Rebecca Stratton - Castles in Spain

  Rebecca Stratton - Castles in Spain

  Holly was delighted to have the chance of visiting the Spanish castle where her aunt Nan Delgaro had lived since her marriage.

  Don Jose Delgaro gave her a charming welcome, but it was his son Marcos whose attitude really puzzled Holly. Was he trifling with her until he married the attractive Helena Mendez?

  CHAPTER ONE

  Holly Gilmour had been growing progressively more excited ever since she boarded the plane at Seville, although she kept telling herself that she was behaving rather like a child who was being taken on a school treat. But it was so long since she had seen Aunt Nan, not since Holly was a child at school, and some excitement was surely permissible in the circumstances.

  Her aunt's sudden and quite unexpected marriage nearly ten years ago had been the cause of their long parting, and the fact that Aunt Nan was now Senora Delgaro and the wife of a very wealthy man was another reason for Holly's rather mixed emotions as she neared her destination. At one time she had been very close to her mother's eldest sister, and the prospect of seeing her again in such different surroundings, combined with seeing a new country for the first time, gave her feelings of both pleasure and apprehension.

  Holly smiled when she thought of Aunt Nan as she remembered her. Plump and homely in her nurse's uniform, or in sensible skirts and twin-sets with discreet pearls at her throat. A very English picture, set and unchangeable so that no one had even thought of her getting married at all, and certainly not in the rather romantic circumstances she had.

  How Aunt Nan had surprised them all by announcing out of the blue that she was getting married to one of her private patients. Only a very short time before she had taken an unprecedented step by accepting a post abroad, doubtful if she was doing the right thing and wary of changing her routine. Apparently, however, both the job and the patient had proved very much to her liking and she had married Don Jose Delgaro within four months of arriving in Spain.

  Don Jose was a man quite a number of years older than herself, a widower with one son, and a native of Spain. It was the latter fact that had come as more of a shock than anything else to the people who thought they knew her well, for Nan had seldom bothered about male company since an unhappy love affair in her youth, and she had always had a very British reserve on the subject of foreigners.

  Perhaps, it had been suggested, the Spanish sun had gone to her head, mellowed her and made her less reserved. Or perhaps she had simply wanted company and companionship in her later years. Whatever the reason, her aunt sounded very happy and contented with her present circumstances, and Holly, being a romantic at heart, was looking forward to meeting her new uncle by marriage.

  Don Jose, Holly thought, must be quite a man to have overcome her aunt's reservations to the point of marriage, and in her letters she sounded quite blithely uninhibited about her husband and her new country, so that there was no doubt that she loved him very deeply.

  When Holly had written to say that she was taking a holiday in Spain and would like to call in and see her, if it was possible, Nan Delgaro had extended an invitation to come and stay with her and her husband for as long as she liked. The invitation must have had Don Jose's full approval, Holly knew, for although she was very happy in her married life, her aunt made no secret of the fact that her husband was the traditional Spaniard in his attitude towards women.

  Don Jose, because of his illness, did little these days to maintain his huge estates, but his son, Marcos, ran the very profitable ranch they owned in the lush countryside of Andalucia. They bred horses, so her aunt had said, beautiful thoroughbred horses that were well known throughout Spain and beyond.

  Somehow, despite her aunt's enthusiasm for his efficiency and her apparent liking for her stepson, Holly had some reservations about whether or not she would take to Marcos Delgaro. He sounded, so Holly had observed to her mother, rather an autocrat, and she fervently hoped she would not come into conflict with him during her stay, for she was inclined to be outspoken when she saw or heard anything that she especially disapproved of.

  But it was no matter who else she had to contend with, it would be worthwhile to see her aunt again, and she wondered if she would see as much change in Aunt Nan, as her aunt was bound to see in her. Holly had been a rather gawky twelve-year-old when they saw each other last, and she was now a slim and lovely twenty-two.

  The small plane banked suddenly and startled her, and she looked down from the small window as they began to descend on what looked like an incredibly tiny landing field. The sea was immediately below them, a deep, deep blue and calm as a millpond, but glittering like gold silk in the afternoon sunlight, with ruffled white lace edges where it rolled lazily up on to a golden sanded beach. It looked everything Holly had expected and more.

  A ribbon of road wound inland through what appeared to be a small village, little white houses set among dark patches of vineyards and olive groves. There were palms too, she noticed with some surprise, and they gave the coast an African look which was, to Holly at least, unexpected and exciting.

  Lazuro must surely be the tiniest landing strip in existence, but it was served, as most of them were, by the ubiquitous Iberian Airways, and Holly wondered how much more travelling she had still to do before she finally reached her destination. The Castillo de la Valeroso was situated some way inland and meant a fairly long drive on not very good roads, so her aunt had warned her.

  Being so near now to her destination, she felt that familiar, slightly sickening sensation of apprehensive excitement churning away in her stomach as the plane landed, and realized for the first time that even her once so familiar aunt was now virtually a stranger to her. Aunt Nan was now well into her fifties and would perhaps be less inclined to be tolerant towards young women than she had been to a little girl of twelve. That was something she would have to discover when she arrived.

  It was hot, strikingly hot, after the air-conditioned cabin of the aircraft, and Holly stood for a moment after she left the plane, trying to accustom herself to the change in temperature. Andalucia, she thought, even smelled different. The short while she had spent changing planes at Seville could have been spent anywhere, it had the usual, universal big city smell about it, but here it was different.

  There was nothing much to be seen from the runway but an expanse of rather scorched-looking grass, bordered by those intriguing palm trees. Behind them grew what she knew to be the source of that distinctive smell that had struck her as different. Orange trees, and possibly lemons too, although their scent, so her aunt had informed her, was less sweet than the orange.

  Over to her right stood a motley collection of low white buildings, dazzling in the blazing sunshine and probably serving as offices and passenger reception. She turned to follow her fellow passengers across the open space, straggling along in the heat to the waiting smiles of the airfield officials.

  As she went Holly registered the appearance of a man standing alone in one of the doorways, and she could not help noticing how tall and striking-looking he was as he smoked a cigarette and watched the arrivals with a certain air of condescension. A native, she thought wryly, making no secret of his opinion of tourists.

  She lagged behind the others rather, wondering what arrangements had been made for her transport to the Castillo de la Valeroso. Aunt Nan had assured her that she would organize everything from this end, and not to worry, but she could not help but feel a slight twinge of anxiety at the possibility of there being no one to meet her.

  Only partly aware of what was going on around her, because she was preoccupied with the prospect of being stranded, she started visibly when someone stepped in front of her. Biting
on her lower lip to smother the audible gasp she made, she looked up and saw the man she had noticed standing in the doorway of the reception office. He was grinding the remains of the cigarette he had been smoking under one booted heel and the ruthlessness of the gesture startled her further.

  'Senorita Gilmour?'

  He had barely a trace of accent and his voice was deep and quiet, but she would not have called the brief question exactly welcoming. She nodded her head, surreptitiously looking at him from the concealment of her long lashes, and again registering the fact that he was very striking - even more so at closer quarters.

  He was what she decided was a typical Spaniard, with jet black hair, cut rather shorter than the fashions she was used to, and eyes almost as black, with long thick lashes and straight brows He was even taller, she realized, than he had appeared at a distance, and he looked lean and hard and quite ruthless, and she was not encouraged. Arrogant was the word that sprang to mind, and she thought she guessed who was to drive her the Castillo de la Valeroso.

  'Yes, I'm Holly Gilmour,' she said, and smiled, despite the marked lack of encouragement in the black eyes that looked down at her with more curiosity than friendliness.

  He extended a large brown hand that almost swallowed hers up in its grasp, and shook it briefly. 'Bien-venida, Senorita Gilmour. I am Marcos Esteban de Delgaro y Peronda.'

  Her aunt had prepared her for the very formal Spanish approach to introductions, so she was not as taken aback by the grandeur of his name as she might otherwise have been. 'I thought you might be,' she said impulsively, and one black brow arched swiftly towards a fall of thick black hair on his forehead.

  'Dona Ana told you that I would be meeting you, senorita?' he asked, as if such a forewarning was not possible. 'I did not know myself until last night.'

  'Oh no, no one told me!' Holly shook her head, already regretting that she had said so much. She could scarcely tell such a man that she had recognized him from her own interpretation of her aunt's description of him, and dubbing him autocratic. 'I - I just - guessed you might be,' she told him.

  He regarded her steadily for a moment, with some suspicion, she thought, then he gave a barely perceptible shrug of his broad shoulders and took her overnight case from her. 'If you will come with me, senorita, we will leave as soon as possible.'

  Obediently Holly followed him across the blazing hot stretch of runway to the cooler interior of the buildings he had just left. She collected her other luggage and was passed through in a very few minutes, then Marcos Delgaro led the way out of the other side of the building to a kind of forecourt-cum-car park where a large American type car stood under the welcome shade of a cluster of palms.

  He saw her into her seat with a cool politeness that did nothing to cheer the prospect of a long hot drive with him. She watched him as he walked round the car and took his own seat, using her own long lashes again to cover her scrutiny. He wore a light, pale grey suit, very formal with a white shirt and a grey tie, and somehow he gave the impression of being ascetically unaware of her as a woman.

  Most men immediately and unhesitatingly made some sign that they found her attractive when they were confronted with a girl as lovely as Holly, and somehow this man's lack of response rankled. Not that she really cared, she told herself, but he had not even smiled at her so far, and she wondered at her own annoyance for his apparent immunity.

  She put up a hand to brush back her long dark hair as he took his seat beside her and, perhaps unknowingly, she tossed her head in a gesture of defiance for his indifference. She had deep blue eyes, small regular features and an exquisitely fair skin which would never go brown if she spent a year in the Spanish sun. She made a pretty enough picture to attract the eye of any man, except, apparently, the tall, arrogant Spaniard who sat beside her, starting up the engine without even a glance in her direction.

  'Is it very far to the castle?' she ventured as they turned out of the car park and out on to the winding road she had seen from the air.

  He shook his head. 'Not very far,' he said quietly. 'About twenty kilometres, that is all.'

  Discouraged again, she dared not admit her complete mystification in the matter of kilometres and miles, so she gave her attention to the countryside, although part of her was still very much aware of her companion. Marcos Delgaro was not an easy man to ignore, in fact she found herself rather annoyingly conscious of him as they picked up speed and began to wind their way upwards on the narrow, dusty road. It was not going to be easy driving with him through twenty kilometres of Spanish countryside, however far it might prove to be.

  As they drove further inland, the changing scene grew more intriguing and delightful. Away from the coast there seemed fewer palm trees, but many more oranges, lemons and olives, particularly olives, with their distinctive grey and twisted trunks and straggling, untidy branches. The whole variety of crops made possible only by the ancient, but still efficient system of irrigation.

  Little dams and streams channelled the water to the places it was most needed, making a pattern of shiny little runs among the trees. Artificial it may have been, but it had a charmingly natural look and Holly found it enchanting.

  Enchanting too, were more of those little white houses, like the ones she had spotted from the air, just before they landed. Then they had looked like dolls' houses and pretty enough, but now they appeared even prettier with each one set about by its own tiny patio, shaded by trees - oranges and lemons, and the occasional palm.

  It all looked so very different and so very Spanish, as she had imagined Spain would look, but rather as if they had stepped back several hundred years. Aunt Nan had said that Spain changed more slowly than most places, but had much to offer that those same countries had long since lost, and at the moment Holly was ready to agree with her wholeheartedly.

  Where the irrigation system did not reach, there were areas of more barren land and this, she thought, had a harsh, sun-dried look that was much less attractive and yet still had a kind of severe, more rugged, beauty.

  They seemed to be climbing all the time, and she remembered that her aunt had told her that the Castillo de la Valeroso was set in the higher country, in the hills around the edge of the sherry country. They would pass through the rich, productive vineyards on their way, and she hoped to be able to take photographs later on, to take back with her. Although Marcos Delgaro would probably view such a suggestion with a jaundiced eye.

  Taking pictures of the castle itself, too, would no doubt not be encouraged, but she intended to take some just the same. How else would she be able to prove to anyone that she had actually stayed in a castle in Spain? If she could get a shot of her host's son too, so much the better, but she would have to be very sure he did not see her do it.

  The road was very narrow and unbelievably bad in places, but Marcos Delgaro drove the big car as if he was impatient to have the journey over and done with, although he was a careful and competent driver and took some of the more hair-raising corners they encountered with the skill and precision of a racing driver.

  'It looks wonderful country,' Holly observed at one point, again trying to pierce the rather heavy silence between them, and he turned his head briefly and looked at her for a second before nodding agreement.

  'It is good country,' he said. 'Better away from the coast because it is so far unspoiled, a Dios gracias!'

  Holly turned and looked at the dark discouraging profile presented to her and almost smiled her realization. 'You don't like tourists, Senor Delgaro?'

  The wide shoulders under the light jacket shrugged briefly, as if such people were not even worthy of his disdain. 'I thank heaven that I do not have to come into contact with them,' he remarked, and Holly felt that the remark was in some way aimed at her, so that the colour flooded her cheeks warmly.

  'It's a good job every Spaniard doesn't think as you do, senor,' she retorted, 'or your country would be very much poorer!'

  'No doubt!' The firm smooth mouth was as unrelenting
as ever, and he did not turn and look at her, even briefly. 'But I merely thanked heaven on my own behalf, senorita. I am not in the tourist trade, it does not concern me.'

  Holly considered that perhaps silence was the safest thing after all, for it seemed they were unlikely to find a point of contact on any subject. He simply seemed disinclined to converse with her at all, so instead she turned again to the countryside.

  Vineyards predominated on the landscape now and she managed to notice a signpost showing the way to Jerez de la Frontera, the very centre of the sherry industry. They even drove through part of it and thanks to their enforced slower pace she was able to see and appreciate something of the charming old town.

  Ancient palaces, graceful towers and wonderful old churches seemed to dominate its streets. Streets that were made shady and cool by orange and palm trees, the oranges scenting the warm air with their heady perfume. It seemed so very Spanish that she was delighted with it and would have loved to share her excitement with her companion, had he given her the slightest encouragement.

  One thing that caused her some surprise was the very small number of people who wore hats, despite the blazing sun. She wished she had thought to get herself a hat from the rather gaudy selection offered in the small shop at the airfield, but of course Senor Marcos Delgaro would probably have refused to be seen with her in one of those outlandish concoctions.

  'There seems to be a terrific lot to see,' Holly ventured. 'I never realized Spain was so-so different, somehow.'

  'But of course,' Marcos Delgaro told her brusquely. He changed gear and increased speed as they left the town behind them, and almost unwillingly Holly noticed how strong and brown his hands were, and how capably and efficiently they coped with the big car on these difficult roads. 'You are in Andalucia, Senorita Gilmour, it is much less European than the rest of Spain.'

  'It's fascinating,' Holly declared, glad to have drawn even that much from him. 'I'd like to see a lot of the countryside while I'm here.' She glanced at him from the corners of her eyes, watching for his reaction. 'Of course I realize it must sound very much too touristy for your taste, Senor Delgaro, but I'm sure some one would be willing to show me around.'