A Very Special Man

by Marjorie Lewty

  Benedict took Chloe’s hand and led her forward.

  ‘Abuela mia’—he bent over the old lady’s hand—‘I have brought my wife to you. Chloe, my dear, this is my grandmother, Dona Elisa de Serrano y Martinez.’

  Chloe, recalling the social niceties she had learned during her earlier visits to Spain, bowed her head slightly and said, ‘I am honoured to make your acquaintance, Dona Elisa.’

  She raised her head to meet a pair of shrewd old eyes in a thin face criss-crossed with wrinkles. The hair was iron-grey and pathetically thin, brushed severely back from a pallid, waxy-skinned forehead. There were deep, dark shadows beneath the eyes and the small mouth that must once have been firm and dominant quivered a little with weakness.

  ‘Come near to me, my child.’ The words came with difficulty, spoken uncertainly, and suddenly Chloe sensed that this interview was just as stressful for the woman in the bed as it was for her. Impulsively she dropped on her knees beside the bed so that her face was level with the old woman’s, and as the dark eyes scrutinised her she found herself wishing with all her heart that she might pass the test and be accepted.

  Finally Dofia Elisa’s eyes left her face and turned slowly up to Benedict. ‘She is very—how do you say—guapa— your wife.’

  ‘Pretty.’ He put a hand on Chloe’s shoulder. ‘I agree, muy guapa.’ He gave the shoulder an encouraging squeeze and added, ‘Grandmother doesn’t need to speak English very often nowadays. She probably finds it quite an effort, do you not, mi abuela?’

  ‘Si, si, that is so. I wish to say to your wife—’ The effort was too much. The tired old voice broke off and the wrinkled face worked painfully.

  Chloe had not intended to admit to speaking fair Spanish. She had thought it over and decided that it would be better to remain resolutely on the outside of this family meeting. But now, her resolve forgotten, she leaned forward and took one of Dona Elisa’s frail hands in both hers.

  ‘Hablo Espanol, Dona Elisa,’ she said gently.

  The dark eyes brightened and it was possible to see the beauty that had once been there. ‘Castellano?’ It was a whisper.

  ‘Si, Castellano.’ Well, she ought to be able to get along in Castellan, the true Castilian Spanish. She had spent two months in Madrid, at the end of her final term, perfecting her accent. She smiled and added in Spanish, ‘It will be better for you if we talk in your language and if I make any silly mistakes you must tell me.’

  After that it was much easier. At Dona Elisa’s request Chloe told her a little about herself, her parents, her childhood, her education. She spoke of the work she had been doing since she finished her training, while she looked for some job where she could use her knowledge of languages.

  ‘And now she has one,’ Benedict put in, smiling just as if he had known about it all the time.

  Chloe ignored that and went on about Jan and the children (omitting to mention the broken marriage) and about Aunt Catherine in London, her mother’s remarriage and her home in Australia.

  Benedict sat on a chair near the foot of the bed and listened attentively. Once she met his eyes and he nodded as if to say, ‘Carry on, you’re doing fine.’

  But soon the nurse, who had retired to the far end of the room when they came in, glided silently back towards the bed and smiled confirmation when Benedict asked, ‘Time for us to go, Sister?’

  Dona Elisa held out both her hands as Chloe got up from her knees beside the bed. ‘You will come and see me again before you return to England?’

  ‘Of course, if you wish it, senora.’ She bent and kissed the wrinkled forehead.

  ‘I do wish it. I wish to know everything of the girl who has married my dear Benedicto. You love him, my child?’ Out of the corner of her eye Chloe saw Benedict’s hand clench. It was the first purely nervous gesture she had ever noticed in him.

  She said steadily, ‘Indeed I do. I love him more than I can possibly say,’ and as she said it she saw the hand relax again.

  The old woman smiled and her dark eyes were misty.

  ‘That is the thing that is important. Adios, my child.’ She looked up at Benedict. ‘Bring her back soon, mi nieto.’

  ‘Indeed I will, very soon.’ He bent over the frail hand and kissed it.

  Then they were outside the room with the door closed behind them, and walking in silence along the dim passages. At the top of the stairs Benedict paused and put his hand on Chloe’s arm. ‘Thank you, my dear,’ he said wryly, ‘for that gallant lie.’

  What would he say, she wondered, if she told him that it had been no lie, but the simple truth? That she loved him so much that it had begun to feel like an ache inside her.

  The touch of his hand on her arm seemed to burn through her dress and she moved away quickly and said, ‘Think nothing of it—a lie in a good cause.’ Glancing up, she saw again the quick flash of anger in the dark eyes.

  Then the expression changed to one of pleased recognition as a girl appeared at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Catalina!’ he exclaimed. ‘I wondered where you had got to,’ and his quick change from English to Spanish seemed to put him a long way away from Chloe, even though she understood what he said.

  The girl wore a scarlet and white dress, very smart, very modern. She was very beautiful in the way that young Spanish girls are beautiful: smooth olive skin, flashing eyes, a slim seductive body.

  Benedict ran down the stairs and gave her a hug. ‘How are you, hermanita?’

  She pulled away from him petulantly. ‘I’m not your little sister.’ Then she stood quite still, one hand on hip, insolently inspecting Chloe, standing at the bottom of the stairs, and before Benedict could introduce them she drawled to him, ‘So this is the woman you have married so very suddenly? I suppose it must have been—necessary…?’

  His face froze, he stood quite still, and in that moment he looked so infinitely dangerous that Chloe’s inside contracted, although his anger was not directed towards her this time.

  He took the girl’s wrist in a steel grip, which must have hurt considerably as she winced, but said nothing. ‘You have insulted my wife,’ he said, ‘and you will apologise.’ The girl’s dark eyes glittered as they met his. Then they dropped and she muttered, ‘All right, you can tell her I’m sorry, if you like. You know I don’t speak English.’ His face hardened even more. ‘You will tell her yourself. Chloe speaks Spanish as well as you do. Probably better.’

  If the girl were embarrassed at knowing that Chloe had understood her words she showed nothing of it. The look on her lovely face was just as insolent, her tone just as virulent as she almost spat out, ‘Lo siento.’

  ‘That’s better,’ said Benedict, as to a child who has been naughty and has been forgiven. ‘Now let’s all go and have a drink and get to know each other.’

  But as they went towards the salon Chloe’s heart sank., This girl was not the child that Benedict thought her, and what she had seen in the beautiful, sulky face was not the temper tantrum of a little girl who considered herself passed over. It was the bitter jealousy of a full-grown woman.

  The unpleasant fact was that through no fault of her own she had made an enemy in Benedict’s home.

  CHAPTER SIX

  In the salon Benedict took bottles and glasses from a large, heavily-carved corner cupboard.

  ‘In this house you don’t have any choice,’ he said, smiling at Chloe as he handed her a glass filled with amber liquid. ‘You drink sherry, and like it. There you are— mi amor.’ His voice dropped caressingly and he bent his head and laid his cheek against Chloe’s as she took the glass.

  For a split second she forgot that he was acting a part for Catalina’s benefit, and her hand shook as she turned startled eyes to his.

  ‘Oh dear, I’m afraid I’ve spilled some sherry on the carpet—I’m so sorry.’ She directed the words towards Catalina, as acting mistress of the house.

  The girl was standing beside a table in the window, her scarlet dress making a vivid splash against the dark wood. She
glanced up, her eyes sliding away from Chloe’s, shrugged, and went on leafing through a magazine on the table without saying a word.

  Benedict’s mouth tightened and for a moment it looked as if he were going to reprimand Catalina again, but instead he said, ‘Don’t worry, Chloe, it’s not the first time this carpet has had sherry spilled on it, nor the hundredth. I’ll get Marta to do what’s necessary.’ He took a step towards the door. .

  Catalina spoke then. ‘Marta’s out—and Pedro.’

  He came back, frowning. ‘Out? You allowed them to go out when you knew we were coming? Why?’

  ‘Why not?’ Catalina shrugged her pretty shoulders carelessly. ‘Marta’s father had some relatives here for the horse fair. She wanted to be with them.’

  ‘But the horse fair was over more than a week ago.’

  ‘Oh well, you know what these people are.’ She flicked over a leaf of the magazine. ‘Time means nothing to them.’

  Benedict looked grim. ‘And what do you propose we do about a meal, then? Have you been learning to cook?’

  ‘Me?’ A trill of laughter. ‘Why should I learn to cook ?’

  ‘It might be a good idea. You will possibly marry some day.’

  ‘My dear Benedicto’—Catalina tossed her smooth dark head—‘when I decide to marry it will be to a man who can afford to provide me with many servants.’

  Benedict grimaced at Chloe. ‘Unfortunate fellow!’ he remarked in English, and Catalina threw him a suspicious glance.

  ‘What did you say to her?’

  ‘You should have spent more time at your school books and then you would know. Do you want a drink?’

  She glared at him. ‘Por cierto.’ But when he would have selected a very small glass she flounced past him saying, ‘I will help myself, thank you,’ and, taking a much larger glass, filled it to the brim with sherry.

  Benedict raised his eyebrows but merely said, ‘If Marta and Pedro are not here what do we do about a meal, then?’

  Catalina sipped her drink delicately. ‘I thought it would be correct for us to have a party for your wedding day. I have a friend who has made the arrangements at El Vaso. He says you get the best gazpacho there in the whole of Spain. Your Uncle Ricardo and Tia Isabel are driving from Jerez. They should be here soon.’

  He nodded approval. ‘Good.’ And to Chloe, ‘I want you to meet them both, then you will have met all the family.’

  ‘Also,’ added Catalina innocently, ‘I have invited Luis and Juana. I thought you would be happy to see them as they are such friends of yours.’

  There was a taut little silence. Benedict’s face was expressionless.

  ‘Splendid,’ he said smoothly, after a moment or two. ‘I have some business matters to discuss with Luis, so it will be very convenient.’

  ‘Business matters on your wedding night?’ Catalina’s eyes flicked over Chloe. ‘That is surely not a great compliment to your wife, mi amigo.’ He turned to pour himself a glass of sherry, ignoring the remark completely, and the girl tossed her head and walked back to the table by the window, swinging her hips gracefully as she went.

  ‘Luis,’ said Benedict to Chloe, ‘is one of our managers.’ And Juana? Chloe thought. Is she the one you are in love with? She would know for sure when she saw them together tonight, and she felt hollow inside at the prospect. Then she pulled herself together. This was the job she had been engaged to do—to provide a cloak for Benedict’s indiscretions, she told herself firmly. It might help if she could manage to blame him, but she couldn’t. She had just found out how impossible it was to stop yourself falling in love.

  He finished his sherry and said, ‘I’ll take your case up, Chloe, if you’re ready. I expect you’d like a bath and a rest before we go out—it’s been a tiring day for you.’

  He linked his arm with hers, but as they reached the door, Catalina said, ‘Oh, Benedicto, I have told Marta to move all your clothes and other things. You will not want to keep your old bedroom now that you have a wife. Your room will be the one at the end of the passage, opposite to Dona Elisa’s.’

  Chloe felt his arm tighten and he drew in a quick breath. She could feel his annoyance and for a moment she thought he might explode into angry words, but he merely shrugged and almost pushed her in front of him towards the staircase, and showed her the way in stony silence.

  The bedroom where he took her to was much smaller than his grandmother’s room. He switched on the light and looked round with disgust. ‘That wretched girl!’ he said, dropping Chloe’s case on to a cane-seated chair at the foot of the huge double bed that seemed almost to fill the room. ‘Why she wanted to be so damnably interfering beats me. I suppose she’s just showing off as she’s more or less in charge of things here while Grandmother is ill, but I wish to goodness she’d mind her own business.’

  She glanced warily at him, unable to think of a thing to say. The sight of the large double bed was filling her with emotions that she dared not analyse too closely.

  ‘I’d planned this quite differently,’ he said. ‘My room has a small connecting room that I used to use as a study when I was young, and later as a private office when I wanted to work quietly at home. There’s a camp bed in there that I slept on myself when I brought school friends from England home in the holidays. The set-up would have been ideal for us. And now’—he too glanced towards the big double bed—‘Catalina had to butt in and disorganise everything. It’s damned annoying!’ He might, Chloe thought, be arranging a board meeting. If she was embarrassed, he certainly was not.

  ‘Never mind,’ he said brusquely. ‘You make yourself at home here and I’ll go and see what I can arrange. The bathroom’s next door.’

  Left alone, she opened her case and began to unpack automatically. She looked at the mahogany wardrobe that half-covered the far wall of the bedroom and wondered if she should hang up her new dresses there, or if Benedict would arrange that she should have another room. Finally she spread her clothes on the bed and left her toilet articles in the case. She felt confused and rather miserable. She had thought she might have got over the biggest hurdle when Dona Elisa seemed to approve of her, but now she was groping in the dark. Catalina must have been counting on getting Benedict for a husband, and was going to make herself thoroughly unpleasant to the girl he had chosen instead of her. What a good thing, thought Chloe tiredly, trying to be realistic, that Benedict wasn’t in love with her, otherwise the girl might find a way to make trouble between them. Whatever Catalina knew, or suspected, about Benedict, at least she couldn’t possibly know the circumstances of their marriage.

  The bathroom was as old-fashioned as the rest of the house, with rugs on the polished wood floor, a goldframed mirror on the wall and a huge bath with decorated, claw-like feet and bulbous brass taps, raised up on a dais. The bath almost swallowed her up, but it was heavenly, after the travelling, to get her clothes off and lie back in the tepid, scented water. Refreshed, she dried on a luxuriously thick white towel, wrapped a filmy negligee around her, and padded back to the bedroom.

  Have a rest, Benedict had said, and that seemed a good idea. Putting aside the dresses she had spread on the bed, she stretched herself out on the blue silk quilt. The bed was delightfully soft and the silk cover cool to her body through the flimsy wrap. She closed her eyes and thirty seconds later she was asleep.

  It was only a catnap and she opened her eyes again to see Benedict standing beside the bed, looking down at her with an odd expression that made her heart begin to thump. She sat up, grabbing the wrap round her. ‘I—I must have gone to sleep.’

  He nodded. ‘Why not? That was the idea. I wouldn’t have wakened you, but I suppose it’s time we got ready to go out.’

  He sounded so dazed that she thought he must have had some sort of a shock and thought—his grandmother? She waited for him to tell her, but he only said, ‘I can’t do anything about changing rooms. Except for Grandmother’s room opposite, and this one, and Catalina’s, there are only two other bedrooms and
Catalina seems to have chosen this moment to have them painted. Everything’s upside down.’

  Chloe swung her legs over the side of the bed, pushed her foot into one of her mules and groped with her toe for the other. Benedict went down on one knee and retrieved the slipper from under the bed. Then, slowly and deliberately, he picked up her foot and fitted the slipper on to it.

  As his fingers lingered on the bare skin of her ankle she felt the blood surge into her cheeks and took refuge in foolery. ‘Do you see yourself as Prince Charming?’

  Still he didn’t smile. ‘Would I fit the part?’

  ‘Oh, most definitely,’ she told him, mock-serious. ‘But I don’t think I see myself as Cinderella. I’m sure I should be much too independent to let myself be put upon by any ugly sisters—I hope so, anyway. I always thought Cinderella was a bit of a mutt, sitting by the hearth sighing and feeling sorry for herself and waiting for a fairy godmother to present her with a handsome prince.’

  He sat down beside her on the bed. She was disturbingly conscious of the hardness of his body through the thin nylon of her negligee and in a desperate effort to retain the lightness of the conversation she smiled up at him and said, ‘Don’t you agree?’

  He was looking intently down at her. ‘Perhaps,’ he said, and he did smile then. It was a smile that seemed to reach down and touch some vulnerable place inside her and she began to tremble. She wanted to jump up, to move away, but the look in those dark, lazy eyes held her motionless, almost ceasing to breathe, for a moment that stretched and stretched, until she could hardly bear it.

  At last he said, very softly, ‘The Sleeping Beauty, then? To be awakened by a kiss?’

  His arms went round her, pulling her slowly and deliberately across his knees. His face was only inches above hers and as it came nearer her eyes closed in surrender. His mouth came down on hers, moving against her own until her lips parted to his, and he gathered her close against him, pressed so tightly that it seemed as if they were not two bodies but one. Chloe was utterly lost in delight. Never before had she known anything like the seething rush of emotion that swept over and through her, waking every nerve to exquisite sensation as he pulled her wrap apart and his hands and mouth moved over the curves of her warm, yielding body. As his movements became less deliberate, more urgent, she reached up and twined her fingers convulsively in his dark hair. After her first stunned bewilderment at what was happening, for she had never expected that he would want to make love to her, she was helpless to do anything but respond to his passion with her own rising passion. If she thought anything at all, she thought—This man is my husband and I love him, and all she wanted was to give and take equally.