Vendetta in Spain

by Dennis Wheatley

  Much disappointed by the restraint Don Alfonso had put upon him the Duke lunched at a restaurant in the town with some friends then, after the siesta, as the visit to the Palace had deprived him of his morning bathe, he drove out to the de Cordoba’s beach for an early evening swim.

  For the past eight days he had seen Gulia every morning and, on most days, also later at a luncheon or dinner party; so they had again dropped quite naturally into the friendly relationship that had existed between them when he had first become convalescent. There was only one subtle difference. Then he had been tied to his bed or a chair so he had been unable to fetch and carry for her. Now, having after a few days come to the conclusion that she had no lover—or, at least, not in her social circle then in San Sebastian—her first coldness towards him had so titillated his vanity that, almost insensibly, he had asserted himself by assuming the role of her cavalier. She had accepted his attentions gracefully and watched with amusement the skilful way in which he jockeyed other men who were always eager to serve her in small matters out of the chance to do so; but he and she had never been alone together for more than a few minutes and no word of their past feelings for one another had passed between them.

  On this evening he had only just changed in one of the beach huts and walked out on to the sand when he saw Gulia and Doña Eulalia coming down from the house towards him. As they approached Gulia waved to him and cried:

  ‘I wondered what had happened to you this morning, until François told me at lunch that you had been sent for to the Palace. But it’s a lovely evening for a bathe and when I saw you from the house just now I felt I too must come in for a swim.’

  Doña Eulalia settled herself with her embroidery in her usual chair and de Richleau made casual conversation with her while Gulia was changing. The bathing dress she wore this summer differed considerably from the one in which she had swum with him three years ago. The fashion had become both more elegant and practical. Skirts were now only knee-length, there was no heavy ruching about the shoulders, no sleeves and the material was much thinner; so the female form was more obviously discernible and women were not so heavily handicapped when swimming by the weight of water-soaked serge.

  That, perhaps, partly accounted for the fact that Gulia had become a much stronger swimmer; and when, having joined him on the foreshore, she suggested that they should swim out to the point he had no doubts about her ability to cover the distance.

  After wading out they swam side by side for ten minutes, then he shot ahead so as to reach the rocks first and help her up on to them. Near the point there protruded a flattish slab. It had been warmed by a long day of sunshine and there was no wind. Sitting on it they could wriggle their toes in the pools below them as the gentle swell rose and fell. They were still within sight of Doña Eulalia, sitting something over a quarter of a mile away in front of the row of beach huts, but apart from that they were as much alone between sea and sky as if they had been on a desert island.

  For a few minutes they sat in silence, getting back their breath, then Gulia pulled off her swimming cap, shook out her hair so that it fell over her shoulders, and said, ‘Now, Armand, I want to hear what really happened to you in Cadiz. All you’ve told us is that you killed Sanchez in a fight, but his friends caught you and shipped you off to South America. I want to hear every detail from the moment you left me.’

  She alone knew that it was not so much Sanchez that he had gone after as the photograph with which he feared Sanchez meant to blackmail them, and he now gave her the full story of his doings in Granada with La Torcera, in Cadiz with red-headed Inez, and the final scene in the Silver Galleon.

  When he had done she sighed. ‘And to think that negative had already been ruined before Sanchez made his escape from you in the garden. If only we had known. You would never have been shanghaied, and I would have been spared the worst month of my life. I nearly died from an agony of uncertainty about what had happened to you.’

  ‘My dear,’ he murmured gently. ‘It destresses me greatly that you should have suffered so much on my account.’

  She turned and looked at him, her eyes shining. ‘How could it have been otherwise? I loved you desperately. I feared that those devils must have killed you and that I would never see you again.’

  ‘The moment I reached Rio I sent a cable to François and wrote fully to José. It was impossible to let you know what had become of me any sooner.’

  ‘I know; but you might also have written a personal letter to me; if only a line to say that you still loved me and that I need not fear that photograph being produced.’

  ‘I did consider doing that,’ he replied after a moment, ‘but I felt there was too great a risk of such a letter falling into wrong hands. Had José chanced to open it by mistake, or had he recognised my writing and asked you what was in it, the fat would have been in the fire. He could only have assumed from it that you had become my mistress; and as things never reached that point such a dénouement would have been doubly unfortunate.’

  Her full lips twitched in a little smile as she asked, ‘Have you ever regretted that they didn’t reach that point?’

  ‘Often,’ he admitted frankly. ‘The man isn’t born who, having had the chance to make love to you and did not take it, would not afterwards ask himself if he had not been stricken with madness.’

  ‘Thank you for the compliment.’ Her smile broadened. ‘But I don’t doubt you found plenty of lovely young women to console you while you were in the Americas!’

  He gave a little laugh. ‘Plenty implies a lot; and I have always been a gourmet rather than a gourmand in such matters. But I’d be a poor fish if for three years I had lived the life of a monk; and the gods were kind enough to send me a few very delightful companions to solace me in my widowerhood. Now tell me about your charming self?’

  ‘I was not made to be a saint either.’ She shrugged her fine shoulders. ‘Since we parted I have taken four lovers. Mostly out of boredom, it is true; but at least they have saved me from shrivelling up into a mummy physically, and I have had quite a lot of fun pulling the wool over old Doña Eulalia’s eyes in order to give my lovers rendezvous without her suspecting anything.’

  ‘Has José any idea of this?’

  ‘Perhaps; but I rather doubt it. Anyhow, as I told you long ago, I don’t think he would have any serious objection provided I managed my affairs discreetly.’

  For a moment she was silent, then she turned her head again, looked full at him and asked, ‘Tell me, Armand; do you still feel any love for me?’

  In a flash he saw the danger signal blazing red ahead. ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘Affection, yes; but love, no. Time is a great healer and I got over that.’

  Her Giaconda smile came again. ‘You are lying, Armand. You are lying, and you know it.’

  ‘Dios!’ he exclaimed, suddenly turning to look at her. ‘You’re right, of course. Seeing what passed between us that last night before I left for Granada—that indelible memory of you—how could I possibly be in your company day after day as I have been recently without again succumbing and desiring you most damnably?’

  She gave a low, happy laugh. ‘I knew you would. But I had to have a little time to bring you to it. That is why I gave you such a cold reception on your arrival. If I hadn’t you would have taken alarm and sheered off, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘I suppose I would,’ he admitted a shade ruefully. ‘But Gulia, though you may look an angel you are certainly a fallen one. Only a daughter of the Devil would have laid such a snare for anyone in such a position as myself.’

  ‘I’m nothing of the kind,’ she laughed again. ‘I am just a woman—a woman in search of a man. It so happens that I have a healthy, lovely body and a very much better brain than most members of my sex. I don’t have to be told that, I know it; so why shouldn’t I use my assets to secure a lover who is healthy, handsome and intelligent too—a man like you?’

  ‘I don’t blame you. And I only wish it could be me.’
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br />   ‘Well why not?’ She raised a well-marked eyebrow in faint mockery. ‘José is thousands of miles away chasing butterflies—real butterflies this time. The de Tarancóns are going home at the end of the week, and François is leaving too.’

  ‘Is he?’ exclaimed de Richleau. ‘Why?’

  ‘He has volunteered for service in Morocco, and is going out with the regiment of which last year Don Alfonso made him Colonel-in-Chief. He leaves with the Tarancóns the day after tomorrow. Ruiz is in Madrid. He may return for a night or two occasionally but, apart from him, that leaves only Maria Alfonsine, her lady Doña Isabella and old Eulalia, and as far as human relationships are concerned they are all as blind as bats. Now that there will be room in the house, since I shall be so heavily chaperoned, no breath of scandal could arise if I invited you to come and stay, just as you did before.’

  The Duke put his head between his hands and groaned, ‘Gulia! Gulia! When Thais tempted Paphuntius he was subjected to nothing worse than this. You are an experienced woman of the world and must know how greatly I desire you. I am flattered, too, terribly flattered that you should find me more desirable than other men. But you already know why I cannot allow myself to give way to this temptation.’

  ‘If your reason is still the same, an outmoded chivalry towards the husband who has no use for me,’ she replied bitterly, ‘then I wish you joy of your hair shirt. But why, in God’s name, must you play the Puritan with me when you admit to having had affaires with other women?’

  ‘Because José is my friend. It is that which makes the barrier between us.’

  ‘Such scruples may have been valid three years ago. But in all that time you have not even exchanged a word with him. To continue in such an attitude is farcical. It is the behaviour of a Don Quixote—the sort of fool who tilts at windmills.’

  ‘You may be right,’ de Richleau admitted miserably. ‘But the fact that I have not seen José for three years makes no difference. If he were here he would still count me his friend; so how, without feeling eternal shame at myself, can I take you as my mistress behind his back?’

  For a while they were silent, then Gulia said quite calmly, ‘Very well. I must accept your decision. There are plenty of other handsome, intelligent men who would willingly become my lover. When I next feel in the mood I’ll look round and choose one. All the same I should be loath to lose your friendship. Are you willing that we should forget this conversation and continue to see one another as we have done during the past week?’

  He looked up quickly. ‘Of course I am. Desire for you physically is only a part of the attraction you have for me. You are more beautiful than any work of art and I delight in looking at you; I love the sound of your voice and watching the workings of that quick mind of yours. I know that I am acting like a fool, but I just can’t help it: and half a loaf is better than no bread. If you can forgive me for failing you as a lover and let me continue to be your friend I’ll honour you all the more.’

  ‘So be it then.’ She gave a sigh of resignation but at the same time smiled at him. ‘Once more I’ll put away my wicked dreams and try to look on you as a brother. I think I can promise, too, that I’ll give you no cause for jealousy. With you about all other men will continue to seem poor game to me, so it’s very unlikely that I’ll take another lover until I return to Madrid in the autumn.’

  Coiling her Titian hair up into a bun she pulled her rubber cap over it, and added, ‘I’ll play the game by refraining from tempting you further. But should you change your mind before we leave San Sebastian—well, let me know.’

  Before he had time to reply she had slid off the rock and was swimming for the shore.

  During the next few days and nights she was rarely out of de Richleau’s thoughts. His conscience told him that he had done the right thing, but that was little consolation for having deprived himself of what he believed would have been two or three months that he would have been able to look back on as one of the high-spots of his life.

  He tried to excuse himself for having deprived her of the happiness she sought by arguing that it was not love that drove her to pursue him. Three years ago he believed that it had been. He felt sure that although she might have contemplated taking a lover before they met, she had not done so; and that a woman of her kind would have had to be in love before, for the first time, making up her mind to be unfaithful to her husband. That he, her husband’s devoted friend, should have chanced to be the man on whom she had set her heart had been hard indeed.

  But now matters were different. Her love for him could not have endured since she admitted to taking four lovers. Now it could only be the aftermath of the old physical attraction that she felt. It was no longer love but lust that had caused her to renew her attempts to seduce him from his loyalty to his friend. The proof of that was the casual way in which she had spoken of taking another lover when she returned to Madrid in the autumn and in her reaction to his refusal to make her his mistress. If she had loved him she would have pleaded with him and burst into tears. Instead, she had taken his refusal quite calmly, and cynically told him that should he change his mind he had only to let her know.

  He asked himself then if he loved her, but about that he could not decide. She delighted him in so many ways, yet simply to be in her company was not enough; his whole being yearned for her embrace so that at times he actually felt a physical pain from it deep down in his body. And what was that if not lust? Yet where did lust end and love begin? It was an age-old problem and insoluble. He had to admit to himself that there could be little to choose between their feelings for each other and that it was unfair to her to assume that love played no part in her desire for him.

  On the Thursday evening there was a big farewell party at the Villa for de Vendôme, and on Friday morning they all went to the station to see him off. The de Tarancóns left by the same train, but even after their departure Gulia continued to play the game as she had promised, neither going out of her way to be alone with de Richleau for a few moments, nor seeking to arouse his jealousy by flirting with other men who came to the bathing parties at the Villa. Yet every now and then during these days he, perforce, caught her eye and was tortured by the knowledge that he had only to say the word for her to give him a secret rendezvous that would open the gates of heaven for them both.

  As he was so deeply committed to her social circle there was no way in which he could avoid meeting her daily as long as he remained in San Sebastian; so he seriously contemplated leaving the city, and would have done so but for his promise to remain there at Don Alfonso’s disposal until the King should consider the time ripe to let him off his chain. It was therefore with relief that on returning to his hotel on the Friday night after a dinner party given by the Dencáses that he found a letter commanding him to lunch at the Palace next day, and for a few hours he was able to banish Gulia from his mind by searching it for people he had met in Barcelona who knew Ferrer.

  The lunch proved to be a men’s party of only six, all of whom were soldiers, and before they went in to lunch the King said to de Richleau, ‘I thought it would interest you to join us today, Duke, because we are going to discuss the campaign in Morocco. As you served with the French army in North Africa you must be well acquainted with the sort of problems we are faced with, and may be able to offer us some sound advice.’

  De Richleau bowed his acknowledgements and as soon as they were seated at table the conversation became general. There could be no doubt that the war was most unpopular with the Spanish people and the King told his guests that he was being pressed by certain members of his Cabinet to give it up; but he had refused to do so. He then went on to express a view that was entirely new to the Duke, by saying:

  ‘The greatest tragedy that ever befell our country was the discovery of America by Columbus. Already in Ferdinand and Isabella’s time we had secured a foothold in North Africa and once the Moors had been driven out of Spain that was our natural road to expansion. King Ferdinand realised it be
cause being also King of Naples and Sicily the possession of Tunis was important to him. So, too, did Charles V, who was regarded as the champion of Christendom owing to the great expedition he led against the lairs of the Barbary corsairs. Again in Philip II’s time, after Don John had defeated the Turks at Lepanto, we should have seized on the chance to break the power of the Sultans, Beys and Satraps in North Africa.

  ‘But during that century when Spain was at the height of her power the energies of her greatest captains were dissipated in the Americas. Admittedly we acquired vast territories and the gold and silver of Mexico and Peru. But what good did it do us? The result was an inflation of our currency that nearly ruined the commerce of the nation, and in the long run we had to spend more in costly expeditions to hold our gains than we got out of them in treasure.

  ‘And where are we today? The last of the American colonies has been lost to us and we have nothing left to show for our centuries of effort in bringing Christianity to the New World. If instead we had devoted those efforts to North Africa while we had the strength we would be the masters of the whole of it from the Libyan border to Casablanca.

  ‘Owing to our dynastic troubles and lack of a forward policy during the nineteenth century, France got ahead of us and made both Algeria and a large part of Morocco her own. But the Anglo-French agreement of 1904 at least stipulated that should the Sultan of Morocco at any time fail to control his subjects, Spain should thereupon become the paramount power within her own sphere of influence. And that, gentlemen, I am determined to do. To fail in it would be to reduce our country permanently to the status of a second-class power.’

  Don Alfonso’s generals heartily agreed with him and the progress of the campaign, so far, was discussed. After the meal they all adjourned to a room nearly the whole of one wall of which was covered with a great map of Morocco. There were many pins stuck in it carrying different coloured flags, indicating the position of the Spanish forces, and, as was known, those of the hordes of revolting tribesmen. General Linares gave an outline of the operations that were taking place and the King asked the other Generals in turn for their views. When they had given them he asked de Richleau if he had any comments and the Duke replied: