cassia turned to face forward, blinking back foolish tears.
‘You’re picking it up a lot faster than I expected. We’d better find out how soon you can take a test,’ said Jack, at the end of Cassia’s third driving lesson.