The Stand-In Bride

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE entire household settled to prepare for the birth of Sebastian’s son, for it was unthinkable that a man of power and respect would not sire a son first time. The boy would, of course, take his first name from his father, but there were several other names to be chosen, and the cook and the steward argued incessantly about the rival merits of Federico and Eduardo.

Sebastian took no part in this, merely shrugging and saying that fate would send what fate would send. Nobody took this foolishness seriously, but they respected him for his gallantry to his wife. It was clear that they were the perfect couple, which was only to be expected with a great man.

Nobody suspected that behind the ideal façade Don Sebastian and Donna Margarita were holding their breaths. They had their child and their happiness, but something had yet to be resolved. There were thoughts they shared, but never spoke of.

She knew, from José, of the night he’d talked to Sebastian about Roderigo and his behaviour during their marriage, but Sebastian himself made no mention of the matter. And if his knowledge of what she had endured made him gentler than ever towards her, how could she tell? He was always gentle, these days.

Something precious was flowering between them, but it grew slowly and hadn’t yet reached the point of mutual confidence. They both realised that on the night a photograph slipped out from the pages of a book Maggie had brought back with her from England.

‘I didn’t know it was there,’ she said, apologetically reaching down to take it before her husband saw. But he reached it first, because she was growing large now, and moving slowly.

It was a wedding picture. The bride was very young, her face open, innocent and adoring. The groom wore a ‘suitable’ smile. To Sebastian’s suspicious eyes, it seemed less adoring than predatory, but he knew better than to voice this thought.

The past was still a threatening shadow, but he knew that Maggie had somehow come to terms with it, and he wouldn’t risk disturbing that delicate equilibrium. So he retrieved the picture and handed it to her, smiling to hide his jealousy.

‘I thought I’d destroyed them all,’ she said.

‘There’s no need to destroy it because of me,’ he said, longing for her to do so.

He thought for a moment that she would, but then she gave a tense smile and slipped the picture away in a drawer.

‘You still feel guilty?’ he asked.

‘Only because I have so much. It seems dreadful to be happy when he’s dead.’

‘Are you really?’ he asked with a touch of wistfulness.

‘You know I am.’

‘I know only of the joy you give to me,’ he said, dropping to one knee and laying his hand over her swelling. ‘I wish there was some gift I could give you in return.’

‘But you give me everything.’

‘I don’t mean that kind of gift. I mean peace of mind-the freedom to be happy-’

‘The freedom to be happy,’ she echoed longingly. ‘Does anybody have that?’

‘I have it-or rather, I would, if you had it too. I wish-’ He stopped and sighed. ‘But what can I do?’

‘Nothing,’ she said, understanding him. ‘We must treasure what we have, and not ask for more.’

He couldn’t find the words to say that this couldn’t be enough for him. Somehow, somewhere, there was a gift of love he could make her, and if he watched for the chance, it would surely come. If only, he thought, it didn’t take too long.

Yet when the moment did arrive, he almost missed it.

Catalina was passionately interested in Maggie’s pregnancy. She read baby books, she studied diets, she argued about names, and grew closer to Isabella who was similarly absorbed. Sebastian, noting these changes, observed that it was time she married.

‘Then you’d better ease up about José,’ Maggie observed as Sebastian gave her his arm to cross the short distance to their bed.

‘I have. I allow him to haunt the house like a sick donkey. She goes out with him, always returns home later than she promised, and I turn a blind eye. And today I told her that if she wished to become betrothed I could probably put up with it.’

Maggie chuckled as he settled her pillows. ‘Done with all your grace and charm, in fact.’

‘Well, I told you,’ he growled, ‘I don’t like it, and I’m damned if I’m going to pretend that I do.’

The following evening Catalina had dinner in town with José. When she returned she went straight to Sebastian’s study. He looked up, surprised to see her alone. ‘Where is José?’

‘He didn’t want to come in.’

Something constrained in her manner made him frown. ‘But isn’t this a night for celebration? Didn’t you get engaged? Catalina, what has happened?’ For the girl shrugged and looked awkward.

‘I’m not sure-that is-we don’t know each other so well.’

‘After all this time? Besides, I thought you were determined to marry him.’

‘That was when you were saying no,’ Catalina said in a burst of honesty.

Sebastian grinned. ‘I see. Now I’ve said yes, it becomes a boring, conventional courtship, without the spice of drama.’

‘The world is full of handsome young men,’ Catalina said dreamily. ‘I’ve told José that I will still see him, but we can’t be engaged, and I consider myself free to see other men.’

‘You’ve what?’

‘Alfonso is very nice.’

‘Alfonso is a damned sight too good for you.’

Catalina giggled. ‘He doesn’t think so. He says I’m so far above him that he dare not hope-but I told him no man should give up hope.’

‘Spare me the details. So you plan to keep them both on tenterhooks. I begin to pity José. I was thinking of you as his victim, but in fact he is yours. Was he very upset?’

Catalina shrugged. ‘I may marry him one day-if I don’t marry Alfonso-but I want some fun first.’ Then her smile faded and she looked uneasy.

‘Is something else the matter?’ Sebastian asked.

‘José gave me this,’ she said, producing an envelope from her bag. ‘For Maggie.’

Frowning, he took the envelope. It bore no name, and was sealed. ‘Did he tell you what’s in it?’ he asked.

‘Only that it’s a letter, from Roderigo. He’s had it for years, and now he wants her to see it. He says he should have given it to her long ago, but she was so bitter and unhappy that he feared it would make things worse. Oh Sebastian, don’t you see what that means? Roderigo must have written this in prison, while he was dying, and entrusted it to José. It’s his last letter to her. Let me burn it.’

‘What?’

‘What good can it do her to read it now? You can guess what it says, can’t you?’

‘Doubtless he repeats his protestations of innocence,’ Sebastian said wearily. ‘Which we now know are true.’

‘But suppose it’s worse than that. Suppose he says he loves her? That’s just the sort of tricky thing he’d do to spoil everything for her. Maggie is yours, now, but if she reads this-’

Then her husband’s last declaration of love, made from his deathbed, would reconcile her to his memory with a completeness and finality that could shut out Sebastian again. He knew the bitter truth.

How much better, then, to do as Catalina said? It could only increase Maggie’s grief, while doing no practical good. To destroy it would help him keep her heart for himself, and her heart was the only thing in the world that mattered to him now. He turned away from Catalina’s shrewd eyes and went to stand by the window, racked with temptation.

‘Why do you hesitate?’ Catalina demanded. ‘Burn it, now-for both your sakes.’

‘For my sake? Perhaps she needs to see this.’

‘But what good could that do-now that it’s too late?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said heavily. ‘I only know that not to give it to her would be dishonest. And if two people don’t have honesty between them, they have nothing.’

‘Is this you talking, Sebastian? I’ve heard you say that sometimes a man must deceive a woman a little, for her own good.’

‘Did I say that? Well, perhaps-a long time ago, in another life.’

‘So what am I to do?’

‘Leave this with me. And, for the moment, say nothing to Margarita.’

When Catalina had gone Sebastian stared at the blank, unrevealing envelope. Now his own fine words rose up to mock him. Honesty, yes, but at what price? The price of seeing Roderigo Alva’s memory vindicated in the heart of the woman who had loved him-perhaps, still did?

His life had been built on fine-sounding principles-honesty, duty, honour. Suddenly they were impossibly hard, demanding an act that could tear the heart out of him. But if it could ease her suffering and bring her peace-what right did he have to deny her that?

Once he had thought it would be so easy to love. A man loved a woman; she loved him. What more was there?

Now he saw that love could devastate a man, and give him nothing in return but the knowledge that he had sacrificed himself for a woman, and that she neither knew nor cared. Should anyone be asked to pay such a price?

He took up the envelope, turning it this way and that between his fingers, wishing he knew what was inside. At last he rose and went to the fireplace. Summer had come, but in the foothills it was still sometimes chilly at night, and a few logs glowed. He stood for a long time, staring into the flickering light. Then, slowly, he held out the letter to the flames.

Maggie was almost ready for bed when he came to her. He found her sitting by the fire in her own room, looking at the wedding picture of herself and Roderigo that she’d brought from England. It struck him suddenly how often she gazed at that picture when she thought he didn’t know.

She looked up quickly as he neared and showed him the picture. ‘I was thinking it was time I got rid of it.’

‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘Wait until you see this.’

‘What is it?’ she asked, disturbed by his grave face.

‘I’ve brought you something. José gave it to Catalina tonight, to give to you. It’s a letter from Roderigo.’

‘A letter-for me?’ It seemed to him that she paled.

‘He must have written it in prison just before he died and entrusted it to José. He’s kept it all this time, waiting for the right moment.’

He held it out to her. Maggie took it with shaking hands, and glanced briefly at the scorch-marks on the envelope before tearing it open. Slowly she slid the letter out, opened it, and lay it flat on her lap. But she didn’t read it. Then she said something strange.

‘I wasn’t a good wife. I was too young, and I knew nothing. If I’d been older I might have coped better with Roderigo, maybe helped him.’

He wanted to shout, ‘Don’t make excuses for him.’ But it was too late. His heart was heavy as he realised that she’d guessed the contents of the letter, even as he had, and was preparing herself. He had given her the thing that would destroy them.

‘Shall I leave you to read it alone?’ he asked.

She didn’t answer and he doubted she’d even heard. A stillness had come over her, like the stillness of death. She stared at the paper in her hands but he couldn’t tell if she saw it. At last she lifted it and read what was written. Then she read it again, and as she did so her head sank lower until she covered her eyes with her hand.

A cold fear gripped him. He felt he ought to leave her but he couldn’t have gone away if his life had depended on it.

‘Margarita,’ he whispered. He stepped closer and put his hands on her shoulders, dropping to his knees beside her. ‘Tell me, my dearest,’ he said.

She raised her head and stared into the distance. ‘I always knew,’ she said quietly. ‘In my heart, I always knew. I wish José had shown me this before. I know he thought he was acting for the best-but if I’d only read this sooner-’

‘Would it have made so much difference?’ Sebastian asked sadly.

‘Oh, yes-all the difference in the world. You can think you know what’s in a man’s heart, but when you see it set down in black and white, in his own words-’ She sighed, and his pain deepened.

‘And do you now know what was in his heart?’ he asked.

She nodded.

‘Margarita, don’t be sad,’ he begged. ‘I know it’s hard to read his words of love when it’s too late, but what you had can never be taken away. Cling to that. Love him if you must. One day, perhaps, you’ll turn to me completely, but until then I can be content with what we have. You are worth waiting for.’

At last she raised her head and looked at him. ‘What do you think this letter says?’ she asked.

‘I think it tells you of his love. That hurts you now, but one day it will bring you peace.’

Maggie pushed the letter towards him. ‘Read it,’ she said.

‘Are you sure-?’

‘Quite sure. I want you to read this, Sebastian, because if you don’t, you and I will never understand each other.’

Slowly, almost reluctantly, he took the letter and ran his eyes over it. The first shock came at once. ‘It’s dated eight years ago-before you were married.’

‘He didn’t write it to me,’ Maggie said. ‘He wrote it to José, from England, soon after we met. Read it.’

Sebastian began to read.

Hey there, little cousin,

I did it! I found myself a real heiress. Her name’s Maggie, she’s eighteen, pretty enough in an English sort of way, which means she’s a bit insipid for my taste. But she’s loaded so I’ll just have to put up with her looks. Her parents just died, leaving her a couple of hefty insurance policies, plus a house. You should see that house! It almost makes me want to stay here and live in it, but I guess my creditors would prefer it sold.

You never thought I could manage it, did you? Or maybe you just hoped I couldn’t. Get real, boy! When I was your age I put women on pedestals, too, but believe me, that’s not where they belong. A man needs money, especially a man like me.

She’s young and she adores me. I can mould her, and I’ll be a good husband as long as she behaves herself. Besides, everyone knows women can’t manage money. I’ll be doing her a favour.

I’ve written to the most awkward of my creditors telling them money’s on its way. That should stall them for a while, and with any luck I’ll be back in a few weeks with a new wife and enough to set me up in style.

Life’s going to be good. As for ‘tying myself down’-who’s going to? There are plenty of hot, spicy women who like having fun with a man as rich as I’m going to be. I’ll live my own life, and my wife will do as she’s told.

There was more, but Sebastian was too disgusted to read on. The whole man was there-selfish, faithless, treacherous, convinced of his own superiority, his divine right over the woman.

And there was something more, something he was ashamed to admit. There were words in that letter that could have been written by himself. She’s young… I can mould her… Hadn’t he said much the same, while preparing to marry a vulnerable young girl that he didn’t love?

But that had been a long time ago, in another life, before he’d learned the value of a woman’s heart.

Half-afraid, he looked at Maggie. She was staring into space.

‘He never loved me at all,’ she said quietly. ‘I realised very soon that my money was a big attraction for him, but I made myself believe that there was some real love there too. But there was none. Some part of me must have suspected that, but I wouldn’t let myself know it.

‘After he died in that terrible way, I shut out the bad and magnified the good. And, when his name was cleared, I felt so guilty that I made myself forget the truth about him.’

‘The truth,’ Sebastian said, ‘was that he was a very nasty piece of work, who brought his troubles on himself.’

‘Yes,’ Maggie said. ‘That really was the truth. Before we even married he was planning to make me pay for his girlfriends.’

‘I wonder,’ he said slowly, ‘how you ever found the courage to trust yourself to another man.’

‘Not all men are the same. I took too long to understand that. But what I still don’t understand-’ she rose and looked into his face ‘-is why you gave this letter to me, if you thought it was a love-letter.’

‘I thought it might help you find peace. There is nothing I wouldn’t give, or do, to bring you that peace.’

She touched his cheek. There was a strange, shining light in her eyes. ‘You love me as much as that?’

‘Yes,’ he said simply. ‘I love you as much as that.’

‘And thanks to your love, I’m free. It’s as though a terrible weight has gone from me. It might have crushed me all my life, but you freed me.’

He was dazed by the memory of how close he’d come to burning the letter, and destroying them both. Or perhaps he merely thought he had. He only knew that when he held it out to the flames some power had drawn him back before it was too late. Looking at her eyes, fixed on him, candid and unshadowed for the first time, he thought perhaps he knew the name of that power.

He couldn’t tell her about his temptation. At least, not yet. One day, long in the future, he might say, ‘You too set me free, and this is how it happened.’

Or perhaps, by then, they would no longer need words.

‘Sebastian,’ she said softly, ‘have I ever told you that I love you?’

He shook his head. ‘But then, I have never before told you.’

‘Not in words, but in many other ways.’

‘You are my whole being and existence,’ he said slowly. ‘You are my love and my life. You are everything to me. You are more, even, than our child.’

‘I lost faith in love. Thank you for giving me back my faith.’

‘And-him?’

‘You want to know if I love you as I loved Roderigo? No, I don’t. And I’m glad of it. You should be too. There was always something wrong with that love, and now I know what. He wasn’t worth loving. That’s the greatest pain of all, to waste love on someone who isn’t worth it. I shall never know that pain with you.’

She tossed the letter into the fire, then lifted the photograph and studied it, while Sebastian never took his eyes from her.

‘It’s there, isn’t it?’ she said at last. ‘The slyness and meanness-it was there in his face all the time. But I wouldn’t let myself see it.’

With a quick movement she cast the picture into the flames where it shrivelled. The last thing they saw was Roderigo’s face curling up, blurring, vanishing.

‘He’s gone at last,’ Maggie said. ‘Now there is only us.’

‘Only us,’ he echoed, taking her into his arms. ‘Yes, only us. Forever.’

In the church of San Nicolas the Christmas greenery was piled high about the pulpit, the font, up against the walls. Down below, the lights glowed softly over the manger. The wooden child lay in the crib, his arms stretched slightly upward to the living baby looking down at him from wide dark eyes.

‘Look, my darling,’ Sebastian murmured. ‘He is greeting you. Say hello to him.’

‘Sebastian,’ Maggie chided him, smiling, ‘she’s only three months old.’

‘No matter,’ he said. ‘In years to come she’ll know that she came here in her father’s arms. She may not remember, but she will know.’

‘A beautiful child,’ Father Basilio said, reaching up to lay a finger against the baby’s cheek. And then, being-for all his sanctity-a man and a Spaniard, he added consolingly, ‘And the next one will probably be a boy.’

‘Don’t let Sebastian hear you say that,’ Catalina laughed. ‘He thinks his little Margarita is a queen.’

‘Fate sends what fate sends,’ Sebastian said, straightening up and settling his baby daughter lovingly against his shoulder. ‘Fate sent this little one to be a jewel for her Papa.’

‘Who’s that in the doorway?’ the priest asked, screwing up his eyes against the poor light.

‘José and Alfonso,’ Sebastian said, ‘waiting to see who will be honoured with this baggage’s company on the way home. It’s time you decided between them, Catalina. You are bringing scandal on my house.’

Catalina went down the aisle to where José and Alfonso waited humbly. The old priest followed her to greet them.

Sebastian looked over the baby’s head at his wife. He had more than one jewel, but he never spoke of the other one to outsiders, only to her. Maggie smiled at him, then looked back at the crib, touching the wooden baby with a gentle hand.

‘That was how I saw you this time last year,’ Sebastian reminded her. ‘And I think I understood in that moment that you were far more to me than a woman I had tried and failed to conquer. You touched my heart, and that was when I began to be afraid.’

‘Afraid? You?’

‘You sought no quarter and you gave none. It was I who yielded. And I have been glad ever since. You took a robot, and brought him to life.’ He kissed his child. ‘And only life can give life.’

His wife reached up to where his cheek lay against their baby’s head, caressing them both at the same time. ‘Let’s go home now,’ she said fondly. ‘Life is only just beginning.’

They walked out of the church together. At the door she looked back at the Christmas scene and smiled, but she didn’t linger.

It would be there again next year.