The Golden Madonna Read online

  'Is it far to go now?' she asked, without turning her head, and he answered promptly and without hesitation.

  'Less than one kilometre.'

  'Oh!' It was wonderful to think that Casa de Principes was situated in this magnificent part of the country, but at the same time she was not at all sure that travelling would not prove to be the better part of the experience.

  Despite his preoccupation with the twisting, tortuous road, he turned his head briefly and looked at her. 'You have never been to Spain before, Miss Beckett?' he asked.

  'Never,' Sally agreed. 'It's—it's so different, some- - how. I mean,' she added hastily, 'different even from what I expected.'

  'Oh? How is that?'

  The question was premonitory, as if he suspected criticism and was prepared to defend his country at any cost. Sally could not resist a smile as she chose words carefully to try and explain just what she meant.

  'I'm not quite sure,' she said at last. 'It's just that it seems so much more—foreign, somehow.'

  'Foreign?' He turned the car as he spoke and they passed through a gateway flanked by tall wrought- iron gates, driving along a narrow driveway between sweet-scented shrubs and palm trees, interspersed with orange and lemon trees that made the breathtaking view of the blue Atlantic below spasmodic but none the less impressive. He drove as far as another gateway and braked the big car to a halt before passing an opinion on her remark. Turning in his seat, he regarded her for a moment with a glitter in his black eyes. 'Here, Miss Beckett,' he told her, 'you are the foreigner.'

  'Oh yes, I know,' Sally said hastily, 'but I meant--'

  She was given no time to explain her meaning, for he slid from his seat, swift and lithe as a cat, and in a few strides was standing with the door of the car open and a hand extended to help her to alight. After a brief hesitation Sally accepted the offer and the long, strong fingers curled over her hand with what she felt was unnecessary force, as she swung her feet to the ground. She was left with the impression that the strong, almost cruel grip was meant as a reprimand for her temerity, and she felt her pulses respond by fluttering urgently, as if in fear.

  The gates before them led into one of the most beautiful gardens Sally had ever seen. Strictly speaking it was a much larger version of those shady little patios she had so admired along the road through the valley.

  This house was bigger than any she had seen so far, and far more beautiful too. But its setting was something quite breathtaking so that she felt a thrill of excitement run through her right down to the soles of her feet as she looked at it.

  Miguel Cordova swung open the gates and, without a word, invited her to step inside, into the courtyard, his black eyes watching her reaction. It seemed as if the shaded arches and balconies literally grew out of the profusion of flowers.

  They grew in every conceivable corner, trailing and twining everywhere, from pillars and huge earthenware pots, even tumbling over the borders of the central fountain that sounded so softly cool in the heat of the afternoon.

  Jasmine, red and white roses, scarlet geraniums and purple bougainvillaea, sweet scented orange trees and the shady, ubiquitous palm, all combined to delight the eye and stir the senses with their profusion and their perfumes. It was all so incredibly beautiful that Sally could only gaze at it with wide, shining eyes.

  'You find it attractive?' The deep quiet voice spoke close beside her and she turned for a moment to acknowledge the truth of his words.

  'It's quite incredibly beautiful,' she told him, a little breathlessly. 'I never dreamed anything could look like this, not in real life.'

  For a brief second she felt the brush of those long fingers against the back of her hand, and he smiled, as if her response pleased him. But he made no reply, and a moment later two menservants appeared. They bobbed their heads briefly to Miguel Cordova, then bent and took up several of the pile of suitcases taken from the two cars.

  An elderly woman stood in the background, sharp black eyes watching the men's labours critically, then she too came forward, bobbing a slight bow to her employer. Curiosity glinted sharply in the brief gaze she cast at Sally, and left an impression of not quite approving.

  'My housekeeper, Ana.' Miguel Cordova performed the perfunctory introduction with a wave of one hand. 'She will see that you are all comfortable and have everything you require. Ana, haga usted! el favor.'

  'Muy bien, senor.'

  The housekeeper led the way across the courtyard, followed by the whole party, including their host, while Sally still looked around her, dazzled by the novelty of it all. Even the ground they walked on was tiled with colourful Moorish style mosaics so that she felt it was almost a sacrilege to walk on them.

  On the right-hand side of the courtyard an arched doorway gave access to the house, though it was not the main entrance, that was obvious. But it was there that their little procession came to a halt, except for the two menservants who continued on through into the cool dimness of the house with their burden of suitcases.

  'Un momento, Carlos!' Miguel Cordova's peremptory command stopped the second man in his tracks and he came out into the courtyard again, looking at his employer curiously.

  A brief exchange in Spanish followed, of which Sally could interpret only her own name, then the man set down her suitcases and carried on into the house with only one, belonging to one of her companions, while Sally looked at her host suspiciously.

  'Gentlemen,' Miguel Cordova said with a smile, ignoring her frown, 'the rooms in the north side of the house have been put at your disposal for the duration of your stay here. I think you will find it cool and comfortable, but please do not hesitate to say if there is anything else you require. The dining- room is in the main part of the house and Ana will show you the way when you are ready.'

  He smiled briefly. 'You may find our mealtimes a little strange at first, but after a day or two in my country you will appreciate the reason for the arrangement.'

  'I read something about that before we came,' Michael told him, sending a satisfied smile at Sally. 'Breakfast only if one asks for it, lunch any time between two and four and dinner some time between nine and ten. Isn't that right, Senor Cordova?'

  His knowledge drew a smile. 'Approximately right, Mr. Storer,' he agreed in his pedantic English. 'This household is well ordered, however, and there will be no need for you to go hungry if you cannot at once adjust to the new times. However, I am sure that even Miss Beckett will see the reason for our different hours, once she has sampled the Andalusian sun.'

  So he had not missed Michael's smile of triumph, evidently, and had correctly interpreted its meaning. She had stated pretty firmly, before they had left England, that surely no civilised country would think of eating dinner at ten o'clock at night. Now, it seemed, he was right. She refused to be drawn at the moment, however, and seeing her silent, Miguel Cordova returned his attention again to her companions.

  'If you will be good enough to go with Ana, gentlemen,' he said, 'she will show you to your rooms and see that you have everything you need. Miss .Beckett, you will come with me, if you please.'

  Sally stared at him for a moment, then stuck out her chin. Not for anything would she consent to be parted from her companions. She preferred the company of her fellow travellers to that of her host, and she intended that he should know it - politely if possible. She looked up at him with a determined gleam in her blue eyes, her usually soft mouth set firmly.

  'I would prefer to stay with the rest of my party if you don't mind, Senor Cordova,' she stated firmly. 'I expect no special privileges, just because I'm a woman.'

  'It is because you are a woman alone that you are being accorded special treatment,' he told her. 'I cannot allow you to share the sleeping quarters of five young men, without suitable supervision. There are two other ladies in my household, and it will be much more suitable in the circumstances, Miss Beckett, if you are near them, in the main part of the house.'

  'You seem to have a very poor opinion of
my morals, Senor Cordova,' Sally retorted, and was not at all surprised when the firm, straight mouth tightened and a dark glow of anger showed in his black eyes as he looked down at her.

  'Not at all,' he denied coldly. 'I merely have a sense of propriety. Now will you please come with me?'

  'But I don't want to be——' Sally began, only to be silenced by a raised hand and a look that would have quelled a much braver soul than herself.

  'It is arranged, senorita, please do not make things any more difficult than they already are. Your father approves of my arrangements, and I am sure you would not consider defying his wishes.'

  If only he knew just how often she had done justthat, Sally thought wryly, but her father was neither as strong-willed nor as autocratic as his self-appointed in loco parentis. She debated for a moment on the wisdom, or use, of sticking to her guns, but it seemed to be deadlock, and the rest of the party, including Michael, were waiting curiously to see what the outcome would be.

  With a great sigh of resignation, she decided to disappoint them. 'Oh very well,' she said ungraciously. 'If it's all been arranged.'

  She was angry with Michael too, for not intervening on her behalf, and she vowed to have words with him on the subject, at the earliest opportunity. Nothing, she decided, was going her way so far, and it was not a situation she was either used to, or liked very much.

  She walked across the beautiful, shaded courtyard with Miguel Cordova, aware of the fact that he was controlling his normally lengthy stride to accommodate her, and wondering how on earth she was going to put up with his arrogance for another three months.

  The house itself was as lovely as its exterior promised, and a wide arched entrance doorway gave access to a wide hall, cool and restful after the sunshine outside. It was quiet too, and she realised that this was the time of the siesta, when everyone took time off to relax from the heat of the day. No wonder the servants had looked a little disgruntled at their arrival.

  There was an air of peace in the wide hall, with its high arched ceiling and dark panelled walls. Everything, doors and windows alike, was curved and arched with not a harsh angle anywhere, and Sally was reminded suddenly of old churches, a feeling confirmed by a huge brass crucifix on one wall, with a bowl of white roses below it.

  For some inexplicable reason she shivered again, as she had done at the station, and as then, Miguel Cordova looked down at her and smiled faintly. There was something exciting and exotic about this strange new world she was discovering, and something almost sinister too, that applied as much to the man beside her as to her surroundings.

  She hastily avoided meeting his gaze head on, and instead looked around her, trying to still the rapid and quite unnecessary thudding under her ribs. He was a very disturbing man and, despite her professed dislike of him so far, she still responded, however unwillingly, to some deep, unquenchable instinct that found him dangerously but irresistibly attractive.

  'This way, Miss Beckett.'

  His deep, quiet voice broke into her thoughts and startled her for a moment, his fingers holding on to her arm as if he suspected she might turn and flee, given the opportunity. Sally went with him, her heels clicking softly on the mosaic-tiled floor, like an echo of castanets.

  He did not turn her towards the wide curved staircase as she expected, but across the hall towards what was obviously the door into one of the downstairs rooms. 'Where are you taking me?' she ventured, suspicion edging her voice, so that he smiled briefly, his fingers tightening on her arm.

  'I shall introduce you to the ladies,' he told her. From then on my responsibility ends.'

  CHAPTER TWO

  SALLY did not know quite what to expect when Miguel Cordova opened the door of the room and ushered her in ahead of him. She was immediately aware that there were two women in the room, and that two pairs of eyes were regarding her curiously, one friendly and welcoming, the other not so.

  The elder of the two women rose at once and came across the room towards them. Tall and dark, with black hair that was just turning grey at the temples, handsome rather than pretty, she would have struck Sally as typically Spanish but for a pair of startlingly blue eyes that smiled at her from the fine boned features.

  'Madre, mi amada,' Miguel Cordova greeted her with a smile. 'May I introduce Miss Beckett? Miss Beckett, my mother, Dona Alicia Valdaquez.'

  Sally was relieved, more relieved than she dared admit, to see that friendly smile, and her hand was clasped in both Dona Alicia's. 'You are very welcome to Casa de Principes, Miss Beckett. Did you have a good journey?'

  'Miss Beckett was not very impressed with our railway,' her son informed her, before Sally could reply, and Dona Alicia laughed softly, drawing her across to the window where she had been sitting.

  'I don't blame you in the least, Miss Beckett,' she told her. 'The local line leaves a great deal to be desired, I believe.'

  Her English was excellent, and much less pedantic than Miguel Cordova's, also the difference in the name puzzled her, although she could scarcely remark on it at the moment. Instead she sought to dispel the impression he had given of her.

  'I'm afraid I was feeling very hot and tired, and I may have been rather—well, perhaps a bit outspoken,' Sally told her. 'I wasn't really meaning to be critical, Senora Valdaquez.' She bit on her lip uncertainly. 'I'm sorry, I'm not quite sure how I should address you, senora.'

  This time it was Miguel who was forestalled, and that gentle laugh put Sally at her ease again. 'I'd like it if you called me Dona Alicia,' she was told. 'I do so hope we can be friends, Miss Beckett. My own mother was English,' she added, and produced the information as if it was a trump card, so that it was obvious she was very proud of the fact. She laughed again. Hence these blue eyes!'

  'And your excellent English,' Sally said with a smile, while Dona Alicia nodded her gratification at the compliment.

  'Oh, but we are being very remiss, Miss Beckett!' She turned to the younger woman, and Sally was at once aware of the undisguised dislike in the narrow dark eyes that studied her closely. 'Ines, my dear, this is Miss Beckett, from England. Dear Ines was the wife of Miguel's cousin, Carlos Valdaquez, Miss Beckett, she's staying with us for the time being.'

  Taking the long, slim hand so grudgingly offered, Sally had to admit to curiosity about Ines Valdaquez. Miguel Cordova had referred to her as his cousin when he spoke of her earlier, now it seemed she was a cousin only by marriage, and that a marriage that existed no longer, judging by Dona Alicia's wording of the introduction, and the hint of sympathy in her voice.

  She was dressed in unrelieved black, so it was possible that she was a widow, Sally thought, but the way she looked at Miguel Cordova made it fairly obvious that she did not intend to remain in that state for very long.

  She was possibly thirty years old, although she could have been younger, for Sally remembered reading somewhere that women in hot climates tended to age more quickly. She was handsome, rather than pretty, in the same way that Dona Alicia was, with a smooth golden skin and dark eyes. Her black hair was drawn back in the traditional Spanish style and worn in a loose chignon in the nape of a long, smooth neck, and she could have been so much more attractive, Sally thought, if only she learned to smile more and frown less.

  'Como esta usted?' She used the formal greeting with even less warmth than Miguel Cordova had done at the station, making no attempt to use English, although it was obvious that she understood it well enough.

  'Have you been shown to your room yet, Miss Beckett?' Dona Alicia asked, in such a way that it was possible she sought to relieve the small, hostile silence that followed the introduction. 'I'm sure you'd love to have a bath and change into something cooler, wouldn't you?'

  'I would,' Sally agreed fervently. 'I feel terribly hot and crumpled and not at all fit to meet anyone.'

  Dona Alicia smiled kindly. 'You're a very pretty girl,' she said. 'And that blue suit does wonders for your eyes, although it must be rather hot. Our Spanish caballeros will find your
golden hair and blue eyes quite irresistible, I'm sure. We shall have to be on our guard, shall we not, Miguel?'

  He stood beside a huge ornate container that overflowed with musky-scented geraniums, one arm outstretched along its edge, one foot crossed over the other, confident and at ease, and so arrogantly male that Sally felt that betraying curling sensation in her stomach again. His smile was brief, but it glowed darkly in his black eyes when he looked across at her.

  'Miss Beckett is of the opinion that she can take good care of herself, mi amada,' he told his mother, in that deep, quiet voice. 'She has had no experience of Spanish men yet, of course.' The black eyes raked over Sally's slimness from head to toe with a boldness that took her breath away and left her feeling naked and horribly vulnerable.

  She hastily looked away, but was aware that he still watched her, and probably enjoyed her discomfiture, especially when she felt the warm colour in her cheeks that betrayed the sudden and erratic way her heart was pounding at her ribs. Somehow she managed a smile for Dona Alicia, praying that her reaction was not too plainly obvious on her face.

  'I would like that bath and a change of clothes, Dona Alicia,' she said in a strangely husky voice that she hardly recognised. 'If I could--'

  'But of course,' the elder woman smiled. 'I'll get Ana to show you to your room.'

  'Ana will be attending to our other guests,' Miguel reminded her. 'I'm afraid you will have to manage with Rosa, Miss Beckett, but I am sure you will find her quite efficient.' Sally looked at him and would have liked to say something very tart, but for one thing Dona Alicia would have been more upset than he would and for another he gave her no time to say anything, but reached for the ornate bell rope that hung only inches from his hand.

  'You have plenty of time before dinner,' Dona Alicia told Sally with a smile, while they waited for the maid to appear. 'We do not dine until nine o'clock. You do realise that our times are somewhat different from what you are accustomed to, Miss Beckett, don't you?'