A Very Special Man

by Marjorie Lewty

  She was aware that Luis was speaking to her, very close to her ear, making his voice soft and intimate. ‘So—our Benedicto has found himself a wife at last! And such a beautiful wife too!’

  He had refused the sangria and was drinking brandy, and from the slurred tones in his voice it was evident that this was by no means the first drink he had had this evening. ‘We began to believe that Benedicto had no intention of marrying,’ he went on. ‘But now what talent he has shown in his choice—to find one so clever as well as so lovely!’

  Chloe supposed he was referring to the fact that she could speak Spanish, which didn’t seem particularly clever, but she knew that Spanish men are never shy with their compliments and she smiled politely.

  He must have taken her smile for encouragement, for he edged nearer to her than she liked, until his knee was pressing against hers. ‘Tell me, mi pichona, the English girls who seem so cool, like beautiful icebergs, is it true that below they are not so cool? I think that below they are apasionada, no es asi?’

  Chloe glanced at him uncomfortably. Even allowing for the fact that he had had rather too much to drink, this was not the way for a guest at a wedding party to behave to the bride. She turned to Benedict, but he was listening to Tia Isabel, on his other side.

  Luis had taken her hand now and was turning it over in his in a maudlin kind of way. ‘Beautiful,’ he murmured thickly, ‘such a pale little hand!’ He raised it to his mouth and held it there.

  This was going much too far. Chloe tugged away, but not before Benedict had turned and seen what was going on. With a quick movement he reached behind Chloe’s back and pushed the limp form of Luis sideways, so that he lurched in his chair. ‘Just keep your hands off my wife, Luis,’ Benedict said in a voice full of menace but so low that certainly nobody else but the three of them could hear.

  Luis bridled tipsily and muttered something. Then he slid an offensively knowing look towards Benedict and mouthed, ‘Tal para cual, mi amigo, huh?’

  Chloe felt Benedict stiffen all over and for a horrid moment she thought they were going to have a fight on their hands. Then, with a harsh intake of breath, he stood up and said loudly, ‘I think it’s time to leave, if we’re all ready. It will be quite a long drive home for Tia Isabel, and Chloe is tired after all the travelling.’

  ‘I agree with you, my boy,’ Uncle Ricardo said promptly, and his wife began to flutter around, gathering her lace shawl and her handbag and searching for a lost handkerchief.

  Outside the restaurant Catalina announced that it was much too early to go home and that she and Manuel were going on to the apartment of one of Manuel’s university friends. When Tia Isabel demurred the girl laughed gaily and said that she was old enough to do as she pleased. Tia Isabel looked black and muttered that she wouldn’t behave so—wouldn’t dare—if Dona Elisa were still in charge of things.

  Luis and Juana were staying overnight in Seville, as Luis’s business was not yet concluded. Benedict and Chloe would be driven back to the Casa Sorreno by Uncle Ricardo, who would then return, with his-wife, to their estate in Jerez, some hundred kilometres away. It seemed that it had been arranged that Benedict would bring his bride to Jerez on the following day, to see the family estate and visit the vineyards and the bodegas. Talking together, the group strolled back to the plaza, where adios and buenas noches hung on the cool, orange-scented air, and Chloe tried not to see Benedict saying goodnight to Juana.

  Ten minutes later the party had gone their separate ways and Chloe and Benedict were alone, strolling through the narrow streets of the Barrio. Benedict linked his arm loosely, with Chloe’s. ‘Well, that’s over. It wasn’t so bad, was it? Catalina’s boy-friend was right, the gazpacho was quite something. And the membrillo too.’

  ‘Was that the chewy dessert we had?’ enquired Chloe sleepily, trying to recall what it had tasted like.

  ‘Um—it’s made from quince. The chef told us that it was brought in from a small town near Cordoba, where they specialise in making it. Did you like it?’

  Chloe assured him that she had liked it, though actually she couldn’t remember what it tasted like. She was beginning to feel quite exhausted by now. It didn’t seem possible that only this morning she had been dressing for her wedding in the little bedroom at Jan’s house in Kenilworth.

  ‘I’m sorry about Luis,’ Benedict said suddenly. ‘He usually manages to hold his drink better than that. In fact’—he didn’t attempt to hide his contempt—‘he seems to function best when he’s half-tight.’

  ‘But how does he manage to do his job, then?’

  He shrugged. ‘There’s no fault to be found with him on that score. His father had a vineyard up in the Ebro region and he grew up there and learned all about growing grapes. Also, he knows how to get the best work out of his men.’

  ‘Oh?’ Somehow she couldn’t picture Luis inspiring men to work in the fields.

  Benedict said rather grimly, ‘You’re thinking he’s not the type? Oh, Luis is a man’s man. Women exist only to serve him and provide his amusement.’ He didn’t attempt to hide the bitterness in his voice.

  She said, ‘You don’t like him, do you ?’ That could be a leading question and she saw the quick turn of his head. But he merely said casually,

  ‘Not much, but I value his work.’

  It was no good trying to find out, Chloe thought wearily, he wasn’t going to tell her anything.

  As they crossed the darkened patio she sagged and stumbled and Benedict put his arm round her for support. ‘Poor infant,’ he said kindly, ‘you’re flat out, aren’t you? Bed for you, straight away.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ she murmured. The thought of slipping down between cool sheets was blissful.

  He led her straight upstairs through the dim, quiet old house and into the bedroom, where he dumped her on the bed as if she were a sleepy child. Then he stood beside the bed, frowning down at her. ‘We’ve got to share this room for tonight, I’m afraid, so we’d better make some sort of arrangements about it.’

  ‘Arrangements?’ She blinked up at him stupidly.

  He smiled. ‘You needn’t worry. I wasn’t thinking of taking advantage of this golden opportunity.’ His look travelled round the small room, ending up on the enormous bed.

  How did one answer that? ‘Thank you very much’, or, ‘I wouldn’t mind if you did’? Hysterical laughter, born of sheer fatigue, bubbled in her throat. Then the laughter ceased as she realised the implication of his words. Of course he wouldn’t want to make love to her when he had just seen Juana again. ‘I can well believe that—in the circumstances,’ she said, and a steely prod of jealousy, taking her unawares, made her add, ‘Which is very lucky for me, isn’t it?’

  She saw the sudden anger flash into his face, and this time it was directed at her. ‘You don’t understand a blind thing about it, do you?’ he threw at her in a low, furious tone. He took a step towards her and fear spiralled down inside her. She shrank away from him, almost expecting him to strike her; in her present state of tiredness and emotional turmoil even that seemed possible.

  He checked himself, and for a long moment they glared at each other in silence. Benedict was the first to look away. He turned and walked to the door. ‘I’ll see if I can find the night nurse, to enquire about Grandmother,’ he said. ‘Then I’ll go down and have a nightcap. I’ll give you’—he glanced at his watch—‘twenty minutes to get into bed and chastely covered up.’ His lip curled. He really was angry with her.

  ‘But what about you?’ she quavered. ‘Where—’

  ‘Where shall I sleep? I shall provide myself with a rug and make do with the floor, don’t worry. It won’t be the first time.’ He went out and closed the door carefully behind him.

  There was a modern wash basin in the corner of the room. Chloe swilled her face and hands, got hastily out of her clothes and into one of the pretty, flimsy nighties she had bought in Leamington. Then she crept into the big bed and pulled the sheet up closely round her. It was a warm ni
ght but not excessively hot. It wouldn’t be any hardship to be—what had he so nastily said?—to be chastely covered up.

  The only light in the room was from a shaded bedside lamp and she left that on; she wouldn’t want Benedict stumbling around the room when he came back. Twenty minutes, he had said, and that should surely give her time to be fast asleep before he came back, tired as she was. She yawned and closed her eyes, but impressions of the day churned around inside her head, so muddled up that she didn’t know whether she was awake or asleep.

  Finally, a muffled sound in the room roused her and in the dim light she saw Benedict taking off his shirt and pulling on a robe of some dark colour. On the verge of sleep she watched him between lids that kept closing of their own accord. She murmured his name and he came towards the bed, suddenly alert. She saw his form, tall and shadowed, standing above her.

  ‘What does tal para cual mean?’ she mumbled.

  His reply came from a long distance away and his voice was gentle now. ‘Shut up, infant, and go to sleep,’ he said. Chloe slept.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Chloe wakened to the realisation that somebody was moving about the room. She had slept heavily and it took a moment or two to blink herself back to full consciousness. When her eyes could focus she saw a dumpy woman in an apron busily pulling back and adjusting the heavy curtains. Of Benedict there was no sign except—

  With a painful catch of breath she saw that the bedclothes had been turned back carelessly on the opposite side of the big bed and that the pillow was pulled crooked and had the unmistakable indentation of a head upon it.

  Her mind rocked. Surely he hadn’t—he had promised —he had said he would get a rug and sleep on the floor— The woman turned from the window. ‘Buenos dias, sehora. I hope you are rested.’

  She spoke in Spanish, but slowly and carefully, as if she could not quite believe that any foreigner would be able to understand. Chloe replied in the same language, ‘You must be Marta?’ She pulled herself up in the bed. ‘I heard that you were visiting your relatives who were here for the horse fair. You must have enjoyed yourself, yes?’ A slow smile broke over the woman’s heavy face. ‘Ah, si, si, it was most enjoyable. My cousin’s wife’s father is a breeder of horses in Almendralejo, you understand, so it was a very important time for them all. They did good business.’ Assured now that Chloe was understanding her, she launched into a long and detailed account of her family, her cousin’s wife’s family, and the horse breeding business. Finally she stopped, raising her hands. ‘But I talk too much and you wait for your breakfast. I will bring it immediately. And I will tell Senor Dane that you are awake.’ At the door she paused and then added, ‘And may I wish you every happiness, senora?’

  Chloe wondered if she had imagined the knowing smile, the glance towards the rumpled bedclothes. ‘Gracias,’ she answered, reaching for a wrap.

  She had not quite managed to fasten it round herself when Benedict walked in.

  ‘Oh!’ She fumbled with the ties. ‘It’s you. You might have—’

  ‘I might have knocked?’ His dark brows went up. ‘If people heard a husband knocking at his wife’s door they might get the wrong idea. You slept well, pequena?’

  ‘Very well, thanks,’ she returned shortly. ‘And there isn’t really any need to use these—these endearments when we’re alone, is there?’

  He strolled across to a cane-seated chair and lowered his long body into it. He looked so devastatingly handsome this morning in dark brown trousers and a cream shirt, open at the neck, that her heart squeezed up inside her. ‘They seem to trip easily from the tongue,’ he said, lounging back with his legs pushed out in front of him. ‘A nice change from “darling” and “sweetheart”, wouldn’t you agree? Like all hot-blooded Mediterranean people, the Spanish have an extensive and picturesque language of love.’

  Love! How dared he talk of love! she fumed inwardly. As she sat up on one side of the wide bed she was painfully conscious that the other side—which lay between them—showed flagrant evidence of having been occupied.

  ‘You’re looking rather cross this morning,’ Benedict said, studying her face thoughtfully. Then his eyes moved to the rumpled bedclothes, the indented pillow, and his face hardened a fraction. ‘Ah, you thought I’d broken my word?’

  She felt the heat rising to her cheeks. ‘What else was I to think?’

  The angry light flashed into his eyes but he merely shrugged. ‘It wouldn’t occur to you that—this’—he gestured towards the unoccupied half of the bed—‘was merely to provide evidence for Marta that we’d enjoyed a blissful wedding night.’

  ‘No,’ she said shortly, ‘it hadn’t occurred to me.’

  There was a tense little silence. Benedict’s eyes were fixed on her unwaveringly. She tried to hold his look but had to lower her own eyes. There was no sound, no movement, a stillness had settled over the room. Then at last he stood up slowly and walked across to the bed. ‘I assure you, my dear Chloe,’ he said, ‘that if I had shared your bed last night, you wouldn’t have forgotten about it.’ His voice was a drawl, an insult.

  She began to tremble. What was he trying to do— punish her, make her feel a naive little fool, just because he had been with Juana last evening, loving her with his eyes, and unable to touch her? Suddenly she wanted to hit back, to hurt him. No emotional involvement, he had said, and she almost laughed, remembering. That had applied to him, but not to her. She was emotionally involved all right, with every last bit of her, body and mind. And just at this moment she hated him.

  She sat up straight, drawing her wrap tightly round her. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t have forgotten,’ she threw at him. ‘There wouldn’t have been anything to forget. I should have been on the other side of the city before you got near enough to touch me!’

  There was a knock at the door and Marta came in with a tray. ‘Your breakfast, senora.’ She placed it on the bedside table. ‘You would not wish an English breakfast, no?’

  Chloe’s inside recoiled at the idea of bacon and eggs. ‘No, no, thank you, Marta, this will do beautifully.’ She remembered how much a Spaniard loves enthusiastic praise and added, ‘Estupendo!’

  Marta beamed delightedly and looked as if she were about to break into voluble conversation, only Benedict rather pointedly walked to the door and held it open for her.

  When the door was closed behind her he said, ‘I have to go out this morning. I’m meeting Luis to visit a new supplier with him, and also I have other business matters to arrange with him while we’re both in Seville. So I shall have to leave you on your own until about midday. Perhaps you would look in and see my grandmother again while I’m out? I’m sure she would appreciate that.’

  He sounded like a boss giving instructions to his secretary and she received them in the same manner. ‘Very well, I’ll do that.’

  He nodded. ‘I’ll get along, then.’ He strode to the door as if anxious to get away but with one hand on the door handle he paused, frowning slightly. ‘You’ll be all right on your own?’

  ‘Perfectly.’ She leaned across to pour out coffee, not looking at him.

  ‘Good.’ He paused for a moment as if he were going to add something. Then he went out and closed the heavy door very quietly behind him.

  And that, thought Chloe, established their relationship from now on. The prospect was bleak, but perhaps she would feel better when they got back to England and she began on her real job of refurbishing Woodcotes. She began resolutely to make plans for that while she ate her breakfast—of coffee and rolls and a variety of jams which she guessed that Marta had made herself and had chosen as a suitable breakfast dish for an Inglesa. They were delicious.

  When she had eaten she had a leisurely bath and dressed in one of her new dresses. The little patch of sky that was visible from the window of this shady room suggested that it was going to be a hot day and she selected a dress of delphinium blue, sleeveless and with a finely pleated skirt. When she was ready she took from her dressing case a
bottle of cologne and a box of tiny, lace-trimmed lawn handkerchiefs, which she had brought with her, and went across the passage to knock gently at the door of Dona Elisa’s room.

  The nurse answered the door, the same nurse that she had seen yesterday.

  ‘How is the senora this morning, and may I see her for a few minutes?’ Chloe whispered.

  The nurse disappeared into the room and came back to say that Dona Elisa would very much like to see her. ‘The senora has had a restful night and is a little stronger this morning,’ she added in her gentle voice.

  The old lady’s rather severe face broke into a smile when Chloe came towards her bed. She did indeed seem better today, and she was graciously pleased with Chloe’s gift.

  ‘I have something for you too, my child.’ She motioned to the nurse, who came forward carrying a small box made of intricately tooled leather.

  ‘Open it, my dear. This has been in our family for many, many years. I have kept it until my dear grandson should have a wife to wear it.’

  Inside the box, glittering against the black velvet lining, lay the most beautiful brooch that Chloe had ever seen. In the shape of a bow, with the central knot a square-cut sapphire and the loops and ends of delicately-graded sapphires enclosed in a scintillating mist of small diamonds, all set in gold.

  ‘Oh!’ breathed Chloe, stunned by so much beauty. ‘It is magnificent, beautiful—I can’t find the words—’

  Dona Elisa smiled, pleased. ‘I take pleasure in knowing that you will wear it on some occasion that you attend with your husband,’ she said in her measured, formal way.

  Chloe was overcome. Of course she couldn’t accept this fabulous thing as a gift; it would be taking it under false pretences. Neither could she refuse to accept it. Benedict had married her solely for his grandmother’s peace of mind, so she must do her best to carry out her part. ‘Thank you a thousand times—I shall wear it when I’m dressed up to go to a ball, or the opera, perhaps—with Benedict,’ she embroidered rather wildly, feeling a stab of guilt because she was beginning to find herself drawn towards this proud old woman. She reminded herself that the guilt wasn’t hers and that she could give the brooch to Benedict and ask him to look after it. Perhaps, she thought with a twinge of real pain, he would one day have a wife he loved, who would wear it, and she had a horrid vision of the brooch reposing at Juana’s shoulder—which picture she thrust away from her immediately, and concentrated on what Dona Elisa was saying about her visit to the family estate near Jerez, which was planned for later in the day. The old eyes shone as she spoke of the vineyard, and the estate in Jerez and the large sherry business of which she was the owner. Chloe gathered that after her father died she had taken the reins into her own capable hands.