Meeting in Madrid Page 4

  Teresa nodded somewhat hastily.

  ‘That is what has been arranged,’ she agreed.

  Jaime looked pointedly at Catherine.

  ‘I will leave her in your care, Miss Royce,’ he said formally. ‘I hope you will enjoy the rest of the day.’

  ‘I’ve enjoyed it, very much up till now,’ Catherine told him. ‘Thank you for a pleasant lunch.’

  Teresa was laughing as they turned away.

  ‘You and Jaime are so formal!’ she declared. ‘Perhaps it is because he does not trust you.’

  ‘Why should you think such a thing?’ Catherine protested. ‘I’m trying to do my job to the best of my ability, and you could help enormously by not being so facetious.’

  ‘That’s an interesting word,’ Teresa declared. ‘Can you please tell me what it means?’

  ‘Broadly speaking, it means “waggish”, which in turn means jesting. You don’t mean what you say half the time, especially about Don Jaime.’

  ‘Oh, but I do! He can be stern and quite heartless when he feels justified, and at Soria, you will discover, his word is law.’

  ‘Supposing he decides that I shouldn’t go to the hacienda, after all,’ Catherine suggested in an odd sort of panic. ‘It’s quite on the cards, you know.’

  ‘H’mm! Yes, I suppose it is, but I think you will go, all the same. The Marquesa will send you because she thinks you might be good for Soria.’

  ‘Where do you want to shop?’ Catherine asked because she could find nothing to say to Teresa’s final declaration.

  It was now well after three o’clock and they walked briskly through the crowded streets which were coming to life again after the siesta hour. On Velazquez Teresa was measured for her handmade shoes and they spent more time on the Alcala until suddenly they realised that it was six o’clock. The coffee houses and pastry-shops were now full of women chattering over their merienda, but Teresa seemed disinclined to stop even for a quick glass of chocolate and a cake.

  ‘We will call on the Vegas early,’ she suggested, a flush of excitement staining her cheeks, ‘and then we can make our excuses. I want to take you tascas-hopping. It’s lots of fun and something you really ought to do before we leave Madrid.’

  ‘What will the Marquesa say?’ Catherine asked diffidently. ‘Or Don Jaime?’

  ‘Oh, Cathy!’ Teresa protested. ‘How will they know? We will be home before midnight if we go early enough, but you really must see our busy mesones. They are a kind of tavern—terribly respectable, you understand—and most of them are in the old part of the city which is the real Madrid.’

  Catherine hesitated.

  ‘If you’re quite sure,’ she said doubtfully. ‘I feel that I’m more or less in charge at the moment.’

  ‘As if you could be when you know so little of Madrid!’ Teresa laughed. ‘You will be glad to get away from the Vegas, I assure you!’

  They took a taxi to a rather drab-looking edifice in a side-street leading off the Calle de Segovia which was the home of the Vegas, where they were entertained by an elderly lady and her two nephews, whom Teresa obviously disliked. Catherine thought them pleasant enough, but dull, and was almost glad when Teresa rose to go. She made her pretty excuses to the senora, dismissed the two polite young men with a brief smile, and shepherded Catherine out on to the pavement in the shortest possible time. They heard a clock strike nine as they walked briskly in the direction of the Plaza Mayor.

  ‘You needn’t look so worried,’ Teresa assured her. ‘Nothing is going to happen to us. You are a good duena, are you not?’

  ‘I’m out of my depth,’ Catherine admitted. ‘Teresa, I think we should go back.’ She looked about her at the maze of narrow, cobbled streets with their closely-shuttered windows and barricaded shops. ‘We can come some other time—with Don Jaime, perhaps.’

  ‘He would not come here, unless on a very special occasion,’ Teresa said, ‘but he would not object to you seeing the real Madrid, especially when we are so soon to go away.’

  It seemed a reasonable enough argument, and Catherine followed her across the wide plaza to an archway and down a flight of stone steps to where a dozen small taverns spilled their light and gaiety on to the adjacent pavements. Most of them were already full of people searching for a table, but Teresa seemed to know her way about. She selected the nearest side cafe where she ordered shrimps, mushrooms and tortilla, together with two glasses of carta blanca which they drank standing at the counter.

  ‘We haven’t time for any more tascas,’ she decided when they had finished. ‘It’s rather a pity because you can spend a whole evening just hopping from one cafe to another and eating as much as you like.’ She turned along a darkened side-street where a mellow glow led them to the window of a secluded restaurant.

  ‘You’ll love this,’ she said, plunging in at the door.

  It was at this point that Catherine had the strongest misgivings. But the restaurant looked eminently respectable, a tall, narrow house of many floors reached by a single staircase on which departing and arriving guests seemed to be inextricably mixed. Groups of tourists rubbed shoulders with the local Madrilenos, laughing and talking as they filed between the crowded tables, determined to make this an evening to be remembered, and Teresa nodded to several acquaintances as they passed.

  Finally they were installed at a small table for two in a corner. Teresa’s eyes were alight with a new intensity as she gazed about her and an American lady at the next table said in a loud voice: ‘My, but she sure is cute!’

  ‘Cute’ was hardly the word to describe Teresa in that moment. She was completely transformed. A band of minstrels dressed in the garb of Philip II was serenading the diners for money instead of the traditional love, but they were immensely talented young men and truly colourful in their velvet knee-breeches and tunics with the large, slashed sleeves of the period and their capes festooned with satin favours in all the colours of the spectrum. One, in a voice which echoed to the rafters, was singing a love- song.

  ‘They are university students,’ Teresa whispered. ‘They form groups to play and sing in the restaurants. Isn’t it romantic!’

  ‘O, my beloved,’ sang the vocalist, while the guitars and a single violin played the accompaniment. Then, when the applause had subsided, the guitars came into their own. Sobbing out in the sudden hush which had fallen on the noisy room, the music started on a plaintive note, a few soft chords gently plucked from the delicate strings, but soon it was rising on a wave of anguish, a lover pleading in the night for trust and understanding.

  Catherine sat rigidly in her seat, the music vibrating on every sensitive nerve as she listened, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, until she became aware of the man standing in the doorway at the head of the stairs.

  Don Jaime had come in search of them, his face dark with anger as their eyes met.

  ‘It’s Jaime!’ Teresa exclaimed in a half-whisper. ‘He must have returned early from Toledo.’

  Don Jaime made his way purposefully between the tables, drawing the eyes of most of the American women as he passed and striding between the minstrels as if he would sweep them from his path, and none of the anger had left his face when he finally confronted them.

  ‘How did you know where to find us?’ Teresa asked. ‘We have just come in.’

  Ignoring both question and observation, he sat down in the vacant chair opposite his niece.

  ‘I presume you have already ordered your meal,’ he said in a tight voice, ‘and you may wait for it, but I intend to take you straight home after your first course.’

  ‘Oh, Jaime!’ Teresa wailed. ‘You spoil everything! Catherine wanted to see the night life and it was so dull at the Vegas’. You say yourself that they are only half alive!’

  ‘That may be so,’ he agreed, ‘but you were supposed to be there and you were not. When I arrived to take you home you had gone.’ He was holding his temper in check with an effort. ‘If Miss Royce was so keen to sample our night life you should
have mentioned the fact when I took you to lunch and it could have been arranged for some other time.’

  ‘But there is so little time!’ Teresa pouted. ‘Botin’s is most respectable and Catherine should get some “atmosphere” instead of always dining in a top-class restaurant.’

  Don Jaime turned to Catherine for the first time. He was evidently not going to make a scene in a public place. He was too well bred for that.

  ‘I’m sorry you found our rendezvous on the Castellana so dull,’ he remarked, ‘but no doubt this evening will make amends.’ He glanced beyond her at the minstrels in their velvet doublets while their impassioned music rang like a knell in Catherine’s ears. ‘Botin’s has always been a colourful tourist trap, but the food is excellent, I believe.’

  Catherine, who had been enjoying the atmosphere in the picturesque seventeenth-century building as well as the talented performance of the students, was suddenly angry.

  ‘I thanked you for a very pleasant lunch,’ she reminded him, ‘and I really meant what I said, but this is different. I didn’t see any reason why Teresa and I shouldn’t have come here for a meal, but if I was wrong I’m sorry. It seems a shame not to take advantage of so much innocent pleasure, but no doubt I should have been more—discreet.’

  ‘It is Teresa who should have known better,’ he said briefly. ‘The point is that she came here without permission while you were supposed to be somewhere else. The Vegas are very old friends of the family and we do not wish to offend them. Such things are not done in Spain, even yet,’ he added as a waiter approached with their order of roast sucking pig on ancient earthenware platters which had been burned almost black with constant use.

  Catherine’s appetite had gone, but she forced herself to eat under his eagle eye while he ordered a fino and drank it while he waited.

  The minstrel students came to stand beside them, playing softly, but most of the romance had gone from their performance for Catherine, at least. She could no longer respond to the gentle words, and the sighing guitars were almost more than she could bear.

  Teresa braved out the situation with what seemed to be a total disregard of his anger.

  ‘Jaime, you must admit that it is all wonderfully romantic,’ she sighed, looking across the table at the violinist with wide soulful eyes. ‘You play the guitar yourself: why do you think this is not the same?’

  ‘Possibly because it is no more than a gimmick,’ he returned as the serenading group moved away. ‘They do it solely for the money they can make.’

  ‘I think you are wrong,’ Teresa declared. ‘They sing with all their hearts and we respond to the music, not to them.’

  He looked amused.

  ‘So long as that is the case,’ he said, ‘who am I to reprimand you!’

  Had his anger evaporated so easily, Catherine wondered, or was he only holding it in check till they left the restaurant and he could tell them what he really thought? The evening had been spoiled, as much for herself as for Teresa, although Teresa was quick to find another delight.

  ‘This little pig is delicious!’ She dug into the succulent flesh. ‘Why don’t you try some, Jaime? Now that you are here we can stay much longer.’

  ‘You are expected home before midnight,’ he reminded her. ‘You are supposed to be visiting privately.’

  The dark eyes under their thick fringe of black lashes were suddenly lifted to his.

  ‘Does that mean you are going to keep our secret?’ she demanded. ‘Gracias, Jaime!’ she rushed on before he could make his decision one way or the other. ‘It is very kind of you, and I will obey you in future. I will do anything you wish!’

  ‘It would be nice if you meant what you said on the spur of the moment,’ he returned drily, but some of the anger had already gone out of his eyes and he settled more comfortably into his chair to enjoy another fino while they disposed of their sucking pigs.

  ‘Catherine can’t finish hers!’ Teresa pointed out a few minutes later. ‘She has no appetite now, perhaps because you were so angry with her.’

  ‘I was angry with you both,’ he said, ‘but since no harm has come from your foolish venture, we will try to forget it.’

  Catherine could not forget his anger, however, that initial flash of impatience which had darkened his eyes, hardening his whole face even as she watched, and somehow she knew that Teresa’s disobedience was only part of the reason. There was also her own part in their adventure to consider, and it seemed reasonable enough for him to consider her completely irresponsible. He had been at little pains to hide his feelings when they had first met and now she seemed to be confirming them.

  By quarter to twelve they were driving in the stream of traffic along the Calle de Bailen and just before midnight they were home. A light was burning in the Marquesa’s room on the second floor and it seemed that they were expected to go there to report on their ‘happy evening’.

  It amazed Catherine to see how skilfully Teresa managed to evade the truth. Her animated description of their visit to the Vega household suggested that nothing could have been more congenial than the senora’s company, and the fact that Don Jaime had ‘collected’ them to bring them home seemed the most natural sequel at the end of their busy day. She rushed on to talk about the Castellana luncheon party, which she was able to do without avoiding her uncle’s disdainful gaze.

  ‘I’m glad Miss Royce enjoyed herself,’ the Marquesa observed drily, ‘even although I’m afraid that Isabella de Vega is a little dull,’ and suddenly Catherine knew that she was not deceived. That penetrating gaze, so reminiscent of Don Jaime, had seen straight through Teresa’s wiles, but she had evidently decided not to pursue the subject at that time of night.

  In the morning, perhaps? Catherine’s heart was beating fast as she followed the younger girl from the room.

  ‘Teresa, you should have told the truth and accepted the consequences,’ she pointed out. ‘Even now, I am not at all sure that your uncle has forgiven us.’

  ‘We will know quite soon,’ said Teresa. ‘Perhaps tomorrow.’

  In the morning the preparations for their departure were all too evident. Don Jaime had gone off to the Rastro early to make some important purchases from one of the galerias before they closed at two o’clock, and Conchita had been instructed to begin Teresa’s packing.

  ‘We are going so soon!’ Teresa wailed. ‘It is all because we are no longer to be trusted. I told you about Jaime, did I not? He has a will of iron once he has made up his mind.’

  The Marquesa said very little. Soon she would be on her own way to Andalusia to avoid the summer heat, but there was still no question of Catherine being dismissed. When Teresa finally challenged her, however, she admitted that their departure for Soria was only a matter of hours away.

  ‘If Jaime can reserve seats you will fly out in two days’ time,’ she explained.

  ‘Two days!’ Teresa gasped. ‘But that is impossible. I have all my clothes to collect, my shoes and the new dresses from Antonio.’

  ‘They will be sent on to you,’ the Marquesa assured her. ‘I will see to it myself, do not fear.’ She looked across the room at Catherine. ‘It will not take you very long to repack your suitcases. Miss Royce. I think you will be good for Soria,’ she added with an enigmatic smile. ‘Anyway, we shall see! You must not let Lucia dominate you, although you will obey her, of course. That is understood. Until Jaime decides to marry she will be mistress at Soria and she will not allow you to forget the fact, I think.’

  ‘Lucia is my madrastra,’ Teresa informed her as they left the room together. ‘You will hate her, as I do. My father married her after my mother died, but they were not happy together. All she wanted was the position as his wife so that she could do as she pleased. I do not believe my father really loved her, because she is not beautiful, as my mother was, but she has a will of iron. When she marries Don Jaime she will send me away, but I do not care. I will return to Madrid and stay here with the Marquesa.’

  It was the follo
wing day before Catherine came face to face with Don Jaime again and by that time she had done most of her re-packing.

  ‘I’m sorry I have not been able to trace your books,’ he apologised, ‘but I will make the necessary arrangements to have them sent on to Soria. You will not be without them for long.’

  ‘I seem to be giving you a great deal of unnecessary trouble,’ she found herself saying. ‘If I tender my resignation will it help?’

  He looked down at her from his considerable height, frankly surprised by the suggestion, although he had done nothing to encourage her in her job.

  ‘You cannot do that now,’ he informed her. ‘It would be utterly irresponsible. I have made a promise to my sister-in-law to bring Teresa back with a tutor’—he refrained from using the word ‘suitable’—‘and there is no time to change our arrangements now. You will be ready to leave tomorrow, if you please. The flight goes out at midday, so you have little time to squander.’

  On dubious adventures? Her anger stained her cheeks, but she was determined not to let him see how easily he could upset her.

  ‘Where do we fly to?’ she asked, wondering why they could not make the journey by road since he had a powerful limousine at his disposal.

  ‘To Tenerife,’ he said. ‘Surely Teresa has told you that is where we live?’

  ‘Tenerife?’ Catherine repeated incredulously. ‘No, I had no idea we would be going so far. You have all referred to Soria as “the hacienda”, but I imagined it might be somewhere in Andalusia since your grandmother is preparing to go there for the summer. I never guessed that we would be leaving Spain.’