She stared into the night. ‘Even as a child, though he was often affectionate and craved attention, he was difficult, prone to violent outbursts. I thought he’d grow out of it, but I was wrong. And now that he’s an adult, I fear it’s taken on a more sadistic bent.’ She broke off to wipe her eyes. ‘I can hardly say it … He experiences actual pleasure in watching and causing suffering.’ This time it was Alexandra’s turn to put her arm around the duenna, hushing her as she did so.
‘No, I need to say this, Alexandra. I should have said it before.’ Doña Inés cleared her throat. ‘I realize these episodes were usually brought on by an affront to his pride. He won’t accept being thwarted or opposed in any way. I witnessed one of his fits of rage and cruelty one day when he’d lost a bullfight. He mounted his favourite horse and pushed it beyond the limits of its strength … I saw it die …’ She twisted her handkerchief in her hands. ‘He’s always assailed by remorse afterwards, of course, but by then it’s usually too late … the harm’s been done.’
Alexandra realized now that her grandmother’s fears and Salvador’s warnings were justified after all. Why had she been so naïve? Her mind went back to the dining room and that collection of torture instruments.
‘Do his fits of rage stop at animals or does he take it out on people? I mean, before now …’ she asked, gazing down at her hands.
Doña Inés hesitated, as if deliberating what to say. ‘There was a girl … Benita Perez. Her body was discovered not far from Felipe’s father’s bodegas. She’d been raped … badly mutilated. Several people said they’d seen Felipe in the company of a young woman that afternoon — and there were whispers — but it never went any further, even though the rumours persisted …’
‘Didn’t the police question him? Didn’t any witnesses come forward?’ Alexandra persisted quietly.
Doña Inés’ mouth formed into a grim line. ‘He was questioned, yes. But Isabel and one of their servants gave him an alibi. Look, Alexandra, I’m not saying it was him … maybe they really were with him when it happened. I just think it’s fair you should know everything.
‘After that, gossip concerning his private life began to circulate too. It was said that he frequented loose women and places notorious for their debauchery, and that he indulged in peculiar … practices.’ Doña Inés closed her eyes momentarily. ‘At the time, a couple of these women were questioned but naturally, their testimony was deemed unreliable because of the immoral way they earned their living. Their testimony weighed little, quite frankly, against that of those so-called honest people who declared under oath that they knew Felipe well and, contrary to rumours, he was a noble-hearted person of irreproachable morality. No firm proof of his guilt was put forward. He was never even arrested. The case was closed and Felipe lay low for a few months until the dust had settled.’
Alexandra gazed directly at Doña Inés. ‘And what do you think? Could Felipe have …?’
The duenna hesitated again. ‘This is so hard … you see, I love my godson very much. He’s been good to me, so very generous. I don’t know if that blinkered me, but in all sincerity, at the time, I doubted he had anything to do with that shocking affair. It seemed he was merely the victim of his brutish reputation … now I’m not so sure.’ Once more, her voice trembled. ‘He behaved abominably tonight, for which I’m truly sorry. I’ve been so blind and foolish. I should have guessed something might happen as I knew how much you meant to him. I so hoped you’d be the one to redeem him … Instead, look what he did to you, my poor child.’ She gave Alexandra’s hand a squeeze and once more wiped away her tears.
‘Did you know Salvador was here?’ Alexandra felt the tears sting again. ‘That’s why Felipe came after me. Doña Isabel must have told him she’d discovered us together in the garden.’
Every feature of Doña Inés’ face spelled disapproval. ‘Isabel has always been una persona muy desagradable, a very unpleasant person,’ she confessed. ‘I’ve never had any time for her and I’m sure she couldn’t wait to deliver that bombshell to Felipe. Yes, I caught a glimpse of Salvador, and had no doubt that his presence here this evening would cause trouble. I tried to find you to warn you. You weren’t at dinner, and then I saw Isabel whispering with Felipe. His furious reaction made me suspect something had happened, which is why I came looking for you. I’m guessing you didn’t tell Salvador about Felipe’s proposal and that Isabel did. Am I right?’
Alexandra nodded mutely, unable to stop the anguish tearing through her.
‘You’ve been the victim of one of Spain’s most cruel values … as if what you’ve been through hasn’t been enough …’ Doña Inés continued. ‘Called la honra, it condemns a woman who’s lost her reputation, even if this is through no fault of her own. In our society, you see, a woman gets her honour from the judgement of others. But perhaps in your case,’ she whispered, as though talking to herself, ‘all is not lost.’ She stood up and took Alexandra’s hand. ‘Come, my child, you look dreadful! You’d better lie down, even if you cannot sleep. I’ll stay with you tonight, I don’t want you being on your own.’
It took Alexandra a long time to stop crying. Despite her protests, the duenna remained by her side throughout the night. Only as the sky began to lighten and they heard the faraway choir of cockerels hailing dawn, did she feel better.
She was exhausted, devoid of all emotion, all hope. She knew she must go — it was the only way to escape the wreckage of her dreams and her love. Spain had awoken something primitive in her: the fiery soil and burning sun of this land had fed her need to understand herself with an almost visceral intensity. Alexandra had desired passion and she had craved the mystery of love. Now both coursed through her veins, like the blood of her Spanish ancestors, and these feelings now overwhelmed her mind and body, strong as poison.
Escaping the predictability of life in England had been her only thought when she had first arrived in Andalucía. Now, strangely enough, she felt a certain relief, a kind of serenity, at the idea of returning home.
CHAPTER 15
Alexandra, darling, how lovely to see you! I didn’t know you ‘ were back,’ exclaimed Gloria Stanley as she detached herself from the little group surrounding her, a glass of Pimm’s in hand. She made her way through the hall of her large Belgravia townhouse to the newcomer, in a great rustle of pink shantung and feathers. ‘Back just in time for the Season. How clever of you, darling.’ She smiled and lightly brushed Alexandra’s cheek with her crimson lips.
Lady Stanley was the sort of woman whose ambivalent and complicated character Alexandra had always found intriguing. She had been thirty years old for years but remained young in mind and body — the envy of girls half her age. She oozed charm, had been married a few times and wagging tongues said she’d led a somewhat risqué love life. Nonetheless, or perhaps because of this, she was invited everywhere and her own parties had never gone out of fashion.
‘I told you, Ashley, she’d be back for the beginning of our hectic summer social round,’ Gloria chuckled, flashing Alexandra’s partner one of the seductive smiles for which she was famous. The young man raked a hand through his mop of blond hair and grinned at her shyly.
She ushered the young pair out of the hallway and into the main drawing room. It was grand and typically English in style, the pastel walls adorned with works of well known artists from all over the world, oak floors covered with beautiful carpets from the Orient. Uncluttered, it was light and airy but Alexandra always marvelled at how it still remained cosy in winter when the log fires at each end of the room were lit. That evening, the French doors were open, although only a few guests had ventured out on to the wide terrace, beyond which stretched a meticulously kept lawn; although it was summer, the weather in London was still a little chilly.
When Alexandra made her appearance, there was a brief lull in the conversation while all eyes turned towards her. She was popular and much admired for her talent, with many fans among her friends. The moment of surprise over, cries of recog
nition broke out from all sides as a crowd gathered around the newcomer.
Ashley Harrington went over to a sideboard where waiters were dispensing cordials and spirits. When he returned, carrying a glass of Pimm’s in one hand and a plate of cucumber sandwiches in the other, Alexandra was laughing, trying to respond to her friends’ warm welcome. She was wearing a dress of pale-green chiffon that set off the chestnut lights in her abundant hair and gave depth to the colour of her eyes. As he handed her the glass, she smiled fondly at him.
‘It’s so good to be back,’ she was saying. ‘Hello, David! Emma, darling, I hear you’re now the proud mother of an adorable little girl, congratulations! James, how nice to see you again. When did you get back from India? Charlotte, my dear, you look lovely. That new hairstyle really suits you …’
Alexandra looked radiant and relaxed. Surrounded by her friends, whom she loved and she was confident loved her in return, for the first time she had a sense of fulfilment and peace that had eluded her in Spain.
She glanced at her companion and smiled at him again through the surrounding chatter. Poor Ashley. Ever since she had returned from Spain, Alexandra knew she’d been different with him: distant, in a world of her own. Although the embarrassment of his proposal seemed to be more or less comfortably behind them, somehow things were not the same: she was not the same. She wished she could give him what he wanted from her, rather than just sisterly affection. Seeing her back in this familiar setting among all their friends, talking about old times, his relief was palpable. Yet there was an edge to his look this evening that she recognized as discomfort, almost nervousness.
Someone touched Alexandra’s arm to get her attention and she turned back to her friends, caught up in the laughter and questions about her travels.
Over the next hour, many guests left but a few remained inside with their lively hostess, who had just ordered more sandwiches and fresh lemonade. Nat King Cole was singing about the mystic smile of Mona Lisa, and Alexandra found herself alone with Ashley on the almost deserted terrace. He looked as if he were about to say something but a couple of hovering guests seemed to interrupt his composure.
‘You know, you’ll never be totally happy anywhere except here, Lex, in England with your friends, surrounded by people who understand you and appreciate you,’ he finally remarked, placing a hand on her slender wrist.
‘Isn’t it strange?’ she replied, turning affectionate eyes on her friend. ‘You often say something that echoes my own thoughts. Only a few moments ago I was thinking just that, and yet …’
‘And yet?’ he prompted, his pale blue eyes anxiously searching her face for an answer.
‘Something seems to be missing, something I can’t explain …’ she trailed off wistfully, her eyes clouding, banishing the sunny smile that had shone from her face all evening.
‘You haven’t taken me into your confidence as you normally do.’ He took her slender hand in his and brought it up to his chest, curling the fingers of his other hand round hers affectionately. ‘Your letters were so functional, really. Not at all like you. I don’t know what happened in Spain,’ he went on with a shake of his head, gazing at her intently, ‘but it seems to me you didn’t find what you were looking for.’
Alexandra smiled ruefully. ‘I wish it were so simple …’ She sighed, turning away and brushing a wayward strand of chestnut hair from her face.
‘Forgive me if I appear indiscreet,’ Ashley valiantly soldiered on, trying to get to the point as gently as possible. ‘I don’t wish to pry, but may I ask you a question?’ Alexandra gently pulled her hand away from his and walked a few steps on the terrace, distancing herself just a little from him.
‘Go ahead,’ she said quietly. ‘But I may not answer it.’
‘There’s been a sadness in your eyes ever since you got back. I don’t think anyone else has noticed it. I wasn’t sure but … that is to say … is there any connection between your unexpected return and your cousin, Count Salvador Cervantes de Rueda, with whom you were staying?’ His question startled her and she turned sharply to face him, making the answer quite plain.
A pink hue crept into Alexandra’s cheeks. ‘What makes you ask about Salvador?’ she muttered, a little unsteadily.
‘Listen, old girl, you forget how well I know you.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘Your letters mentioned him, but far less than anyone else. I suppose I began to read between the lines.’
Ashley paused before removing a sheet of newsprint from his pocket. It appeared to be an article from one of the international society magazines. He slowly unfolded it and held it out to Alexandra, never once taking his eyes off her face.
She drew in her breath sharply as her gaze fell on the headline: ‘An old love is reborn,’ followed underneath, in smaller print, by: ‘Are bells finally going to ring for Count Salvador Cervantes de Rueda and Marchioness Isabel de Aguila?’ Alexandra felt faint as the blood drained from her face but just managed to pull herself together.
‘Perhaps it’s all for the best,’ she eventually managed to say in a flat voice. Then, turning her face towards her old friend, she gave him a wan smile. ‘I’d like to go home now, if you don’t mind.’
Ashley made a valiant attempt to lift her spirits. ‘Listen, old girl, I have tickets for Carousel. It’s opening tonight at Drury Lane. The show’s starting late, after the drinks party given for the patrons and actors,’ he ventured. ‘I remember how much you enjoyed Oklahoma! Why don’t we go?’
‘Thank you, Ashley, you’re so sweet and thoughtful,’ she told him, trying to spare his feelings, ‘but I’m really not up to the theatre this evening.’
‘We could make up a party with David and Louise. I know they’ve got seats too.’
‘No, thank you all the same. I really would prefer to go home.’
‘I’m sorry if I’ve spoiled your evening,’ he said apologetically. ‘I guess I chose to tell you now so that you wouldn’t find out later from someone else. I’d hate to see you hurt, you know.’
He looked so wretched she placed a hand on his arm. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’m quite tough, you know. I’ll get over it.’ Somehow she managed a smile.
‘I’m sure you will, Lex.’ He tucked her arm through his. ‘Let’s say goodnight to our hostess and I’ll take you home.’
‘No,’ she corrected him gently. ‘I’ll take myself home.’
Ashley frowned. ‘Why on earth would you want to do that? You have no car.’
‘It’s still light and the walk will do me good.’
‘This is quite ridiculous, Alexandra,’ he protested. ‘You can’t walk alone in London at eight o’clock in the evening.’
She tried to contain the exasperation in her voice. ‘Come on, Ashley, please don’t insist.’ She nudged him and gave a little smile. ‘You know how it is when I make up my mind,’ she continued, raising her eyebrows. ‘I’ll be quite all right.’ After grumbling his disapproval, Ashley helped her on with her coat, gave her a kiss on the cheek and reluctantly let her go.
Once in the street, Alexandra took a deep breath. For a moment she hesitated on the pavement, wondering whether to simply return home by the quickest way or take the more lengthy route back along the Embankment.
She shrugged. It was still light and it was such a beautiful evening. She had always found walking therapeutic, even more so since her stay in Spain, and now she welcomed the time to put some order to the maze of her muddled thoughts.
As it was summer, twilight had not yet fallen. The scent of neighbouring gardens filled the air. It would be a half-hour walk from Belgravia to Cheyne Walk.
Alexandra moved briskly, her head high, taking in the familiar scenes and smells of London in summertime. She had missed the idiosyncrasies of the city: the market traders in Covent Garden shouting out cheerfully; the bustling curiosity of antique hunters in Portobello Road; picking up a bag of roasted chestnuts on Chelsea Embankment in winter; an ice-cream in Hyde Park on warm days; milkmen rattling down the backstreets earl
y in the morning; the silhouette of the city’s skyline spiking into an orange-ripple sunset as you walk over Albert Bridge … How different to the things she had seen every day in Andalucía.
Funnily enough, it felt good to be back: a strange bittersweet feeling of warmth and security, tinged with nostalgia, combined with a sense of loss she had never experienced before. Loss of the girl she had been before her Spanish adventure, of a lightheartedness she feared she would never regain.
A chill had found its way into the air, making Alexandra shiver and quicken her step. The rhythmic tapping of her heels on the almost deserted pavement sounded in her ear like the tick-tock of a clock, reminding her of the grandfather clock in the hall at El Pavón. She sighed. A wave of fatigue began to wash over her and, just as closing a door, she instinctively closed her mind to the flood of painful thoughts threatening to break through, and let her legs carry her on down the street.
All at once she seemed scarcely to exist. In a sort of haze, separated from herself, she had the curious feeling that it was rather odd to be her. She was like a person dozing in front of a show — absentmindedly watching the events on stage, not quite grasping what they meant or how they linked together, but merely conscious of the movement of the actors before her eyes.
There was even less traffic now. A bicycle zigzagged its way towards Chelsea Bridge. She passed a muffin man with his bell and then a big, black tomcat strolled from Pimlico Road towards her with a dignified air, signifying he was lord and master of this territory. Looking at Alexandra with half-closed eyes, he mewed, followed her for a few yards and then, for no apparent reason, sniffed the air and went back the way he had come, disappearing round the corner of Royal Hospital Road. Alexandra thought of Marujita’s cat. For a moment she tried to imagine the gypsy girl’s reaction to the new state of affairs with the man she had so proudly claimed as hers.
She went along Ranelagh Gardens, where young Mozart had once given an organ and harpsichord recital. From Mozart her mind wandered again. She found herself transported back to that far-off afternoon at El Pavón when Salvador had found her playing the piano in the drawing room.
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