Masquerade (28 page)

It was then that she saw Leandro. Her heart jumped into her throat. He was wearing a tight white T-shirt and faded loose jeans rolled above the ankles. Firelight flickered on his bronzed skin and muscled arms as he danced barefoot in a group of
Tzigane
men, all interlinking arms across each other’s shoulders. His long chestnut hair fell over his face in wild disarray as he moved in a way that made him look almost primitive.

Luz felt a visceral hunger burn in her blood at the sight of him, every nerve ending in her remembering how his body had felt to touch when he had made love to her in the sand that afternoon, and how far away he was from her now. When the music came to a halt and more cheers and shouts broke out, he accepted a swig from a wineskin, drinking deeply and wiping his hand across his mouth. Although he smiled at his fellow
gitanos
as they patted him heartily on the back, Luz noticed his body language was pent-up and restless, like that of a caged animal, as he stepped back from the small group and went to join Nicholae and the
gitana
he had called Marujita.

Luz shifted uncomfortably in the sand, watching Leandro take a seat in the ring of people that had increased around the fire. Looking down, he ran a hand through his hair. A familiar feeling of pressure formed in her chest: this was his world and she had no part in it. Did he still think of her? Could he turn off his passion so easily? A jagged pain cut through her even though she knew it was hopeless to yearn for him this way.

The feast in the gypsy camp was now in full swing. Voices rose rhythmically, shot through with shouts and the occasional report of a revolver. The moon shone in all her silver splendour, spotlighting the lone figure now central to this kaleidoscopic whirl of colour, a dancing
Tzigane
girl with piercing black eyes and long jet-black hair
worn in a single braid that hung down her back like a gleaming rope. She wore voluminous, flounced multicoloured skirts, an embroidered bodice and tight basque of coloured calico.

The girl’s waist was tightly cinched by a narrow belt, which further emphasized the curving lines of her very full bust and hips. Her slender arms were covered with gold bracelets, bangles and chains, and in her graceful hand she held a tambourine, which she tapped in time with the music. A gauzy veil floated on her head, which she used for posturing. Her well-shaped feet and ankles were bare. From time to time there were glimpses of silver anklets and hennaed toes and heels as her feet twinkled in and out under the long skirts. For this brief interlude she was queen of all, surrounded by a circle of men and women, now four-deep, who were beating time for her dancing by clapping hands and knees rhythmically; all the while they chanted a loud call, which rose in volume until the air throbbed with it and then diminished to a lower note before swelling higher again.

The
Tzigane
girl danced faster and faster, hesitating only when deciding on which man she would choose to join her in the dance. At each new round her gestures and postures became more provocative until she threw her veil over Leandro, who was seated in the first circle.

He looked up as the veil trailed off his face. Leaping up, he instantly seized her waist and they swung together amid the
olés
and cries of exhilaration of the excited audience in the circle, surrendering to the repetitious, stimulating beat. There was a look of something fierce on his face as he danced: an exorcism of some passionate, angry emotion that gripped him as he spun himself and the
Tzigane
girl around. Though he looked at her intently, it was as if he wasn’t seeing her.

Now Leandro signalled to Marujita to join them inside the ring. The older
gitana
took up her castanets and stalked into the space, twirling her hands like proud birds. Now the true queen had taken the stage for all to see. With mesmerizing nobility the gypsy danced, her head held high, hands and arms moving with a power and beauty that were breathtaking. Every movement, while exaggerated in its
twists and turns, was fluidly graceful; then she dipped and twirled aggressively like an Amazon warrior, her castanets clattering like gunfire. Marujita’s black eyes shone like some terrifying goddess as her arms swooped up like wings about to take flight. Even the
Tzigane
girl fell to the side, leaving Leandro encircling Marujita, an expression of fire and reverence on his face and, if Luz was not mistaken, pain.

Luz was so transfixed that she forgot herself for a moment and raised herself up to get a better view. Suddenly she saw Marujita’s head jerk towards her as if she had caught her scent, but then the gypsy turned back again and carried on with her dance. Luz dipped down and lay on her back, breathing faster. Could she have been seen? Surely she was too well hidden. Nevertheless, Luz had seen enough; she did not belong here.

It was tempting to cast a last glance back at Leandro but instead she wriggled slowly back, keeping as low as possible, hearing the explosion of shouts and
olés
, whooping and whistling as the pulsating music came to a roaring finish. Once at the edge of the dunes, Luz scrambled quickly down the bank. She skidded so fast through the sand that she half fell the last distance, grabbing on to a hard tuft of seagrass.

‘Back again, looking for him?’

Luz’s head snapped up, startled by the husky female voice, and her eyes met the jet-black stare of the gypsy, Marujita. She was standing with one hand on her hip, the other holding a bottle of brandy at her side. Beneath the heavy make-up her skin was even greyer than Luz remembered, making her look suddenly much older, without a trace of the beauty she must once have held. A triumphant smile curled at Marujita’s lips.

‘You’re persistent,
hermosa jovencita
!’ She took a gulp from the bottle, her charcoal eyes fixed on Luz. ‘As I told you before, gypsies have long memories and I remember you. Very well.’

Luz straightened up and dusted the sand off her jeans. It unnerved her to think that the
gitana
had somehow sensed she was there, hiding
among the dunes. The gypsy made her want to bolt, but she stood her ground, meeting the older woman’s intense gaze.

‘I was taking a walk as I couldn’t sleep and stumbled across your gathering quite by chance,
señora
,’ she explained truthfully.

Marujita ignored her. ‘You’ve no business here. This is not a place for
gajos
, though I know why you’ve come,’ she almost sneered.

Luz raised her chin, determined not to feel intimidated. ‘I don’t know what you mean. Besides, you don’t own the beach. I have as much right to be here as you.’

The gypsy let out a rasping laugh and took a swig of her bottle. ‘Oh, you’re a rebellious one, aren’t you? Well, you have no rights in our world. Gypsy law is gypsy law.’ She gave a sly smile and tossed back her unkempt hair. ‘But I could help you with the one you want, help you catch him. That’s what you desire most, isn’t it?’

Luz gazed at Marujita impassively, not wanting her to know how rattled she felt. The
gitana
had the most disturbing presence she had ever encountered. What did she know of Luz’s feelings for Leandro? She had offered Luz a love talisman when they had first met and, if the old witch Paquita hadn’t snatched it back and warned Marujita off, what would Luz have found wrapped up in that small parcel?

‘How can you know what I want?’ Luz said. She didn’t really want to hear what Marujita had to say but part of her was intrigued.

‘I know things about you just by looking into your face,’ Marujita replied. Her sardonic smile seemed to harden as her black eyes roved over Luz’s features as if taking them in anew. In the pale moonlight Luz could see that the gypsy’s expression had assumed a deadly mask. ‘Oh yes, I know you,
hermosa jovencita
.’ Then abruptly she snapped, ‘The one you want has other fish to fry. He doesn’t want you – not in the way you dream of.’

‘And what makes you think you can see into the head of every
gitano
in the camp?’ Luz shot back boldly, not caring that she might be giving too much away.

‘I am the queen of the
Calés
. I know everything about them, each and every one of them.’ The gypsy’s eyes gleamed malignantly.
‘You think you
gajo
women can come along and take our men whenever you want. You can never have the one you run after. He is a
gitano
, and blood doesn’t mix.’ A strange look crossed her face as if the thought pained and angered her at the same time. ‘Why would he look at you when there are plenty of fine gypsy girls lining up for him? He is one of us and tonight he can have the pick of any girl!’

Luz’s heart constricted. The thought of Leandro in another woman’s arms was almost too much to bear. She stared at the gypsy with stunned incomprehension. It was well known that
gitanos
distrusted anyone outside their own kind and on their previous encounters Luz had put Marujita’s cryptic, threatening aura down to that peculiar quality that some gypsies had. But what she saw now in the
gitana
’s dark eyes was pure hatred. What was wrong with this woman? Why did she seem so determined to hurt her?

Luz breathed in and gazed at her intently. ‘As I said,
señora
, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Marujita took a final drink and looked Luz up and down balefully. ‘You can never escape your fate,’ she hissed. And with that, still clutching her bottle, she picked up her skirts and disappeared into the dunes.

Luz stared after her for a moment, nervous anger and distress coursing through her veins. What had the
gitana
meant about fate? Hadn’t that old witch Paquita warned that she would be cursed if she tried to avoid her destiny? She shuddered. In any case, whatever was in store for her, she felt powerless to fight it now. Her life was like the inexorable tide of the sea, pushing her further into a great, unknown expanse … or was she heading closer to the rocks? She wished she knew. None of this was what she’d expected when she left the cliff house that night and, as Luz made her way back along the shimmering stretch of beach, she had a sense of foreboding that descended upon her like a crouching incubus.

The silver moon bathed the shoreline in a luminous glow as streaks of dark cloud reached out towards it like long arms wanting to extinguish the light. As Luz followed the brim of the water’s
edge back to L’Estrella, the lone figure of a man stood at the top of the dunes staring after her. Silhouetted against the fire-lit indigo night, he watched Luz for a long time before disappearing back to the gypsy camp.

The next week flew by in a blur. Luz was determined to bury her turbulent emotions in work and exercise. Carmela commented on her relentless activity but Luz reassured the housekeeper that she was merely enjoying being busy. Her inner torment remained a secret only she would know.

One morning Luz had spent a good hour exercising Zeyna up and down the shore. Along the waterfront a few cotton-wool clouds seemed to bounce over the harbour and the ships’ masts, with sunlight rippling on the water and ref lecting the bows. Afternoon shadows threw chequered lights upon the white dune-backed beach. Windsurfers glided silently along the transparent blueness of the ocean.

Luz was splashing back through the shallows, a game she often indulged in with Zeyna, when suddenly she froze and stared, her heart lurching uncontrollably. There he was, large as life, twenty yards away, leaning casually against his motorcycle and talking to his gypsy friends. His jeans clung to his athletic thighs as he swung one leg over the bike, the black tank top moulding to his torso in a way that made her mouth go dry; his long sun-bleached hair was ruffled by the breeze with wisps across his face accentuating his rakish good looks. As he gripped the handlebars, her eyes were drawn to his muscled, tanned arms, which time and again had hauled her into their powerful embrace. How she longed for him! Had he been on his own, she would not have hesitated to jump off her horse and run to him, all resolution cast to the winds.

Instead she made Zeyna slow down and steered her into his view, wanting to catch his eye, for him to smile, wave at her or make any
sign at all to acknowledge he had seen her and that, even if they were not lovers any more, they were not complete strangers either. As she neared he lifted his head and for a second her heart leapt joyously in the hope that he was going to turn towards her, but he slammed the engine into gear and rode off in a roar, kicking up a mist of thin white sand as he went.

Luz felt the sting of tears well up in her eyes as she nudged her mare to a full gallop in the direction of home. The words of the gypsy Marujita rang in her ears: ‘The one you want has other fish to fry. He is a
gitano
and blood doesn’t mix.’ Strong gusts whipped her hair across her face as she rode, gripping the reins ever more tightly.

Like a forbidden mirage he would always appear just when she thought her love for him was waning.

The next day, Luz finally heard from Andrés. A note was hand-delivered from his office, but without roses this time. She was hardly surprised after the way she had behaved at La Fortaleza. With trembling hands she opened the cream envelope. His note was brief and to the point, very courteously summoning her to Caldezar Corporación, SA for a briefing session to bring him up to date. He hoped she could make the appointment he had set up and would be most grateful if she would either confirm it or make another date with his secretary if this one was inconvenient. She breathed a sigh of relief – at least she wasn’t being fired.

The meeting was set up for the following morning. Luz took particular care to present a neat and professional appearance just as she had done before when she first visited Andrés’ office. She wore a beige suit, which hugged her in all the right places, and put up her hair in a severe chignon, which offset her shapely cheekbones and made her sapphire eyes seem even wider. Pearl earrings, a small quilted Chanel bag and matching high heels achieved the quietly
sophisticated image she was looking for. A last glance in the mirror assured her that she could not have presented herself better.