The kisses and the wine

by Violet Winspear

  `Very well!' He sat down, and looked very dark against the grey silk brocade of the chair. Lise could not avoid his eyes and so she braved them, and wondered if their look of decision meant that he had decided to send her away.

  'Chano brought me some letters from Madrid, one of which I did not wish to have sent by post to the castle in case ,a servant noticed the crest upon it and remarked on this to Manuela, who in turn might have informed Madrecita that I was in touch with her physician, not only one of the very best in Spain, but a man whose opinion I can trust to be the best available. But before we talk of that, I wish to know how much you like El Serafin. I really wish you could have been here in the springtime, when the mountains' lower slopes were wild with peonies, and the sun had a beneficent touch rather than a passionate one. Somehow you strike me as a springtime girl, young, tender, uncertain.'

  He leaned forward and so held her gaze that she could not have looked away from him had she wished to do so. But she was intent on what he was saying, for she knew that he wasn't making casual conversation but was about to spring upon her something of deep concern to him. Something he had concealed behind an urbane manner all the evening, but was now about to reveal.

  `You like El Serafin?' he pressed.

  `How can I help but like it?' she parried.

  `And you have grown to like the Condesa, eh?'

  `Yes — but this gets more like an inquisitorial and I should like to know why.'

  `I intend that you should know, but first tell me this, and don't think I ask it because I am a vain man who considers himself irresistible to all women. Whenever I touch you, you withdraw as if I am about to bite you. Are you like this with all men, or just with me? Is there something about me — some foreign element which you find unattractive, or perhaps even alarming? Be frank, senorita.'

  `In the circumstances, senor, it surely isn't relevant one way or the other.' As Lise spoke her fingers clenched the collar of her negligee as if to hide the pulse beating there, the throbbing giveaway of the state of her heart. Yes, he alarmed her, but not because she found him unattractive; seated there with that quizzical expression in his eyes, and with his black hair slightly rumpled on his brow, he was far more human and undemanding than she had yet known him, and she sensed that he was worried and wished to unburden himself But did he feel that she would be unsympathetic if, as he supposed, she didn't like him?

  `I have to tell you that it is relevant to the situation.' And all at once his face was sternly serious, so that tiny lines seemed to etch themselves more clearly at the outer corners of his eyes. 'I have this letter from Madrecita's physician which makes it plain that she would not survive a serious shock to her heart, and you know, as I most certainly know, that she has set her heart on seeing me married in the near future. She frets and grumbles and begs for this, and I have decided that if I don't give in to her on this issue she will fret herself into her grave. Her physician bears me out on this, and because I am in the fortunate position of being able to offer a woman a title, a castle, and a life that will not be hard, I am taking the bull by the horns and offering them to

  you, Lise. I am suggesting that we make our masquerade a reality; that you stay at El Serafin as my wife.'

  His proposal was so astounding, so unexpected, that Lise was lost for words. She could only gaze at him in dumbfounded silence, though she felt sure that her heartbeats must be audible. He had to be joking. He couldn't mean what he had just said. Wife, to Leandro. Wife unloved, to the Conde de Marcos Reyes.

  `Y-you can't be serious?'

  'Indeed, and why not? Men are marrying every day of the week, so why not I? Why not you and I?'

  `We aren't in love! You — you told me—'

  'Yes, what did I tell you?' His voice had deepened in that dangerous way, as if daring her to say the words that were on the tip of her tongue.

  'You implied, senor, that there was someone else, so I don't see how you can sit there and suggest that I — that

  'Would you find it too impossible to be my wife?' he broke in. 'You came to Spain seeking a fresh way of life, and to become actually part of Spanish life would surely be exciting for you. To all at El Serafin we are already at the threshold of marriage, so why not take the irrevocable step with me? Am I so impossible in your eyes as a husband?'

  'You don't love me, Señor Conde, so I would soon become impossible in your eyes as a — a wife.' She flushed uncontrollably as she spoke the word, for it implied so many things — partner, comrade, mistress. 'You have told me how wretched was your mother's married life, because she knew herself to be part of an arrangement instead of a love match.'

  'My mother, I came later to realize, was not a woman made for the earthly joys of loving.' Now his eyes were deliberately dominating Lise, forcing her to look at him, to

  listen, and so entice her into something that would be even more disastrous than their false engagement.

  `Don't - please,' she begged. 'I — I won't listen to you!' And like a child afraid she threw her hands over her ears, and at once he came to his feet and bending over her forced her hands away from her ears, holding them firmly, with purpose, so that she was like a young supplicant there on the velvet bench in front of him.

  `You are not at all like my mother,' he said, and each word had the incisive edge of sharp and cutting fact. 'I have watched you about the castle, touching things and loving their tactile being, their history, and perhaps their strangeness. You seek contact with what is tangible, and only the other day I saw you bury your face in a sun-hot tangle of honeysuckle as if you would take the warmth and the scent into your very being. You are a sensuous young creature, Lise, though you might not be aware of the fact. My mother was a heavenly creature to look at, but men who looked at her made the mistake of thinking she wanted to touch or know earthly things. Each one of us, pequena, is a victim of our own biology. The saintly woman can love everyone, provided there is a stone wall to protect her from being touched physically. You are not one of those, and I have been around long enough to know it. I could prove to you right now, amiga, that you are warm and giving in a very human way.'

  And she, who had not been around but who was not altogether unworldly, knew at once what he meant. At once her hands tensed and twisted for freedom, and too late it was the wrong thing to do. He gave her one cynical look and the next instant jerked her to her feet and pulled her close and inescapably into his arms.

  A pair of reactions .jabbed instantaneously . . . as he pulled her to him the folds of her negligee opened and it was

  her chiffoned figure that was brought so painfully close to him. Secondly she was aware of the wild thrill that ran all through her body, the electrical response that took her breath and left her helplessly exposed to his lips as they came down hard on hers, while his arms found and held her in the chiffon, beneath which her slim body was bare, silky with youth and a love of bathing, and supple as the limb of a willow.

  In some dim recess of her mind she had heard it said that some men could ravish with a kiss, and when his lips finally pulled free of hers and he looked down into her eyes, burning it seemed through the black, shadows of his lashes, Lise felt as if she would never be wholly innocent again. As if he had plundered that, as well as her lips, leaving her scorched with a kind of shame because she had let him kiss her and had not raked his face with her fingernails or kicked his legs, or tried to save her feelings from that kiss which still throbbed on her mouth; from that touch which still sent painful little thrills from his fingertips to her very bones.

  Her protest had to be made and with a painful wrenching movement away from him, she swung her hand and heard the sound of the slap before she felt the tingling sensation in her fingers and realized that she had hit him across the face.

  She wasn't sorry, she was glad. It had probably never happened to him before, and would show him that she wasn't a girl to be treated as if she were some light creature, accustomed to being kissed in that fierce and foreign way.

&
nbsp; Her grey eyes blazed as she watched him thrust the black hair from his brow, and with a sardonic quirk of his eyebrow touch his cheek. 'I knew there was fire in you, and that you weren't a little piece of ice,' he drawled. 'Contrary to what you may think at this moment, I am not made angry by your reaction, but I am more than ever certain that a marriage

  between us would not be altogether a misalliance. It could have rewarding aspects to it, for both of us, for I am not advocating one of those arid relationships in which the husband and wife politely agree to appear married without ever being more than guardian and ward. I should want a wife, for my own sake, and for the sake of the great-grandchild the Condesa will cling to life to see, if I marry quite soon.'

  `And what of the woman – the woman you really love?' Lise had to ask, had to end this madness before she became as mad as he and agreed to his reckless proposal. 'Are you going to give up all you really want – in this Quixotic way? Do you really expect me to agree to such a – a marriage, when I know that I am just a means to provide you and the Condesa with that – that precious future link. What do you take me for, Señor Conde? Do you truly think I could marry a man for material things alone? I'd need to be wildly in love—'

  `Then, pequena, it will be my task to make you love me, won't it? As for other women, they will have to be disregarded.'

  `As easily as that?' she asked, scornfully. 'Love doesn't seem to mean very much to you, señor? I gather that with you it is just a physical thing, in which the heart can be switched on and off, to provide heat or coolness to suit your mood of the moment. That may be the Latin way, but I am English—'

  `I am very aware that you are English.' His eyes flashed over her, and amusement of a wicked sort leapt into them as she dragged together the folds of her robe. 'And that is why I am going to give you a little time to think over my proposal. A little time, señorita, but not too much, so that Madrecita worries and frets too much.'

  `I realize your dilemma with regard to the Condesa,' said Lise, a shaken note in her voice. 'I do see that it would be

  difficult for you to introduce to her a woman who has been divorced — but it isn't fair of you to expect me to fill the breach. I won't give in to you—'

  `We will see.' His lips quirked and he fingered his jaw again. I like your fighting spirit, Lise — among other things.' And with a slightly mocking bow he turned and walked to the door, tall, lithe and accustomed to having his own way. Lise couldn't see him go without a last fling of defiance.

  I shall find some way to get away from your castle, senor. I'm not a prisoner here!'

  He turned briefly to look at her, and seeing his face again, and that tiny smile that glimmered in his eyes, was enough to make her heart lurch. And when the door closed behind him she knew how empty were her defiant words. She was his prisoner . . . his because her wildly beating heart told her so.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  IT seemed to Lise that she lay awake far into the night, and when at last she slept, she fell so soundly asleep that she awoke to find the sun flooding so warm into her room that she knew at once that the morning was well advanced.

  She rose and bathed and dressed in a sleeveless blouse with her tangerine slacks. She went downstairs in search of Ana and Chano, and learned that they had gone out early in his car and had taken a picnic lunch with them. Lise didn't begrudge them their desire to be alone together, but it left her alone at the castle to face the master of it and to be reminded again of his fantastic proposal of the night before; and of his kiss that to him had been an experiment, a way of proving that he could make her respond to him, and give in to him.

  Lise drank coffee at a table on the patio and stormily told herself that she was not going to give in so easily. She would find out if her car was in order and get away from him as soon as possible. Playing his fiancée had held danger enough, but this new plan of his, that they become truly engaged, held deeps from which she must draw back before she fell headlong into them.

  She poured herself another cup of coffee, but just couldn't face the food under the silver covers.

  The sun lay warm over the tiles of the patio, and over the flowering plants whose scents in daylight were less sensuous than they had been last night, while the gipsy music had played, and this impossible plan of the Conde's had crystallized in his mind. It was all in his mind, because what heart he had was shared between his grandmother and that

  glamorous woman in Madrid. He had no heart to give to herself and he supposed that it was enough that he offered his castle and his name.

  And after that, if Lise had been crazy enough to agree to become his wife of convenience, would he then have made Franquista his mistress, just as his father had made another woman more important to him than his wife? Franquista was worldly, and it might suit her to be the fashionable mistress rather than the wife at El Serafin, which was miles from the distractions of city life, and where the people were rather old-fashioned and expected a certain decorum from the mistress of the castillo.

  Yes, viewed dispassionately, the new turn of events would seem to suit Leandro admirably. His grandmother was saved from the real truth, and he had the best of two worlds, the quiet one here in the mountains, and the gay one in Madrid, where his business was and where he would no doubt reside for most of the time.

  Lise rose to her feet and took a restless ramble about the patio. He had not even suggested that the marriage be one in name only; he had told her quite frankly that she would be expected to respond to him and in due course bear him this child which his madrecita wanted so much.

  She had paused in front of a sprawling bush of camellias, and the rich white beauty of them made her think of weddings, and all the intimacy that was entailed in becoming the wife of a man. And a man such as Leandro, who was Latin to his very bones, would demand love of any woman who was intimately involved with him. He did not know, must not know, that Lise had already fallen victim to his fascination. If he learned that she felt herself on the verge of falling madly in love with him, then he would make it impossible for her to leave. He was experienced, he knew women, and he would know all too well how to kindle her

  emotions until she wanted only one thing in life ... him.

  Right now . . . oh, right this minute she had to find some small escape, where away from the fascinating environs of the castle she could plan more carefully her escape from Leandro and the forceful way he was invading her heart, her very life.

  She would go to the beach! She had a bathing-suit in her room, and if she hurried she would be out of the castle within ten minutes, with no chance of being caught by Leandro, who at any moment might be riding back from his inspection of the olive plantation, or the one or two houses that needed some repairs. She had noticed that while here at El Serafin he was rarely relaxed, and she was inclined to wonder if it was because he missed the company of Franquista.

  Lise gnawed her lip as she ran up the stairs to fetch her beach things. If he missed Franquista now, whatever would he be like with a young, untried wife on his hands; someone whom he married because her innocence pleased his grandmother, and who was youthful and healthy enough to give him a fine son?

  She was at the mirror, bunching the fair hair at the crown of her head, when she saw the colour storm into her cheeks, and imagined for possibly the first time in her life (up until now her image of love had been purely dreamlike) what it would be like to have a man such as Leandro taking her to himself in a passion that would not stop at long, demanding kisses. She had heard that women had to be in love in order to enjoy passion, but she knew enough — perhaps from that kiss last night — to realize that men were different. She had felt the pleasure which Leandro had drawn from that kiss, and she had felt the intake of his breath when his hands had found her so slim and smooth under the chiffon of her nightdress. She knew that he could take her without love. . . but

  she couldn't face the thought of being no more .than an appeasement for his love of someone else. An hour's passion to cool a
rdour, and to provide the next heir to the Marcos Reyes title and estate.

  Lise snatched her bathing-suit from the drawer, grabbed a large Turkish towel from the bathroom, and fled from the room which reminded her too vividly of those entirely physical moments last night in the arms of Leandro.

  Maids were at work in the bedrooms, and she caught a glimpse of Manuela as she hastened toward the stairs. She pretended to be lost in thought, and upon reaching the hall she took to her heels and ran, the suit and towel clutched in her hand, heading through the grounds of the castle in the direction of the far-down gleam of blue water dotted by black rocks.

  The steps that led down to the beach had been hacked out of the cliffside and there seemed to be hundreds of them, for the castle was perched high above the sea so that the Marcos Reyes might have this marvellous view and their privacy. As Lise neared the beach she was glad to see that she would have it to herself. She felt as if she had never needed so much to be alone, and there was a certain comfort in the sound of bird calls and the roll of the water, lapping and hissing when it reached the rocks.

  Lise ran behind a high dry rock and quickly shed her dress and her underclothes. She stepped into her bathing-suit and quickly pulled the straps over her shoulders, and kicking off her sandals she made for the water, feeling the sand like hot velvet under her bare feet. She felt eagerly certain that the water would be warm when she entered it, but she found to her surprise that it was quite cool, and she kicked out energetically in order to keep warm and to get used to the coolness as soon as possible.

  Having been brought up by a brother she had been intro-

  duced at an early age to the pleasures and dangers of swimming, and this morning she felt a little reckless, as if she must swim until she exhausted herself and her troubled thoughts lost their clarity and everything became hazy and less sharply defined.