Meeting in Madrid Read online

  Catherine drew a deep breath.

  ‘Why did you come?’ she asked.

  ‘I’d like to say it was because I am psychic and felt you needed me,’ Alex answered, ‘but it was really to return this.’ She stretched into the glove compartment to produce a hastily-wrapped bundle from which the ends of the mantilla protruded. ‘I knew you would be anxious about it.’

  ‘Alex, how kind of you to bring it!’ Catherine exclaimed. ‘I didn’t miss it until we got back and I phoned you, but you were out, and then there was so much else to think about.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Lucia has lost her ruby.’

  Alex pulled the car up at the side of the road.

  ‘Lost it? But that’s virtually impossible. She has a safety-pin on it strong enough to anchor a warship!’

  A faint smile touched Catherine’s lips.

  ‘She believes it was stolen.’

  ‘And she’s accusing you?’ It was amazing how quickly Alex had stumbled on the truth. ‘But that’s preposterous! What would you do with a ruby that size? It would be red-hot. Almost everybody this side of La Laguna knows it belongs to the Madrozas, including the police. Has Jaime called them in?’

  Catherine shook her head.

  ‘Not yet. I suppose he’s giving—the thief time to repent and return it without creating a public scandal.’

  Alex’s lips closed in a tight line.

  ‘Jaime is too particular in that respect,’ she said. ‘He could have cleared up those ugly rumours about Eduardo’s death, but he wouldn’t try to vindicate himself to the world at large because they’d judged him out of hand. The rumours were nothing, really—a flash in the pan—but the truth would have involved Ramon and so he chose to keep silent. Ramon, you see, could never accept Eduardo’s authority after their father died. They quarrelled frequently and it was after one of those furious rows that Eduardo rode to his death. Jaime found him in one of the barrancos underneath his horse with a broken girth to account for the fall. He explained everything to the police quite satisfactorily, of course, but you know what rumours are.’

  ‘Why are you telling me this, Alex?’ Catherine asked, bewildered but hardly surprised by all she had just heard.

  ‘Because I think you ought to know in case you might be judging Jaime too harshly. He is not the ogre you imagine him to be.’

  Catherine made a small movement of protest.

  ‘I always thought he would be fair,’ she said faintly, ‘but how can he believe in me when Lucia is so emphatic about my guilt?’

  ‘Why must you think he would take Lucia’s word against everyone else’s?’

  ‘Because he’s going to marry her.’

  Alex sat for a moment without answering.

  ‘Lucia told you that, of course.’

  ‘Yes, she said they would shortly announce their engagement.’

  ‘And you believed her?’

  ‘Certainly. What else could I do?’

  ‘Distrust her completely,’ Alex advised without a moment’s hesitation. ‘I don’t think she has the faintest reason for believing that Jaime will marry her in the end. Up till a few weeks ago I would have said he was blissfully content with his bachelor existence, but now I’m not so sure. He’s changed a great deal since he came back from Madrid,’ she added. ‘Perhaps the Marquesa has been talking some sense into his head. She was never very fond of Isabel at the best of times.’

  ‘Isabel?’ Catherine asked.

  ‘Of course, you wouldn’t know about their unfortunate love affair,’ said Alex. ‘It was a family thing, in the old Spanish tradition. The Madrozas and the Chamorros were very old friends and near enough neighbours to ensure that their children were seldom apart. Jaime and Isabel grew up together, accepting the fact that they would marry one day, and they were both happy enough with the situation. Then, two weeks before their engagement was to be announced publicly, Isabel met Raimundo de Triana, a penniless artist who came out to the Colony to paint. It was love at first sight, as they say, but you can imagine how everyone talked, and the endless sympathy Jaime had to endure because there could be no doubt by that time that he was deeply in love with his childhood playmate. People called Isabel false and immature, but he would have none of it, and when she went off to South America with de Triana he wished her well. After that, there was nothing for him but Soria. He worked with Eduardo day and night to pay off their debts, and when Eduardo married Lucia he moved up to Las Rosas so that he wouldn’t be in their way.’

  Alex’s explanation fell into a deep silence.

  ‘I see now why he didn’t want me at Soria,’ Catherine said presently. ‘Any young woman would be an unhappy reminder of his former love.’

  ‘I think it was more than that,’ said Alex. ‘He imagined that Teresa needed a firmer hand, the considered advice of an older woman, perhaps. Once or twice I’ve tried to fill the bill,’ she added ruefully, ‘but Teresa wouldn’t listen. She was determined to be a rebel, and that had been disastrous at Soria before. Jaime was either too hard with her or altogether too lenient. He tried to take her father’s place, but Teresa would have none of it. And then there was Lucia. She’s brought him nothing but trouble since Eduardo died. First of all, she demanded back all the money she had put into the estate when Eduardo married her, and then she offered it to Jaime with a condition attached.’

  Catherine waited, not knowing what to say.

  ‘In return for the money she was to make her home at Soria for the remainder of her life. If Jaime married someone else it was to make no difference, but she expected to marry him, in the end. That would consolidate her position at the hacienda more than anything else, of course, but either way she felt it would make little difference. Jaime had given her his promise and she was family, anyway. He would honour his commitments.’

  Catherine turned her head away.

  ‘He may not want to be rid of his responsibilities,’ she said. ‘This may be the sort of life he wants.’

  ‘Do you honestly think so, Cathy?’

  ‘I don’t know what to think! Alex, sometimes I wish I’d never come to Soria in the first place, and yet—’

  ‘It’s no use regretting what is already done,’ Alex declared practically. ‘You’re here, and you’ll have to see this affair through to a reasonable conclusion. What do you imagine Lucia would say if you ran away?’

  ‘I don’t care about Lucia! It’s what Jaime thinks that matters to me.’

  Alex glanced at her with renewed interest.

  ‘You know,’ she said, ‘that’s exactly what I imagined.’ They had come back to the door in the wall and Catherine got out to open it.

  ‘You’ll come in, of course,’ she said, holding it wide. ‘You were on your way when we met.’

  ‘Only to deliver your shawl. Do you know it belonged to Jaime’s mother?’

  ‘Teresa told me. It was terribly careless of me to leave it behind,’ Catherine acknowledged.

  ‘The fact that you wore it at all would incense Lucia,’ Alex observed, driving through the gateway. ‘It would be like the proverbial red rag to a bull, if you’ll excuse my misuse of a gender or two!’

  They drove the remaining distance to the house in silence, busy with their respective thoughts.

  ‘I won’t stay,’ Alex decided when she saw the empty patio. ‘Unless you think I can help?’

  ‘Until we find the ruby I don’t think anyone can,’ Catherine said, ‘but please stay for some coffee, at least. Jaime would expect it.’

  For the first time they became aware of a figure hovering in the shadows and Lucia came out to the patio to join them. She was dressed in black once more, but the elaborate suit with its fine silk shirt deeply open at the neck to reveal a considerable amount of cleavage could hardlyhave been called widow’s weeds.

  ‘We do not see each other for months, Alex,’ she observed, ‘and then we meet twice in two days. Can I offer you a glass of wine since Jaime is not yet home? Or perhaps you would stay an
d share merienda with us? Ramon will be in quite soon,’ she added pointedly.

  Alex hesitated.

  ‘Why not?’ she agreed after a moment’s consideration. ‘I have no reason to rush back to Orotava except to feed the cat!’

  Lucia had managed to ignore Catherine completely, even though she had allowed her hostile glance to rest for a moment on the mantilla in her hands. Catherine had unwrapped it to smooth out the creases before returning it to Teresa, but now she saw it as the final burning issue between them.

  ‘I left it behind at the bungalow,’ she explained, ‘and Alex was kind enough to return it.’

  Lucia looked as if she had only just become aware of her.

  ‘Perhaps you will ask Teresa to come down,’ she suggested with a thin smile. ‘She has been searching my room. For the ruby,’ she turned to explain to their unexpected guest. ‘It has disappeared, so you can imagine how distressed I feel. You see, I am quite sure that it has been stolen.’

  Catherine made her escape as quickly as she could, but she did not go immediately in search of Teresa. Instead, she turned along the colonnaded end of the patio and out into the garden where the shadows were gathering. A little wind had sprung up, stirring the fronds of the palms and scattering the petals from a nearby flame tree. They fell like confetti to the ground, lying in little scarlet pools on the cobbled path, and suddenly she shivered. Too many things were reminding her of the ruby. Even the poinsettias had the same rich colouring and the bougainvillea hanging down from the roof was the same vivid red. She had come to the garden to escape, but there was really no escape from Lucia’s hatred.

  It seemed a strong word to use, but what else could she call it, knowing herself innocent? Almost from the first moment of their meeting Lucia had resented her, but why? Why?

  She walked urgently between the stone columns and out along the path, drawing the mantilla over her shoulders in a nervous little gesture of self-protection. If I could only do something, she thought. If I could only prove to Lucia how wrong she was.

  The scent of the stephanotis was almost unbearably sweet and she turned away from it instinctively, remembering how she had smelt its heady fragrance when she had come to the hacienda for the first time. It would always remind her of Soria wherever she might go in the future, for it seemed only a matter of time now before Lucia would have her sent away.

  A horse whinnied somewhere beyond the terracing and she watched as the rider came towards to house. Don Jaime de Berceo Madroza was returning home.

  It seemed such a natural thing for her to be waiting there at the end of the garden to meet him, but she would never stand there in her own right. Lucia would see to that, and suddenly she knew why Lucia hated her so much. The older girl saw her as a rival for Jaime’s affections, however ridiculous that might be.

  He came on steadily down the path, a tall, straight figure on a pale horse, his head held proudly as he approached his home, and Catherine drew back into the shadows because her eyes were suddenly full of tears.

  Jaime dismounted before the archway leading to the stables, turning as if he had sensed her presence under the colonnade.

  ‘Cathy,’ he said, ‘is that you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She brushed against the floss-silk tree as she moved towards him, and a scatter of pale pink blossom fell at her feet. Jaime did not move. He stood looking down at her as if he were seeing her for the first time, with the wedding mantilla on her shoulders and the scatter of petals falling all about her, and for one blinding moment she thought that he was about to kiss her again. She could almost feel the touch of his lips on her mouth, but instead he put his hands gently on her shoulders, turning her to face the light.

  ‘Don’t take this too much to heart,’ he said. ‘Lucia did not mean to be unkind. Sometimes I think she is obsessed with material things, and the ruby meant a great deal to her. All the same, I will not permit her to repeat her accusations.’ His mouth hardened as he continued to look down into her distressed eyes. ‘She is not always discreet in the things she says, but soon we will clear up the mystery of the ruby. Ramon has gone in search of Manuel, although he has not yet found him. If he is the culprit he will be punished.’

  A deep feeling of revulsion stirred in Catherine’s heart.

  ‘Poor Manuel,’ she found herself saying. ‘What will happen to him?’

  Jaime stiffened.

  ‘If he is guilty he will not complain when he is justly punished.’

  ‘You’ll hand him over to the police?’

  ‘Not if we recover the ruby.’

  ‘I—suppose that’s fair enough.’

  She knew that he would have his own way of dealing with the situation. It would be swift and effective, and it would break Manuel’s heart. He would be dismissed for ever from the place he loved, from the hacienda where he had, been born and worked for most of his life, and he would never be able to come back. He loved Soria and the Madrozas, who had been his family ever since he could remember.

  Slowly Jaime let his hands fall from her shoulders.

  ‘You do not believe in a just retribution?’ he asked almost coldly. ‘But what other means have I to administer the estate? I depend on loyalty and honesty more than anything else. When my employees are dishonest they destroy themselves, and me. I have never met with it before in a servant.’

  But once, long ago, the girl you loved proved disloyal, Catherine thought, and you have never been able to forget. Never in all these years! Slowly she slipped the mantilla from her shoulders.

  ‘I must take this up to Teresa. I left it at Orotava and Alex brought it back,’ she explained, remembering how the soft folds of the wedding mantilla had brushed against his cheek as they danced and how he had kissed her afterwards, a kiss she would remember for ever, one kiss which he had given lightly and had now forgotten. ‘What is fiesta without a kiss!’ he had said as he set her free.

  Shaken by the memory, she watched as he ran the folds of the mantilla through his fingers.

  ‘It is Madroza history,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘All the Madroza brides have worn it for three generations, except Lucia. I believe she was married in Madrid in a fashionable hat.’ He passed the mantilla back to her as they reached the house. ‘I suppose it does belong to Teresa.’

  Lucia and Alex were still talking in the salon and he went in to greet their unexpected guest while Catherine went slowly up the staircase in search of her pupil. Teresa would be glad to know that the mantilla was safely back at Soria.

  She paused at the head of the stairs, wondering if Teresa had finished her self-appointed task of searching all the rooms for the missing jewel, but there was no sound anywhere on the upper floor. Teresa had either abandoned her search or had searched to no avail.

  At the door of her own room she paused again, deciding to return the mantilla before she changed, but when she looked into Teresa’s room it was empty.

  Carefully she spread the mantilla out on the bed, touching it gently for the last time before she turned away. One day another bride would wear it, possibly Teresa herself.

  The door of her own room was not quite closed, blown open by the wind straying in through the long casement from the garden, and her hand was on the knob when she heard the first sobbing breath. Pushing the door wide, she went in to find Teresa lying full length on her bed, her face buried in the lace coverlet, her hand clenched on the fine lawn handkerchief she had used to stem the first flood of her tears.

  ‘Teresa, what’s happened?’ Catherine crossed swiftly to the bed. ‘Why are you crying? Can you tell me and can I do anything to help?’

  There was no immediate response. Teresa stiffened where she lay, but she did not turn to look at her.

  ‘You can’t do anything,’ she muttered into the counterpane. ‘You can’t! Not now.’

  ‘Teresa!’ Catherine attempted to put her hands on her shoulders, easing her round. ‘Please look at me and tell me what you are trying to say.’

  As if she
were dragging herself from some deep pit of despair, Teresa sat up and turned towards her. Her face looked strangely distorted, her eyes swollen with tears.

  ‘Is it about the ruby?’ Catherine asked, her heart thumping in her breast.

  For a, moment it seemed as if Teresa could not answer her. Her lips moved as if she might speak, but no words came, and then she looked quickly across the room, pointing with a trembling hand to the dressing-chest against the wall.

  It was suddenly so still that they could hear the sound of voices from the salon below, and Catherine moved away from the bed. The second drawer of the dressing-chest had been pulled open. It was where she kept her underwear and for a moment she wondered why the fact should distress Teresa so much. And then, instinctively, she knew.

  A whole lifetime seemed to pass as she crossed the polished floor, and then she was looking down into the open drawer at the ruby, lying like a spot of blood on the white garments she had folded away so carefully only a few days ago. It glittered like an evil eye, something so malevolent that she could not even touch it.

  Teresa was still sitting on the bed, waiting, but Catherine could not bring herself to speak. A host of warring emotions were struggling in her heart—horror and pain and anguish, coupled with anger and, finally, despair. Whoever had hidden the ruby in her drawer was determined that she should be accused of theft with ample evidence to support the charge.

  For a moment she could not believe that anyone at Soria would do such a thing, even Lucia, who disliked her so much, but the evidence of treachery was there before her eyes in the shape of the blood-red ruby lying in the drawer.