Masquerade (8 page)

Throughout the performance she could barely concentrate, despite the intensely passionate drama unfolding on stage. Once or twice her eyes dared to flit across the auditorium to where he sat, her pulse quickening every time she thought he was watching her. Then the next time she looked up, he was gone. Only now did she notice that the opposite box was also occupied by an elderly couple and a very smart and beautiful blonde-haired young woman.

Luz looked for him during the intermission but he was nowhere to be found. Returning to her seat, she sat through the rest of the performance waiting for the stranger to reappear, but he had vanished. She wondered if it had not all been a figment of her imagination.

The sun woke Luz early the next morning. She was surprised to find that she had gone off into a deep, dreamless sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. A quick glance at her alarm clock showed that it was only seven-thirty. She had plenty of time to soak in a hot bath to calm the butterflies in her stomach that besieged her every time she thought of the impending examination. Despite all her careful preparation, this morning she did not feel too brave.

As she turned on the taps and dropped some scented oils under the running water, her thoughts ventured back to the previous evening and the stranger she had seen at the theatre. Why had he left before the end of the performance? Had he really looked so much like Leandro or was it all just a trick of the light? Admittedly, she had never really got a good look at him – it had all happened so fast and then the auditorium had been plunged into darkness. Luz slipped into the steamy bubbles and dripped her sponge over her face, trying to wash away her uneasy thoughts. Time to get a grip and focus on the interview. It was only a few hours away.
I can do this
, she told herself. The priority now was to master her wayward thoughts, to focus and look the part. After her hot soak Luz took extra care with
her clothes and her make-up. She had learned from her experience with interviews in London that appearance was half the battle.

Both Carmela and Alexandra were in the kitchen with steaming coffee and pastries when she came downstairs for breakfast. Luz looked sophisticated and businesslike in a slick, dark, figure-hugging Givenchy suit she had bought in London, teamed with a pair of Gucci high-heeled shoes and a matching Gucci bag. Her beautiful raven hair was not worn loose as usual; this morning she had it in a braided chignon at the base of her neck. Her eyes, though bright, were tinged with the steely grey that denoted her frame of mind: she was going out there today with the firm resolution of winning.

Alexandra smiled. ‘Darling, you look perfect.’

Luz kissed her mother, gulped down her coffee and squinted at her watch as she bit into one of Carmela’s warm
churros. Best get moving
, she thought, determined not to be late for her appointment.

It was a pleasant walk from L’Estrella down the hill into the walled city. She arrived outside the office building twenty minutes early and decided to go for a brisk walk along the port’s promenade to clear her head. The image of Leandro and the stranger tried to intrude into her thoughts a few times, but she made a conscious effort to obliterate them from her mind and to go over what she wanted to say instead. This was her big break if she wanted to establish herself as a serious biographer in Spain. She must give her best and not get distracted. Anyhow, despite the eerie encounter with Paquita the day before, she was not inclined to be forced into something of someone else’s design, particularly that of a deranged old witch. She should forget about Leandro and the gypsies. No good could come of entertaining unrealistic dreams so it would be best to put all that behind her.

Caldezar Corporación, SA was an imposing faded-yellow brick building, which stood four storeys tall in the tree-shaded Plaza de España, very close to the port. Outside, punctuating its walls were elegant wrought-iron balconies, above which tall, green-shuttered windows were topped with ornate mouldings. Luz took a deep breath and walked into the building, heart beating but head held
high. Inside, the enormous grand lobby was all marble and stone with a large staircase and cool flagstone floors.

Luz gave her name to the uniformed porter. After he had made a brief phone call, a smartly dressed young woman, who could not yet have been in her twenties, came down to greet her and together they went up in the lift to the third floor. The reception area was vast and light, with huge ceiling-to-floor windows that looked out over the square, with its palm trees and fountain, and beyond that to the port. Despite the air-conditioning, the honey-coloured wooden parquet, combined with the sunshine that poured into the room, gave warmth to the place.

She was asked to wait, so Luz perched on the edge of an armchair and looked around her. The furnishings were expensive: an oak desk, oak tables and black leather armchairs. Beautiful oils by renowned artists adorned the walls. She recognized most of them but, strangely, none of the paintings was by Eduardo de Salazar. Though the taste was impeccable, the room remained impersonal. There was nothing there to indicate what kind of person Andrés de Calderón was.

One of the communicating doors opened and a hatchet-faced middle-aged woman entered.

‘Doña Luz de Rueda?’ She seemed to size up Luz as she came towards her.
‘Buenos días.
I understand you’re here for the biographer’s job.’

Luz stood up, held out her hand and smiled.
‘Buenos días, Señora.
Yes, I have an appointment to take a preliminary test, I believe.’

The assistant shook her hand curtly. ‘Follow me,’ she said, and she made her way down a corridor, guiding Luz to a room at the far end. ‘You’re the last of a long string of candidates. We’ve had a parade of all sorts, but I doubt any of them fit the bill.’ Luz raised an eyebrow but was nonetheless heartened by the woman’s forthright observation.

The room was small with a single desk and a typewriter. The assistant handed Luz a typewritten sheet. ‘First of all,’ she said,
‘you must read through this questionnaire and answer it to the best of your knowledge. Secondly, you should write a thousand-word essay on why you think you are right for this job, and what you know about Eduardo Raphael Ruiz de Salazar and his work.’ She paused, went to a cabinet and took out some sheets of paper and some pens. ‘Here, or you’re quite welcome to use the typewriter if you prefer.’ She smiled faintly. ‘Good luck,’ she added, and left the room.

It was a strange list. Most of the questions about her education, her experience, her knowledge of languages, expected salary, etc had already been answered on her CV, but there were other questions, a little more probing and less discreet, about her family, her life, the state of her health and her friends; even whether or not she was engaged to be married. These seemed slightly untoward, but they did not disturb her. After all, she had nothing to hide. Luz sat down at the typewriter and began to tap out her answers.

She came away an hour and a half later feeling quite pleased with herself. The ordeal had been much easier than she had anticipated. Her hours in the de Salazar museum had paid off and for the essay she had confidently poured on to the page all the fascinating material she’d researched on the artist. Now she would have to wait patiently for an answer.

Back in reception, the hatchet-faced woman was now sitting behind the smart oak desk that Luz had noticed before. ‘There’s been a slight change of plan,’ she announced. ‘Don Andrés would like to see you later on today if that’s all right. He would like to conduct his interview over lunch and has asked me to convey to you his apologies for inviting you at such short notice. Is it convenient to meet him at that time? If you have other engagements, he said he would quite understand. The thing is, he’s away for the rest of the week and the meeting would otherwise have to be postponed to a later date.’

Luz swallowed hard and stiffened as a wave of panic washed through her.
Andrés de Calderón wanted to see her today?
She was unprepared for this. Wasn’t there supposed to be an interview panel to get through before being shortlisted to meet de Salazar’s nephew?
Her instinctive reaction was to put it off till the coming week when she would have had the time to collect her wits and think about what she would say. Still, she wanted this job badly.
Stop being a coward and just go for it
, a voice at the back of her head told her. Good to get it over with, anyway. This would be her chance.

Mustering every ounce of composure she possessed, she smiled graciously. ‘How very kind of Don Andrés. Please tell him that I have no other engagements today and that I would be honoured to join him for lunch.’

The woman looked her up and down again and nodded brusquely. ‘Very well, it is now eleven-thirty. Don Andrés will be waiting for you in our dining room on the top floor at two o’clock. You should present yourself at the reception downstairs as you did earlier and someone will escort you there.’

Andrés de Calderón sat at his desk in his vast office on the fourth floor overlooking the harbour. He closed the file he had been reading for the last hour and passed his lean brown hand over his eyes, pondering on the contents. It was a detailed history to date of the candidate he had chosen to write Eduardo’s biography. Her CV had been impressive: head and shoulders above that of any other candidate. So good, in fact, that he’d had her checked out to ensure there was nothing in her history that might jeopardize the project, should he select her for the job.

He read through the answers to the questionnaire that his assistant had brought in half an hour ago. As with the CV, they left out one important item: Luz María Cervantes de Rueda had conveniently omitted to mention that she had walked out of her first job without completing it.

It was only because he’d already had her checked out that this issue had come to light. He had been handed a copy of an English newspaper article:
‘Miffed biographer walks off job!’
The gossip was
that it had happened after a lovers’ tiff. Now he once again scrutinized Luz’s snapshot, which was clipped to her CV. Indeed, she was a beautiful young woman. Still, the photograph did not do her justice. He smiled as he recalled seeing her at the theatre last night; even at a distance, through opera glasses, she was certainly the loveliest creature he had ever set eyes upon. Now she was here, at his offices, applying for the biographer’s post. He frowned as his eyes scanned the article again. Luz de Rueda did not seem the type to walk out of anything, let alone a breakthrough in her career. He must clarify this at the interview today, he told himself. Not that it would make the slightest difference: his mind was already made up.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. He put the file down on his desk and looked up. ‘Enter.’

His assistant popped her head around the door. ‘Señor de Calderón,
la Señorita
de Rueda has accepted your invitation for lunch.’

‘Excellent.
Gracias
, Señora Herminia. Please cancel all my afternoon appointments.’

The woman nodded and closed the door behind her.

Andrés de Calderón turned back to the window and watched the seagulls as they squawked their way across the plaza towards the harbour. His mouth curled into a smile. In a few hours he would have the pleasure of finding out more about the complicated and captivating Luz de Rueda.

When Luz arrived at Caldezar Corporación, SA at five minutes to two she was escorted to the top floor by the same young woman who had met her that morning. ‘Señor de Calderón is waiting for you on the terrace,’ the woman informed her as they went up in the lift. Luz had always enjoyed the challenge of one-to-one interviews but today nerves were warring with her usual confidence. She wished she had taken the time to find out more about Eduardo de Salazar’s nephew
for herself, rather than rely on the snippets of information her parents had supplied. Was he truly a womanizer? Normally, she was so thorough and would certainly have done her homework on the man she was about to meet. Lately, however, she had become distracted and now she could kick herself.

The gated lift seemed to take an interminable time before it came smoothly to a halt. Luz was ushered through a large, empty dining room where French doors led out on to a patio. The young assistant smiled, held the door open and nodded politely.

Luz stepped out into the strong Spanish sunlight that drenched the veranda. Handsome tiles were inserted into the stuccoed walls in a random pattern and, together with the simple terracotta flooring and the two sets of graceful double arches dividing the patio, they gave a pleasing and coherent first impression. Breathtaking vistas unfolded on all sides over the terraced roofs of the luminous white city cut deep with blue shadows.

Andrés de Calderón was waiting for her, seated at a table half shaded by a vine-trellised loggia, looking suitably cool in a beige linen suit, crisp white shirt and Hermès tie with a gold-printed pattern of Andalucían horses. He rose indolently to greet her, a broad grin revealing a set of perfect white teeth in a copper-bronzed face. Luz’s heart somersaulted twice. She stared at him as if struck by lightning.
It can’t be
, she thought. Her eyes, her mind were playing havoc with her imagination. The man who stood before her with wraparound dark glasses that completely screened his eyes was a startling echo of Leandro the gypsy, although the latter was swarthy and wild-looking whereas this man was elegant and chiselled as cut glass. Could this be the man she’d glimpsed at the theatre last night?

‘Ah, Doña Luz, you’re on time, congratulations,’ he said as he held out a tanned hand with perfectly manicured fingers. His voice was deep and warm, like brandy and caramel. ‘It must be your English blood. Spaniards, I’m sad to say, are notoriously unpunctual.’

As Luz shook his hand, the touch of his fingers sent an odd frisson of excitement through her and she pulled her hand away quickly,
hoping her astonishment was not as evident as it was felt. She caught a glimpse of humour quivering around his mouth as if he was appreciating some private joke. Although his eyes were not visible, she had a fair idea that Andrés de Calderón was mightily amused and she did not like it one bit.