Masquerade (10 page)

‘Well … it’s a combination of traditions. The mythological and pagan, but also harking back to medieval and renaissance Christian symbolism, which was used so that the illiterate masses could readily understand its meaning … the pomegranate as a symbol of eternal life and resurrection, the fig as the loss of innocence, and so on. In those days people were constantly reminded that Satan would be ready with his pitchfork in the fires of Hell for anyone indulging in carnal pleasures or even indecent thoughts.’ She blushed again as her eyes inadvertently took in the smooth line of his jaw and she took a sip of water.

Andrés put his fork down and leaned back in his chair. His amused smile had reappeared. ‘And you think that Eduardo was warning against the dangers of carnal pleasure?’

Luz cleared her throat. ‘No, not at all! His paintings are far too erotic for that.’
Why was she finding this so difficult to talk about?
She needed to steer towards safer ground. ‘I mean that he depicted human experience and also saw the repercussions that our actions have. His symbolism was deeply personal, too. There are so many references to the fact that he witnessed his mother fall from a horse that trampled her to death. Horses figure repeatedly in his paintings –
The Lady of the Forest
with the woman on horseback riding through the trees, her head facing the wrong way on her shoulders.’

‘Ah, yes, that’s one of his best. Beautiful and disturbing at the same time.’ Andrés cupped his chin in his hand and his brow furrowed. ‘Her neck was broken when they found her.’

Luz nodded and pushed her plate away. ‘It must have been hideous, completely devastating. Psychoanalysts would say that the loss of his mother was Eduardo’s reason for shifting back and forth between reality and illusion in his paintings, refusing to accept what had happened.’

‘Yes, he never got over it. He understood loss and loneliness very well.’ Andrés frowned again and then seemed to be on the point of saying more when the waiter appeared to clear their plates. Luz watched Andrés for a moment and although his sunglasses rendered him inscrutable, for the first time he seemed genuinely awkward. Aware of her gaze, he broke the moment by changing the subject: ‘We could talk for hours about Eduardo’s symbolism and I’m sure we will again, but there are other matters we should move on to.’

All through the remainder of the meal, Andrés put her through a searching and thorough examination, asking intricate, ambiguous questions pertaining to Spain and its place in the international art world. She was aware that he arranged them purposely to trip her, but she was well trained and gave swift, instinctive answers.

He seemed satisfied and just when she thought that he was going to offer her the post, once the table had been cleared he leaned over and took a file that was sitting on one of the chairs, fingering it absentmindedly for a moment before opening it.

His face looked suddenly grave and the mouth that had often been so animated during their meal was set in an impassive line. He leaned on the chair arm, chin resting on his thumb and index finger. For a few disquieting seconds Luz knew he was surveying her closely from behind those dark glasses. ‘Is there anything you feel might be of issue if I were to employ you? Anything at all?’ He paused a few moments. Luz cast about in her mind for anything she thought he needed to know. She remained silent.

‘Well then, Doña Luz, can you please tell me why you walked away from your first job and why you mentioned it neither in your CV nor in this morning’s questionnaire?’

The words slipped coolly off his tongue but she could see that he was not enjoying this part of the interview. His question was unexpected, of course, but it was the first that really felt like an intrusion into her private life. How did he know? Then again, he was an experienced businessman. He wouldn’t take any chances; he’d research a person’s background first and be a master at extracting more information from them in the interview than they wanted to relay. Then Luz’s eye caught sight of a tabloid clipping in his open file. He followed her gaze. A couple of uncomfortable seconds passed.

‘Did you think it was of no importance to a future employer? Such an attitude deserves a little condemnation, does it not?’

It was as if a bucket of icy water had just been hurled in her face. Earlier, he had been nothing but complimentary; where was he coming from with this? He had made a good job of unnerving her, if that was his intention.

The words stuck in her throat. She drew a breath. ‘It was my first job, I was inexperienced … I mishandled a difficult situation …’ Her heart was hammering now as if she had run a marathon.

‘Why did you not mention it? Do you not find that dishonest? I’m paying a generous fee for this biography, assigning the writer copyright and putting their name on the cover. Don’t you think I had the right to know?’ The dark tone of his voice was dry and inflexible.

Something tightened inside her at his hostility.
For God’s sake, did he not understand that it wasn’t dishonesty that had prevented her from disclosing the facts but embarrassment?
Her only crime in that first job had been that she was too innocent, too trusting. Lifting her chin defiantly, she gave Andrés a look of thunder, her stormy eyes threatening to fill with the tears that she willed away. ‘I honestly did not think you would be interested,’ she replied finally.

‘On the contrary, I’m
very
interested. I’d like to know what would make a dedicated, passionate and talented young woman walk out of her first assignment.’

‘There was a difference of opinion between myself and my employer.’

‘This man, Cameron Hunt, he was your lover.’ It was not a question but a statement.

Before Andrés could go any further with his accusations, she put up a peremptory hand. ‘Just wait a second,
señor
. What gives you the right to presume that he was my lover?’

‘Wasn’t he?’ he asked quietly.

‘I don’t think it’s any of your business who I do or do not sleep with.’ Luz forced herself to remain calm. ‘Still, I will enlighten you out of courtesy and because I admit that it was possibly wrong of me not to mention the fact. Mr Hunt and myself were never lovers. He commissioned me to write the biography of his ancestor. We went on a few dates, yes. All the rest is newspaper hype.’

‘But you walked off the job …’ He was still toying with her and his relentless confrontation was throwing her off balance.

How she wished he would take off those dreadful glasses so she could speak to him eye-to-eye. This was like talking to a blank wall and it unsettled her. Luz was starting to think that he had worn them as a deliberate ploy. She clenched her fists slightly.

‘Yes, as I have told you already, I was young and I didn’t know how to handle a difficult situation. I had no option but to resign from the job and return the advance paid. Still, I don’t see what my personal life has to do with you, or with whether or not I’m fit to write your uncle’s biography. Maybe if you had a better look at my CV instead of reading trashy tabloids like the
Daily Messenger
you would have a fuller picture of my capabilities.’ She was staring at him with fiery eyes.

The smile that flitted across his lips was darker now. ‘Come now, Doña Luz, you are a very beautiful woman. You were, as you said, very young, just out of university. Were you so naïve as to think that a man of Cameron Hunt’s status would have given you that important assignment without an ulterior motive?’

‘Do I take it then,
señor
, that if you decide to give me this job – and I’m aware it would only be my second significant assignment
– you too would have an ulterior motive?’ She blurted out the answer and regretted her words as soon as she had said them but it was too late to take them back.

One of his black eyebrows flicked up a fraction and she had the horrible feeling that he was trying to assess the reason for her question. The suggestion behind it made Luz suddenly very self-conscious. For a fleeting moment she caught some kind of smouldering emotion burning silently beneath his elegant and composed exterior. Then suddenly Andrés threw his head back and, for the first time, burst out laughing, his handsome, masculine face vibrating with life.

‘
Touché, señorita
!’ He closed the file and slapped it down on the table. ‘You’ve got the job if you still want it. It’s been a pleasure fencing with you,’ he ended with a good-humoured nod of his head.

Luz was flabbergasted by this condescending admission and by his mercurial mood. Fascination and indignation caught her in a tug of war. She could walk away – it would be enormously satisfying but so short-sighted. He was watching her now with that disarming smile of his. Andrés de Calderón was most definitely a charmer and whether she cared to admit it or not, Luz was suitably charmed. Anger died as relief settled in. She looked at him steadily, her deep-blue eyes trying to penetrate the mask of his dark glasses.

‘Thank you,
señor
, I’ll do my best to live up to
your
expectations.’

The warmth in his smile would have melted all the glaciers in Alaska. ‘Splendid, you’ve just made me a happy man.’ Though she could not see his eyes, she sensed they were caressing her. He pushed back his chair and stood up. ‘I’ll get my office to draw up the contract. Unfortunately I’ve been called away this week on business. If you don’t mind, the signing will have to wait a few days, so I’ll understand if you want to delay starting work until then. My assistant will make an appointment with you. I hope this will be the beginning of a very fruitful and enjoyable partnership.’

By the time he had finished, any belligerent thoughts she had been nurturing had evaporated. He led the way to the lift and held the gated door open for her. She took his outstretched hand and again a
tiny shock of awareness ran through her nerve-endings at his touch. That slow, secret smile of his reappeared and once more she wished she could see the expression in his eyes. How like the gypsy he was, but how very different, too.

Her curiosity had been piqued and even though she remained wary, as she left Caldezar Corporación, SA Luz was already under the notorious Andrés de Calderón’s spell.

A
couple of days had passed since her interview at Caldezar Corporación, SA. Alexandra and Salvador had returned to Jerez for the preparations of the El Pavón annual masked ball, but Luz had elected to stay in Cádiz. The fancy dress ball had been a tradition at El Pavón since the time of Count Rodriguez Cervantes de Rueda, Salvador’s grandfather, almost a century before. It had started off as a celebration of late spring and the last harvest of oranges. In the old days it was a much grander event, which lasted a week, and to which a great number of the European nobility were invited. Today, it was done on a smaller scale and only the great Spanish families were asked, along with famous names in the art and literary worlds.

Luz had loved the romantic glamour of it all ever since she was a teenager, when she’d been allowed to stay up late to see the guests arrive: the music, the dancing and the fascination of watching a host of characters in costume, guessing who was beneath their velvety and bejewelled masks. It had always been a magical event for her.

But now she had other things on her mind, her new job as biographer being uppermost. On her first morning alone, without her parents, Luz was just finishing her breakfast and reading her notebook when Carmela breezed on to the veranda.

‘Por favor, señorita
, please make sure you lock your windows properly if you leave the house today.’ Carmela stood next to the table with her hands on her hips. ‘The gypsy horse fair’s in Cádiz and the town is apparently flooded with these people. I don’t need to tell you what
ladrones
, thieves, they are! They have more than one
trick in their bags to rob from you. Pickpocketing, house breaking … nothing is beyond them. Every year they bring chaos to the area.’

‘I don’t think I’ll be going out today, I’ve some work to do.’ Luz told her. ‘Thank you for warning me, though. It’s true, I do have the habit of leaving the house without locking my windows, but it’s so isolated and calm here. It saves me taking my keys.’ She glanced up at Carmela. Of course she wasn’t going to admit that only a few days ago a young
gitano
had walked straight into the villa and through her bedroom door, not to mention the fact that he had carried her, unconscious, from his gypsy camp. She almost giggled at the thought and took a sip of coffee. ‘Anyhow, today if I decide to take a walk, I’ll make an exception.’ She smiled at Carmela.

As the housekeeper turned to go, Luz asked nonchalantly, ‘Where does this fair take place?’

‘Oh, I think they usually set up camp on a plain the other side of the hills, always the same site. You know, that big space of derelict land just beyond the old forge,’ Carmela told Luz, waving a dismissive hand. ‘But that doesn’t stop them from coming over and invading the town.’

Yes, Luz knew exactly where that was; she had seen the large area of scrubland on one of her long walks and wondered why it had remained undeveloped. She wouldn’t need a map to find it.

Carmela paused and untied her apron, not noticing that Luz had put down her notebook and was deep in thought. ‘The
gitanos
overrun the taverns with their wild music and brawls. The women –
iay
! – the women are often the worst when they come to blows … more like claws than hands … and it’s usually over a man or money, or both. You should see them, carrying on with the sailors down at the port,’ she tutted and prattled on, folding her apron and tying her long dark curls back with a brightly coloured scarf.

Luz’s attention returned to the housekeeper. ‘But Carmela, surely you’ve seen the Flamenco dancing and heard their music?’ She picked up a peach from her plate and moved to the marbled balcony wall of the veranda, leaning back against it. Her sapphire-blue eyes
fixed on Carmela brightly. ‘Aren’t you the tiniest bit impressed by the spectacle – the passion, the skill, the grace of the dancers? It’s like watching colourful birds swirling, about to take flight.’

She gazed out to sea and the sound of Leandro pouring his heart out over the strings of his guitar echoed through her mind. ‘And the music is exciting and sad, all at once, as if your heart will stop just from listening to it.’

She looked up to see Carmela regarding her curiously. ‘Doña Luz, mark my words, these
gitanos
can hypnotize you with their music and sultry looks, but no good ever came of us
gajos
mixing with them. They have their world, we have ours.
Así tiene que ser
, that’s the way it’s meant to be.’ She sighed. ‘Now I must be off and back to my kitchen or Pedro will be wondering where his favourite baked cinnamon
ensaimada
are!’ She chuckled and gave the young woman a wave as she disappeared around the side of the villa.

The sun baked fiercely over the great expanse of the Atlantic. Luz thought of Leandro and of Andrés, the two men who had made such a strong impression on her in the past week. Both were so similar physically but so completely different. How could they look so alike? Were they related? The idea sounded preposterous.

Luz bit into the ripe peach, exposing the dark core. She had never come across the kind of man who tested her feelings and excited her in a way she’d always thought a woman should be excited, but who also made her nervous and unsure of herself. Generally, the opposite sex did not affect Luz to this extent. She was astonished at herself.

She had never spoken to Leandro; still, the gypsy stirred emotions to the depth of her soul. Andrés, the cool, sophisticated businessman, had captivated her in quite a different manner. She had the vague impression of being the prisoner of an invisible net, cast by some strange twist of fate; and though it mystified her – disturbed her even – she found it enormously exhilarating. Now, whether she knew it or not, Luz was giving herself up to the current of destiny.

Somewhere, an unfathomable need to see Leandro again swept through her. Her eyes skimmed over the distant view of dazzling
water; it shimmered like a spangled sheet of silk, dotted here and there with little beads of gold. She could hear the seagulls squalling and the horns of big ships booming in the harbour. Luz glanced down at the manuscript she had been reading and then at her book of notes. Such a beautiful afternoon and there she was, cooped up at home working. Her decision to start before the contract was signed, to get ahead with the job – and perhaps impress Andrés de Calderón in the process, she conceded – now seemed an onerous task.

Her mind automatically wandered back to his green-eyed gypsy doppelgänger.
Becoming involved with gypsies is a bad idea
, a small voice at the back of her mind nagged. She thought of her parents and their strange reticence about the
gitanos
, and about Carmela, who had made no bones about her opinion. Certainly, such behaviour wasn’t in keeping with the sense of decorum she’d tried to adopt while growing up in England either.
But I’m not going to get involved, I’m just curious about these people
, another part of her argued. The dialogue went on in her head: curiosity killed the cat, went the proverb. Ah, but curiosity alone inspires every step, according to Goethe. Anyway, it was all part of her research, she told herself. One or two of Eduardo’s best pieces portrayed aspects of their lives.

She searched her wardrobe for a scruffy-looking sleeveless top and a pair of faded denims and pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail with wispy strands coming away from the band. A last glance in the mirror assured her that she was inconspicuous enough; it would not do to be noticed. Luz was unaware that her kind of beauty was never unobtrusive and, however much she tried to blend into the crowd, she would always be noticed.

She found the fairground without any difficulty. The hilly route she took was hot and dusty with no merciful shade. At last, though, the road fell away and the old forge appeared in the near distance on the edge of a scrubby plain; a matter of minutes and she would be there. As she approached the site she could hear the low, continuous, rumbling murmur of the gypsy gathering, like the raging winds that thundered over the coast on stormy nights. The commotion held
numerous sounds. There was the resonating clamour of speech and laughter; the whinnying of excited horses stamping their hooves and the clanking of the brass ornaments on their harnesses as they shook their beautiful manes. There was the barking of dogs and the rattling of their chains as they pulled on them. And now, as the camp came into view, there was the distinctive, heavy pounding of her heartbeat filling her ears.

The scene was humming with life. Under the fire of the sun a rainbow tapestry of people, beasts and inanimate objects came together in happy, organised chaos. Mules and donkeys mingled with goats and pigs, braying, bleating and squealing as children ran around whooping and chasing each other with catapults. Men led horses round on ropes while others gesticulated on the merits of a particular beast as they huddled in groups, smoking cigarettes and grunting their approval or rejection. The
chaláns
, the gypsy horse dealers, with their bronzed faces and broad-brimmed felt hats, presided over the buying and selling of every beast under the shade of a huge wooden shed roof. They stood in front of a bigger crowd who shouted things back at them in
Caló
. Men and women chatted and laughed behind stalls of food, copper pans, bright clothes and baskets. There was even a barrel-organ player, grinning toothlessly and nodding along to his music as some gypsies clapped and danced, or swigged from glasses of manzanilla. The air was a heady mix of smells: earth, sweat, dung, tobacco and strong coffee.

At first Luz was overwhelmed by it all; but as she slipped through the crowd and roamed around the stalls, feasting her eyes on this colourful and mysterious world, she began to enjoy herself.

She had almost forgotten what she had come for when she spotted him in a group of men gathered under the shed roof. Leandro was accompanied by the lanky, tattooed youth she had seen with him on the beach. His back was to Luz and he was busy arguing with the owner of a beautiful horse, explaining himself with animated gestures. He was dressed in a faded olive-green vest and washed-out black Bermuda shorts, a dark scarf around his throat. Despite his
slim build, Leandro’s whole body was the picture of vitality and strength. When looking at him, the words ‘tall’, ‘lean’ and ‘energetic’ came to mind. Luz’s gaze lingered on his bare arms and thighs, which were evenly tanned and knotted with muscles. He had held her in those arms against his powerful chest and she had been unconscious: how infuriating! She wondered what it would be like to live the life of a wild gypsy. Luz felt herself blush as sensual, unfamiliar images invaded her mind and delicious warm sensations flooded her body. What was wrong with her? Never in her whole life had she been subjected to such unbelievable inner mayhem.
It must be the heat,
she thought. She had read somewhere that the sun sometimes did strange things to a person.

His friend was the first to notice her. He nudged Leandro and whispered something in his ear. Leandro turned to look over his shoulder and she felt the strength of his magnetic stare. He nodded in acknowledgement of her and smiled, then returned to his business, shaking his head at the owner of the horse: no deal. The seller said something. Leandro yawned, shrugged his shoulders and scratched his head, then his chin. Finally he laughed, shook hands with the trader and came towards Luz, pulling the beautiful animal behind him. The deal was done after all.

‘
Buenas tardes, señorita
,’ he greeted her courteously as he drew nearer. ‘
Que me han traíde suerte
, you’ve brought me luck,’ he declared, his glittering eyes arresting hers with an enigmatic stare. He raked long, slender fingers through his unruly shock of shiny dark hair. For the first time she had a clear view of him. He was around her own age, she guessed, though something about him seemed older somehow. Under the two-day stubble his narrow face had a golden darkness, different to the usual rougher gypsy tan, with a pronounced bone structure and regular features. It was highlighted by the deep green of his irises that watched her now between thick black eyelashes with a strange remoteness.

He glanced casually behind him before returning his gaze to her. ‘You have to be doubly careful at these fairs. Some dealers
can make you believe that oranges grow on cactus trees.’ His voice had a gypsy cadence to it that she did not find unattractive. This was certainly not the measured, sophisticated drawl of Andrés de Calderón.

Luz laughed, mustering up enough courage not to run away and hide. ‘I’ve been meaning to thank you for taking care of me after my fall and returning me safely home. It was very kind of you.’

‘You were hurt, what else could I do?’

She thought she glimpsed a spark of something in his eyes: frustration, anger, impatience, but then it was gone and his expression became unreadable again.

‘Still, not everyone would have been so … gallant,’ she stammered, trying to find the right word. As she said it, she thought of him delivering her directly to her bedroom and felt her face warm at the suggestion of just how gallant he had been.

As if reading her mind he looked down at her and gave a slow, mischievous smile. ‘This is true. But we gypsies can be honourable, too.’ Green eyes glittered at her with amusement as he lowered his face closer to hers and added: ‘Or did you think we were all rogues and bandits, perhaps?’

‘Of course not, I didn’t mean to …’

‘But I see you’re fully recovered,’ he interrupted, straightening up. His gaze travelled over her in a way that made her insides blaze and melt at the same time.

‘Yes, I slept well and felt fine the next morning, thank you.’

‘Your bed is very comfortable, that always helps.’ His voice was low and provocative.

Luz’s eyes widened. ‘You were …’ was all she could manage as the heat deepened in her cheeks.

He laughed. ‘Don’t look so shocked,
señorita
. I laid you down on your bed, that’s all. As I told you, we gypsies are honourable, though you would sorely test any man’s control, I think.’