Masquerade (29 page)

Luz was nervous. Despite the heat, her hands were ice-cold as she arrived at Caldezar Corporación, SA’s grand office in Plaza de España and was taken up in the lift. Her stomach churned uncomfortably and her heart raced so hard that she thought it would leap out of her mouth at any moment. She could not bear to think about her behaviour that night at La Fortaleza. How could she face him? What excuse could she give? He had probably lost any shred of respect he’d ever held for her. Still, she must face the situation and if that meant she had to grovel a little, then so be it. After all, Andrés de Calderón was not that saintly himself and if she needed to remind him of that, she would. No, no, that was exactly what she must not do, she remonstrated. She needed to look poised and self-assured at all times. She could argue her point calmly, even firmly, but under no circumstances should she be rude, belligerent or uncontrolled – that was sure to get her into hot water again.

As she was being shown towards Andrés’ office, Adalia burst out of the room. She looked flustered and her eyes were red, hardly the confident socialite Luz had seen in Pamplona. She almost knocked Luz over as she brushed past without seeing her. Was there trouble in paradise? Luz wondered.

When she entered the room, he was standing by the window looking out to sea with his back to her, one hand thrust in his pocket. His office felt cool after the heat outside. Sunlight cast lengthy, bright oblong beams through the picture window, fanning around him as though radiating from his body.

‘Doña Luz de Rueda,’ his assistant announced.

Andrés waited until the woman had left the room before he turned. His dark gaze settled on Luz.

‘Good morning.’ An imperceptible tremor of anxiety ran through her skin at the sound of his voice, which his alert eyes did not miss. ‘Are you cold? Shall I have the air-conditioning turned down? It has been said that I keep my office too cold.’ A faint smile touched his lips.

He was perfectly courteous, but he exuded something that turned her throat dry. Luz shook her head mutely. He stood there a moment more in the halo of sunshine surrounding him, so clearly master of the situation.

‘Please, take a seat, Luz.’ He watched her as he settled down in the large leather chair behind his desk. Luz forced herself to gaze back at him steadily. Her face was a little pale but otherwise she managed to maintain a cool and dispassionate exterior that belied the storminess inside her.

‘What are you thinking?’ he asked, breaking the silence, his intelligent eyes scanning her face intently.

She cleared her throat and tried to look composed. ‘I was thinking,’ she said, raising her chin a little, ‘that I owe you an apology for my appalling behaviour the other evening.’ Her face flamed with colour. There, she had said it. She was feeling a little easier now it was out.

There was a moment of awkwardness then, to her utter astonishment, it was not contempt she glimpsed in his steady dark eyes but a look of understanding, something almost gentle. He smiled that special muted smile, which no doubt set all women’s hearts a-flutter.

‘I myself was largely to blame,’ he conceded in a quiet voice, ‘so let’s put all of it behind us and write this biography. There’s much work to be done.’

Luz’s eyes widened. She had not expected such a chivalrous answer. Was it simply because he was a gentleman that he chose not to embarrass her over her dreadful faux pas at La Fortaleza? Or was this another game, merely designed to encourage her to lower her guard and once more give him the upper hand? There was a slight pause as they continued to look at each other. His unwavering scrutiny held nothing that threatened her this time, she was almost convinced of that. She tore her gaze away and, not for the first time, wondered what made the real Andrés de Calderón tick.

She smiled slowly and reached for the notes in her bag. ‘Yes, let’s make a start.’

The simmering nervousness inside her faded as they began to discuss the book. Her notes were considerable – at least the time she had spent buried in her work had paid off. She outlined her plan to him, the layout of chapters and the way she would tackle the development of her ideas. Following this, she gave him an in-depth view of the conclusions she had drawn about Eduardo de Salazar’s personality and his fantastical art, based on facts she had gathered about his personal life and his extensive travels around the world. There were still big gaps, she told him, and she would need his assistance to fill them in.

For over an hour Andrés wore his businessman’s hat and together they worked in harmony. She seemed to be talking endlessly but that did not matter. Luz was determined to explain her research meticulously and noticed that Andrés spoke very little but was attentive as she outlined her thoughts. Despite being caught up in her own fascination for the material she had unearthed about the artist, she found her attention frequently drawn to Andrés’ mouth as he watched her intently, resting his elbow on the arm of his chair, a finger on those sensual lips, while she sketched out her proposal for the early chapters of the book.

He must be a brilliant poker player, she caught herself thinking, because his features were giving away nothing about what he thought of her work and the progress she had made with the project. Well, at least he was listening. He had known how to put her at her ease so he had drawn her out and she was glittering.

Luz finished her presentation. She leaned back in her chair, relieved that it was finally over. Going through her work again, she had been surprised by the amount of detail she had been able to squeeze into these first chapters. The meeting, she felt, had been a success. Was this the right moment to take the bull by the horns and tackle the subject of Lorenzo’s apparent collaboration and the archiving of the Herrera collection? For almost the first time since they had met, Andrés and she were not at loggerheads. She had to admit being on good terms with him was such an agreeable feeling that she dared not jeopardize it. Still, she had to say something.
It was important he understood that those terms he and Lorenzo had put in place, without prior discussion with her, were unacceptable. She wished she understood more about this man; that she knew what was going on in his head. At times she thought she must be dealing with a case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde: today it was the likeable Dr Jekyll’s turn to make an appearance and she had no doubt that that was when Andrés de Calderón was at his most dangerous.

Their eyes met, locked. Hers were shining, his steadfast and impassive. For a few harrowing moments she thought she had misinterpreted his silence. Her heart sank. Was what she had taken for mute appreciation in fact disappointment? She drew in a breath and waited for some sarcastic comment.

‘I’m impressed, Luz. I think it’s likely you have given us something important we can share together,’ he said, beaming.
Us? Share? Together? What was he saying?
This was all new to her. She was more accustomed to his patronizing tone, peppered with biting sarcasm. What game was he playing this time?

He must have sensed her alarm and frowned faintly. ‘What is it, Luz?’

She did not answer and his frown deepened, vertical lines furrowing his forehead. He paused as if waiting for a reply but, when none was forthcoming, his eyes narrowed. ‘You really are wary of me, aren’t you?’ It was more of a statement than a question. Suddenly his extreme self-assurance, his aura of power evaporated. Shutters came down over the dark irises. He passed a hand wearily over his hair and sighed. ‘What have I done this time to merit the silent reproach in those expressive eyes of yours?’

She could see the despair in his gaze, so unlike the confident man she was used to. Was this all part of the game, too? Had Lorenzo told him about her reaction to their plan?

She sat up, straightened her back and ran the tip of her tongue over her drying lips. Still she hesitated, reluctant to battle with Andrés and knowing they were bound to clash when she brought up the dreaded subject.

‘Why did you not tell me about the Herrera collection?’ she asked quietly.

He seemed a little taken aback. ‘What about the Herrera collection?’ He shrugged. ‘It’s like any other collection you’re investigating,’ he told her dispassionately. ‘We’re still in the early stages of this project, there’s plenty we’ve not talked about. In fact, I’ve had my assistant compile a list of collectors whom you should meet and interview. The Herreras are on that list, of course.’ He stared at her but still she could not read his mind.

‘You rightly spoke about gaps that needed filling when you outlined your plan to me this morning and I’ve told you that I’m always here to help. I thought it a little premature to load everything on to you before now.’ His eyes searched her face. ‘I didn’t realize the amount of information you had gathered in such a short time but I hadn’t wanted to pre-empt or influence your thoughts in any way. I’m obviously biased, since Eduardo and I were extremely close, and the works held in the archives at Puesta de Sol are closest to my heart. Maybe I should have talked about other specific collections before.’

Luz swallowed hard before speaking, trying to conceal the tremor in her voice. He made it all sound so logical, simple; honest even. But there was more to this, she knew, and she felt a fresh wave of anger bubble to the surface.

‘Why didn’t you tell me that
archiving
the Herrera collection was part of my contract? Why didn’t you also …?’

‘Hey, wait a minute,’ he interrupted, leaning forward. ‘Archiving the Herrera collection has never been on the cards.’

Liar!
she thought, but managed to remain composed. ‘Not only was I told it had all been arranged at the early stages of the project but I was also informed that Lorenzo would be an editor and contributor, and that I would have to work on site at La Fortaleza, which I’m afraid is totally unacceptable,’ she stated coldly.

‘You were told what?’ His eyes darkened and there was a dangerous edge to his voice.

Not for the first time since the beginning of this assignment, Luz wondered what she had got herself into. Andrés seemed genuinely taken aback. She had anticipated he would find a plausible reason to enforce his decision. After all, she had to concede that even though it did not suit her, and she certainly did not relish spending any time alone with Lorenzo, the plan to archive the Herrera collection and other portfolios did make sense. Eduardo de Salazar was a prolific and diverse artist; she would have thought with such a variety of works, records and some sort of indexing would have already been set up but, if not, Andrés would surely see that this was probably the time to do so. And one could argue that Lorenzo might be helpful in the process, though not to the degree the vain
torero
imagined.

‘There was never any talk of this,’ Andrés continued, his dark irises glittering with fury. ‘Eduardo’s work in its entirety has already been catalogued. He was not only an artist but also a shrewd and meticulous businessman. There is not a stroke of his paintbrush that has not been listed, photographed and archived. Who,’ he demanded, ‘who told you these lies?’

Luz sat absolutely still. She stared up at him, confusion and doubt shadowing her eyes. There was an uncomfortable pause. ‘Lorenzo, your friend and business partner,’ she answered calmly. Andrés acknowledged the jab and his jaw tightened. ‘He made it very clear that we would be working closely together,’ she added.

‘What?
’ At this, Andrés swore robustly. Luz had never seen him angry; it was a fascinating revelation. His voice sounded like thunder in the otherwise silent sunlit room and his face appeared almost barbaric, eyes lethal. This was either news to him or he had passed up a very promising career with the Royal Shakespeare Company.

He pushed back his chair roughly and stood up, glaring ahead of him. Looming over his desk he looked like a fallen angel, raised from the bottomless pit to take out his wrath on mankind. A muscle jerked in his jaw and his midnight gaze moved to her face as he struggled to remain calm. He placed a hand over his heart.

‘Luz, you must believe me when I tell you that I would never dream of putting you in that sort of position.’ Outwardly, he might have had the finesse and charm of the sophisticated gentleman, but it struck her as an irony now that the hidalgo seemed closer to a gypsy at heart.

He strode across the room. The fabulous animal-like vitality he barely held in check was formidable. Luz’s spine tingled as, reluctantly, she felt herself aroused, somewhere deep and hidden. He clenched his hands into fists to keep a lid on his anger, which was threatening to explode. In two strides he was at the door and opened it briskly. He called out to his assistant: ‘Is Don Lorenzo still in his office?’ His voice was cool and Luz marvelled at how quickly he had managed to regain his composure.

‘No,
señor
. Don Lorenzo and Doña Adalia have just left for the day.’

Andrés nodded and came back into the room. The volcano seemed to have died down as swiftly as it had erupted. Still, his eyes burned into Luz as he stood facing her, before he settled down once again into the chair behind his desk. He paused for a moment, lost in thought, and the atmosphere changed subtly.

‘Have dinner with me tonight at Puesta de Sol and I will prove to you that there’s no truth in what Lorenzo told you.’ His voice stroked her, his eyes were caressing. Something stirred in Luz that she did not stop to question.

‘I will ensure that you can visit Eduardo’s archives at my home whenever you have the need,’ he said. ‘I should have sorted out all this before, I realize now it was wrong of me not to have done so. Please forgive this lapse,’ he said humbly. ‘As for Lorenzo,’ he added, the fallen-angel look flickering dangerously in his jet irises, ‘I will deal with him when I see him next.’

For a moment Luz was nonplussed. Her deep-blue eyes questioned his sincerity. In the light of this revelation, she really had nothing to reproach him for – apart from the fact, of course, that he had pounced on her like a ravenous wolf that night at La Fortaleza. After her violent reaction she was quite sure he would not attempt that
stunt again, or at least not for the time being. She would be safe from him, surely?