The Stand-In Bride

CHAPTER TEN

THEY returned home to find the house in a state of tension. Isabella had recovered her health well enough to enforce Sebastian’s prohibition on Catalina seeing José, and the girl was seething with rebellion. She telephoned José every day, but had been unable to slip out to see him.

‘And nor will you,’ Sebastian told her furiously. ‘He is an Alva, cousin of the man who destroyed my friend. You will not see him, and your marriage is out of the question.’

He didn’t think Maggie could hear, but she chanced to be within earshot. To her, he never mentioned Roderigo, and she had come to understand that his restraint grew out of concern for her. His manner to her now was always gentle and kind. But when she heard him speak of the Alva family in such a way she knew that the abyss between them was as wide and deep as ever.

Catalina sought tearful refuge with Maggie, who explained the situation as best she could.

‘It’s not his fault,’ Catalina said passionately.

‘No, it isn’t José’s fault,’ Maggie agreed. ‘But this goes very deep with Sebastian, so don’t hope for him to change his mind.’

‘I thought you would be on my side,’ Catalina said accusingly.

‘I might be if you were a little more mature, and if I thought your love for José was deep and true, instead of being just a reaction to your engagement to Sebastian. Now you’re free to make a choice, don’t rush to choose the first man you see.’

She told Sebastian frankly that she was going to see José.

‘Acting as go-between?’ he asked wryly.

‘Catalina is no nineteenth-century miss, to be locked in her room until she obeys. If I keep the lines of communication open, you’re less likely to have a full-scale rebellion on your hands. I’m not going to help them elope-just trying to keep the situation under control. But I won’t do it in secret.’

‘Thank you. I appreciate that.’

Her visit to José left her more uncertain than ever. There was no doubt of his true feelings, but he struck her as an infatuated boy rather than a serious man. Maggie explained about Sebastian’s friendship with Felipe Mayorez, delivered loving messages from Catalina, advised José to be very patient, and promised to work on Sebastian if possible.

Returning home, she went to see him to put in a good word for José, and found him frowning over a letter, willing to give her only half of his attention.

‘What’s the matter? Who is that from?’

‘From Felipe Mayorez,’ he said with a sigh. ‘He wants me to take you to visit him.’ He saw her horrified look and added, ‘Naturally he was invited to the wedding, as a matter of courtesy, but he couldn’t attend.’

‘What state is he in, these days?’ Maggie asked awkwardly.

‘Almost like a vegetable. He lives in a wheelchair. He has an attendant, Carlos, who feeds him and cares for his every need. Sometimes he can mumble a few words; some days he can speak clearly for a short time.’

‘Oh, God!’ she whispered. She began to walk around the room, seeking some release from tension. ‘I can’t see him. It’s too risky. There were photographs in the press at the time-’

‘Of you?’

‘No-I don’t think so-but suppose there was a picture I didn’t know about-and he saw it-and recognises me? Think how it would upset him.’

‘He was in a coma for months. He never saw anything in the papers. Besides, I read everything the press ever printed, and I never saw your picture. Otherwise I’d have known you from the start.’ He looked at her. ‘It’s all right. I have to go but I’ll make some excuse for you.’

‘What excuse can you make for such a grave discourtesy?’

‘I’ll think of something. I won’t ask you to do this.’

‘You must,’ she said calmly. ‘It’s expected.’ She saw him looking at her and added, ‘You’re a public man. You can’t afford not to do what is expected.’

In a land where ceremony still counted, Sebastian had been dreading having to explain his wife’s absence on a visit of form. He was grateful to Maggie for making it easy, yet something in her ready compliance troubled him. After her first protest, she had seemed to shrug mentally and decide that it didn’t matter, because nothing really mattered to her. The old Maggie, who fought him at every turn, seemed to have vanished, and he would have given anything to have her back.

The thought struck him again when he saw her ready for the visit. She was attired in a conventional dress of sober hue, the very picture of a respectable Spanish matron. But the sight brought him no pleasure. She had said appearances must be preserved, and he knew that sometimes people clung to appearances to cover an emptiness within.

He wasn’t usually sensitive to people’s moods, but he could sense Maggie’s despair and confusion. She was lost in a desert, functioning automatically as she waited for something to happen that would show her the way out. And much as he longed to, he knew he couldn’t help her. It was he who had raised her demons to howl at her, but he had no power to calm them again, and he wanted to bang his head against the wall. He would have done so if that would have helped her.

The Casa Mayorez was in the heart of Granada, near the foot of the great hill on which stood the Alhambra Palace. In his own way, Felipe Mayorez was a prince, and he had lived as one until the day four years ago when he had been robbed and attacked. Now he existed unheeding, amidst his magnificent possessions.

Carlos, his carer, came to meet them. He was an amiable young man, devoted to his employer-able to read his every mood, even when the words were blurred. But today the news was good.

‘He is much brighter than usual,’ he told them. ‘And he can speak fairly clearly. It will make him so happy that you have come.’

He led the way to the conservatory where Felipe Mayorez lay in a wheelchair that was half a bed. A heavy rug was laid over his wasted knees, and his head rested on pillows. With a great effort he managed to turn it as his visitors approached.

‘Welcome to my house,’ he said slowly. ‘Welcome, my old friend. And to your wife-a very special welcome.’

Sebastian leaned down and kissed the old man with complete naturalness. Maggie was afraid they would see her trembling, but she forced herself to be calm as her husband introduced her. Felipe Mayorez smiled at her, not knowing that she had been the wife of the man who’d destroyed him.

She made the proper reply, and thanked him for his wedding present, a huge, gold-decorated dinner service of the finest porcelain.

‘That was my gift to your house,’ Felipe said. ‘But I have another gift, only for you. On that table.’

Sebastian handed her a small packet. Inside was a pair of heavy gold earrings.

‘They’re beautiful,’ she gasped. ‘But I can’t take them. They look like valuable antiques.’

‘They are,’ Sebastian told her. ‘They belonged to his wife.’

‘His wife,’ she said faintly.

‘He gives them to you as a great compliment.’

She drew a sharp breath, longing to run away and hide. Why had she come here, when she could have gotten out of it? Then she saw Sebastian’s eyes on her, steadying her, felt the warm pressure of his fingers on her hand, and the dreadful moment passed.

‘Help me put them on,’ she said, taking them up.

He lifted her hair back and she felt his warm breath on the nape of her neck. Then his fingers brushed lightly against her ears, fastening the gold clasps. Maggie drew a slow breath, startled at the way her heart had started to beat.

It was the first time he’d touched her intimately since the night in Sol y Nieve when he’d tried to make love to her, and given up in the face of her despairing chill. Since then, he’d never touched her except by chance, or to give her his hand formally.

And now, when she was least prepared, her sensations returned, making the blood rush to her cheeks. She met Sebastian’s eyes, and saw there that he’d understood. Something was making her breath come quickly. Then a sigh of pleasure from Felipe forced them back to the present, and it was all over.

‘Beautiful,’ he said. ‘Magnificent.’

‘Yes, they are beautiful,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

Then the tears came to her eyes. It was so dreadful to see him there, his life ruined, and know that she was deceiving him.

‘You must not weep,’ Felipe said.

‘I can’t help it,’ she said huskily, touching his wasted cheek. ‘I’m sorry-I’m so sorry-’

‘No need to be sorry for me-when I have a lovely woman to weep for me,’ he said gallantly. He tried to raise his arm and failed. ‘Sebastian, comfort her.’

She tried to stop crying but her pity for the old man welled up. She had wept for her baby, for Roderigo, for herself, but now she wept for Felipe and they were the bitterest tears of all. She felt Sebastian’s arms go around her, drawing her head against his shoulder, and cried unrestrainedly.

After a moment she forced herself to be calm again, and raised her head, smiling at Felipe.

‘You are a lucky man,’ he said to Sebastian. ‘By now, you might have made a different marriage. But this is the wife for you. She is a good and true woman. No man could ask for better. I, Felipe Mayorez, tell you that.’

‘And you are right, old friend,’ Sebastian said gravely. ‘I have known it, but it pleases me to hear you say it.’

Suddenly the old man gave a sigh. His eyes closed and his head lolled.

‘Carlos,’ Sebastian called, and the young man appeared so quickly that he must have been nearby.

They said their goodbyes, but Felipe seemed hardly able to hear them, and they left. In the car home Maggie realised that she was still wearing the earrings and started to remove them.

‘Keep them on,’ Sebastian told her. ‘They were given from the heart.’

‘I never expected him to be so kind to me.’

‘He saw something in you that he loved,’ Sebastian said simply. ‘This I understand.’

He spoke so quietly that she wasn’t sure she’d heard him, and when she looked he was gazing out of the window.

Maggie had moved out of the room she first occupied, into one that befitted the mistress of the house, but Sebastian had kept his own room next door. Sometimes faint noises reached him through the connecting wall. He tried not to listen, but the noises tormented him.

On the night of their visit to Felipe he sat up late, listening and trying not to listen. As midnight passed into the small hours he could hear her walking about the room. But then the movements stopped, and the silence was worse.

He thought of her that afternoon, letting him hold her while she was torn by pity for the old man, but slipping quickly out of his arms again. And tonight, when she might have turned to him, she had pleaded a headache and gone to bed early. That was six hours ago and she was still awake.

When he could endure it no longer he went out into the corridor. There was no sound from behind her door, and at last he pushed it open and closed it quietly behind him. She was standing in the middle of the floor. She turned when she heard the click of the door.

‘Can’t you sleep?’ he asked.

‘I don’t want to sleep. Not after this afternoon. Every time I close my eyes I see him.’

‘Felipe?’

‘No-him!’

There was no further need to ask who he was.

‘I can’t bear my nightmares,’ Maggie said desolately. ‘He’s always there.’

He came close to her. ‘He mustn’t be there,’ he said. ‘Nobody must be there but me.’

‘Then drive him away,’ she said desperately. ‘Can’t you make him go?’

‘Yes,’ he said, taking her into his arms. ‘I will make him go away, so that there is only me. Tell me that is what you want.’

‘Yes,’ she whispered, slipping her arms about his neck. ‘It’s what I want.’

Still he couldn’t be sure, and his uncertainty was reflected in his kiss, gentle and loving, passion held in abeyance. There was something new in her response, a desperation, almost a plea, that hurt him. He kissed her repeatedly, trying to bring her back to him.

‘Margarita,’ he murmured, ‘Margarita-where are you?’

‘With you-where I want to be. Hold me.’

‘What do you want?’ he asked her urgently.

‘I want you-you.’

He longed to ask her what she really meant by that, but the need was rising in him, making his caresses more urgent, his kisses deeper. As always her beauty entranced him, but tonight it had a special quality. He tossed her night dress away, then his own robe, and held her naked body against his.

‘Sebastian-I do want you.’

It was all he needed. He reached the bed first and sat, drawing her against him so that he could lay his head between her breasts, revelling in their sweetness and warmth. They were already proudly peaked, testament to her desire. When he caressed them with his lips, she let out a long sigh of pleasure and satisfaction, clasping her hands behind his head, inviting him.

He leaned back so that she slid down onto the bed beside him and began to bestow subtle, lingering kisses on her face, her neck, silently calling her to return to him.

Maggie could feel the change in him through her skin, her sensations, the beating of her heart. Their other lovings had been wild encounters, each seeking and giving pleasure, almost like rivals. Now Sebastian was using desire to give her something else, something she needed far more than pleasure. With every touch he spoke of tenderness, protection, reassurance, and her terrors began to fade. In her need she reached out to him, and he was there.

His arms had always been strong to excite her, but now they were strong to keep her safe. Nobody had ever offered her safety before, and she reached for it, eagerly, blindly, startling him with the emotional depth of her response.

‘Margarita,’ he murmured.

‘Hold me,’ she begged. ‘Don’t let me go.’

‘Never,’ he said swiftly. ‘I’m here-always-’ His face was close to hers, his eyes holding hers. ‘Now,’ he whispered. ‘Now!’

She drew a long breath and suddenly she was a whirlwind in his arms, calling his name, drawing him closer, seeking something only he could give. For a blinding moment everything was well between them, just as it had been when passion was uncomplicated and all they asked. Then suddenly it was over and his heart was beating as never before. Something had happened, beautiful, alarming and beyond his experience. He wasn’t sure of anything, except that passion alone would never be enough again.

He lay on his back, his arm beneath Maggie’s neck, while she turned towards him, flinging an arm confidingly across his chest, snuggling against him as though seeking refuge.

He thought she murmured something. It might have been, ‘My darling,’ or it might not. He listened, hoping she would speak again, but she had settled against him, sleeping as contentedly as a child. After a while he, too, slept.

He awoke in the small hours to find her asleep on his chest, still in the circle of his arm.

‘Margarita,’ he said softly, ‘are you awake?’

There was no answer, only her soft rhythmic breathing. When he was sure she was still asleep, he kissed the top of her head.

‘Where are we now?’ he murmured. ‘You came to me, but why? Was it only to drive him away? If so, how can I complain? Who should defend you from him but I, who brought him back to torment you?

‘I knew in Sol y Nieve that you’d returned to that place you spoke of, the place without feeling that you entered when your baby died. There was no hate there, but no love either, no warmth, no joy. Nothing for Roderigo-and nothing for me.

‘But now the feelings have returned, haven’t they? Why am I afraid to look into your heart? What would I find there? Love for me? Love for him? Despite everything, is some part of you still his? Is that why he haunts you?

‘What would you say if I spoke to you of love? Would that bring you closer to me, or drive you further off? Why haven’t I the courage to take the risk?’

He made a sudden convulsive movement, sitting up so sharply that he was afraid she would awaken. But she only rolled over and buried herself more deeply in the bed. He rose, pulled on his robe and went to the window overlooking the garden, opening it quietly and slipping out into the cool night air.

Down below he could see the Patio de los Pájaros, where he’d sat on the first evening and she had come wandering out amidst the stone birds, talking of truth and paradise, and they had mysteriously understood each other. But it had ended in a quarrel, as it always did, because this woman was born to torment him. And now that he’d discovered something of her heart and mind, she tormented him more than ever, posing questions that couldn’t be answered in bed, and that undermined everything he’d thought was certain in his life.

‘Margarita Alva,’ he murmured desperately to the night sky, ‘how I wish I had never met you!’

Maggie’s tour of the de Santiago estates was a triumphant success. Those she met knew only that she was English and had prepared themselves for the worst. But her fluency in their language disarmed them, and the discovery that she was a Cortez, born in the region and knowledgeable about it, completed her conquest. They even began to use her as a channel to Sebastian.

‘Of course, I realise that you find it incredibly boring to discuss these things with a woman,’ she teased him one evening.

‘No, no, that horse won’t run,’ he defended himself, grinning. ‘Not after things I heard you say to Alfonso in Sol y Nieve. Besides, I only said it in the first place to annoy you.’ He glanced at the papers she’d put before him. ‘Why didn’t Señora Herez bring this problem to me ages ago? She’s left it almost too late to do anything.’

‘She finds you rather alarming.’

He was perturbed. ‘I never knew.’

‘Is it really too late?’

‘We’ll be in Seville next week for the opening of the regional parliament. I’ll talk to some people.’

In Seville she found herself at the centre of a new world. Now it was Sebastian’s fellow politicians who crowded around, eager to know her. Over a series of tiring but triumphant dinner parties she completed what her husband called, ‘the conquest of Seville’. His pride in her was enormous. Their closeness seemed to grow every day. By the time they returned home three weeks later they both felt they could dare to hope that the problems were behind them.

Sebastian reached the Casa Mayorez in the middle of the afternoon. Carlos was waiting for him.

‘I don’t know if I did the right thing in calling you, Señor,’ he said nervously.

‘You were very vague and mysterious on the telephone. Why don’t you simply tell me what had happened?’

Carlos picked up a newspaper, bearing the picture of a ruffianly, unshaven man, whose face Sebastian found unpleasantly familiar.

‘It’s him,’ Carlos said, indicating the picture. ‘His name is Miguel Vargas, and he’s just been arrested for murder. It was on television too, and when my master saw this man’s face on the screen he became very agitated.’

Sebastian studied the picture and went cold. Now he knew where he’d seen Miguel Vargas before-at the trial of Roderigo Alva. He was an associate of Alva’s and had given evidence against him. According to him, Alva had boasted of having robbed the Casa Mayorez once already-something which Alva had been eager to admit, since his defence had been that the previous burglary accounted for his fingerprints on the scene.

‘He said the place was stacked with riches, and he was going back,’ Vargas had claimed. But this Alva had frantically denied. The two men had had a screaming match across the court. Vargas was an unpleasant character, but nobody had doubted he was telling the truth about this.

‘How-agitated?’ Sebastian asked Carlos now.

‘He kept saying, “Him”, “Him”,’ Carlos said. ‘I asked him what he meant, and he said, “He killed me.” And then he began to weep. He kept repeating over and over, “He killed me.”’

Sebastian tried not to listen to the thoughts that were shouting at him. It was monstrous, impossible. For if it was true-

If it was true, then Roderigo Alva was innocent of the crime for which he had been convicted. And that meant…

He pulled himself together and read the rest of the newspaper story. Miguel Vargas had been arrested for shooting down a policeman in cold blood in the presence of witnesses. There was no doubt of his guilt, or the fact that he would spend the rest of his life behind bars for this crime alone. Nothing Sebastian did or didn’t do would make any difference to that.

‘What am I to do, Señor?’ Carlos asked. ‘I thought of going to the police, but an identification by such a sick man after four years-’

‘Would be very little use,’ Sebastian agreed.

‘And they would question my master and upset him further. Shouldn’t I spare him that? Advise me, Señor.’

‘Let me think about this,’ Sebastian told him. ‘In the meantime, say nothing. Try to keep him calm, and if possible, don’t let him watch the news. I’ll be in touch.’

He spent a troubled evening at home, glad that they were entertaining guests, and his preoccupation might pass unnoticed. When the guests had gone he told his wife that he would work late, and spent the night pacing his study.

On the face of it, there was no doubt where his duty lay. If an innocent man had been wrongly convicted, then, even though he was now dead he was entitled to have his name cleared. It was all very simple. Except that…

Except that the discovery of her husband’s innocence would reconcile Maggie to his memory. At just the moment when she had begun to turn to himself, she would learn something that would be like a new barrier between them.

It dawned on Sebastian, with a kind of relief, that he could do nothing without first taking this up with the legitimate authorities. He thought of Hugo Ordonez, a good friend and local politician, influential in police circles. Early next morning he called him, received a warm greeting, and by lunchtime Sebastian was sitting in the man’s study.

‘It’s about Miguel Vargas, who was arrested recently,’ he said. ‘Or, rather, it’s about Felipe Mayorez.’

Ordonez looked surprised. ‘However did you get to hear so soon?’ he said.

‘I don’t understand. Hear what?’

‘About Vargas having committed the attack on Señor Mayorez. Not that we’re sure it’s true, but it’s hard to see why he should have confessed otherwise.’

Sebastian’s head shot up. ‘Confessed?’

‘Taunted us with it. Why not? A dozen witnesses saw him murder that police officer, so he knows he’s got nothing to lose. I suppose he thought he’d treat himself to the sight of authority with some explaining to do. Although, as I say, he may be lying for the hell of it.’

‘No,’ Sebastian said heavily. ‘He isn’t lying. Mayorez has identified him.’

He told the story of his talk with Carlos and Ordonez whistled thoughtfully.

‘What happens next?’ Sebastian asked.

‘Hard to be sure. It would still be difficult to charge him on the basis of what we’ve got. He’s just as likely to deny he ever confessed. We’ll probably spend so much time arguing about the likely outcome that it will just vanish in the files.’

And then nobody would ever have to know, Sebastian thought as he left. Nobody, including the woman whose burdens would be doubled by the knowledge of Roderigo Alva’s innocence.

Hadn’t she suffered enough? Wouldn’t it be an act of kindness to shield her from this revelation? But his conscience told him that he wanted Maggie kept in ignorance so that she would turn more fully to himself. If she knew what he’d discovered, would she ever truly be his? Fiercely, he longed to keep the truth to himself, and not risk shattering the closeness that was building between them. But had he the right to stay quiet for his own sake?

All the way home he struggled with his fears. There were so many good reasons for doing what suited himself, and as a man of power he was familiar with most of them. But he was also a man with a rigid moral code, and he had always found temptation easy to resist.

Until now.