The Flesh and the Devil (60 page)

         
Don Bautista fingered the necklace. 'Only a month's?' he
enquired, shocked.

         
'I like to live well when I can. Have no fear, I shall
repay your investment with interest, too!'

         
'But surely the girl will want to know what has become it
this? And least let me have it copied before you sell it.'

         
'She? No, she thinks I have returned it to the giver. She
was furious to learn that he thought she would accept such a gift, so I told
her that I would dispose of it and she need not see it again.' The yellowish
eyes twinkled. ‗I have never had an easier wench to satisfy - the rest
were for ever demanding why so-and-so had promised to send a present and it had
not come, or what had become of some trinket or other. This one will not even
look at what is sent her, so I need not even trouble to show her half of it.‘

         
'How long do you think it can last?' Don Bautista sounded
nervous. ‗Sooner or later these cockerels will lose interest, and then. .
. .‘

         
'Then those who persist will give more richly still, and by
the time the girl's favours are bestowed I shall not need to care for any man's
envy. And in the meantime -' she dropped the necklace into its case and snapped
the lid shut - 'I am bidden anywhere and everywhere, so long as I will bring
the little Margarita. Pleasant, is it not?'

         
Don Bautista did not answer for a moment. He was frowning
doubtfully, podgy fingers rubbing his black beard, and at last he said jerkily,
'How can you be sure that she will consent to take any one of them? She shows
no sign of favouring any, and if she does not take any man at all we will be
ruined.'

         
Dona Jeronima sighed audibly. 'Bautista, you must think me
stupid. Do you think I would go to hazard on such a chance as that? I can
ensure that she will go to bed with any man I choose for her, and be glad to do
it.' 'You mean - witchcraft?' His eyes widened superstitiously.

         
'You are obsessed with witches.' She eyed him
contemptuously. 'Nothing of the kind.'

         
'Then how, when she does not-'

         
'Some of the others were scarcely willing at first.' There
was a note of exasperation in Dona Jeronima's voice, then she smoothed it. 'I
learned very quickly not to rely on a girlish whim - the little fools would come
to the point, then change their minds. No, I had a - a medicine of my late
husband's which worked the trick, and helped to bring them to it. Ruy was very
old, you understand. And he is an apothecary in the Calle de los Angeles who
mixes the powder for me, with one or two others - only for sleeplessness, lack
of appetite, things like that,' she added impatiently. 'When I have chosen who
is to be Margarita's lover, I shall give her two - perhaps three grains, and I
warrant she will surprise him with her passion.' Don Bautista shifted away a
little, without meaning to. As he stared fascinatedly at her calmly smiling
face, he wondered whether Jeronima had ever had any normal human emotions.
Greed, yes, and a sort of unemotional - desire; but doubt, compunction and
sympathy were wholly alien to her.

         
He said awkwardly, turning the subject, ‗Where do you
go with her today?‘

         
'Oh, that is some other childish reach of hers! We were
asked on an expedition to the Molinas citrus orchards, a whole day out of this
stinking town and a chance to whip up both the de Fronteneras in a day, but my
lady declares that she is too tired to go. The little slut lies abed for half
the morning, too. I begin to think she is weak-blooded.'

         
Don Bautista eyed her with sudden slyness. 'Are you so
annoyed because it means you will not see the Englishman, Jeronima?'

         
Her mouth opened, shut quickly, and then she gave a tight
smile. 'Perhaps, Bautista, perhaps,' she acknowledged softly. 'I have always
had a liking for tall young men . . . and that one is far too intelligent to
stay long with that fool Elena.‘

         
Elena Argote de Molina y Fromenera murmured drowsily and
reached out a protesting hand. ‗Do-don't go yet, Felipe. Too . . . too
early.‘

        
‗I must, if you mean to go on this expedition of
pleasure this morning. Your servants will be coming soon to wake you, and your
husband might think it strange if they reported that they had found me here.‘

         
‗It

         
is

         
cancelled.‘

         
Elena

         
rubbed

         
her

         
eyes.

         
‗Lie

         
down

         
again.‘

         
Tristan's motion checked. 'Cancelled?' he queried sharply.

         
'It was only for Francisco and Agostin, to please the
Armendariz girl and she would not come. Felipe. . . .' He ignored the wheedling
note in her voice. 'Are they disappointed?'

         
'Oh, bitterly.' Elena turned over on the pillows, brushing
back her dark red hair with a languorous hand. 'As I shall be if you go so
soon,' she added pointedly.

         
'Have you not had your fill yet?' The question was
dispassionate, and he did not turn his head.

         
'Not of you.' Her fingers ran lightly down his spine. ‗Your
back is so smooth, Felipe. . . .‘ 'Then admire it, Elena,' he returned crisply.
She sat up at that, half indignant and half wondering. 'You despise me, don't
you?' she demanded, all the coquetry gone from her voice.

        
He turned his head, and the green eyes met hers. Like ice,
she thought, and shivered. 'But of course. Did you imagine I loved you?' 'Most
men do!' It was a cry.

         
'Most men do not know you as well as I do. Perhaps they
have not heard you telling your friends to humble an
English beggar
 
for his impudence and to make sure that he did
not dare to pretend love to a dona of Spain again. I learned that lesson at
least.' His voice stung. 'I no longer pretend love.'

         
Her lovely face was blank with astonishment. 'You blamed
me
!
 
But I was a child, a silly girl! I did not
understand that the scar would last - and it was Enrique who's,?????‘

         
He had half-turned to face her, and her gaze slid from his
face to travel caressingly over the width of his shoulders, the powerful chest
and arms, as her voice faltered into silence.

         
'Your first husband did not have enough brain to invent
this memento of mine. At first I thought of giving you its twin, Elena -' he
smiled faintly as she winced – ‗but I decided you were not worth the
penalty, and when I saw you again I knew that I had been right. Did you think
yourself so irresistible that after you had had my face cut open for a jest you
could make me love you again? You were never so fair in your heyday, and now—‘

         
The passionless insult in his tone brought her wandering
eyes back to his face, bright with anger. 'You came to me willingly enough!'
She was too shaken for artifice, but there was still a tinge of disbelief in
the words.

         
'You are a rich woman,' Tristan returned cuttingly. ‗What
should an English beggar do when he wants money - refuse an offered
treasure-chest because he dislikes turning the key?‘

         
Elena's cheeks flushed; her eyes glinted furiously, and
then she laughed, long and amusedly. 'Well, we are even! That was an underhand
blow, too, dearest Felipe, but now we know where we stand, do we not? At least
we may have done with any lies about love between us, and that is a welcome
change for me, let me tell you-To say
I
w
ant you
 
is much more honest' She stroked a long lock
of flame-red hair lying against his neck. 'Very well, I shall pay you
handsomely for my pleasure. I do not even care what you want the money for, as
long as it buys - shall we say your time? - when I require you. Is that fair?'

         
He was still as her arms crept about his neck. 'The Conde
has my sympathy,' he responded without emotion, and she chuckled.

         
'Oh, what are husbands for but to be cuckolded? Felipe?'
Her voice sharpened as she felt the sudden tension in him, his muscles
hardening under her hands. 'What is it? Oh—' she made a soft sound of
exasperation - 'I am forgetting our pact already. What shall I give you, a new
cloak? Or some fine French lace?

         
Or a horse?'

         
Tristan said, 'Give me enough money to buy back my sword.'
The green eyes seemed to look beyond her at-something she could not see; 'Then
we shall see.'

         
'You shall have enough for a dozen swords, only do not keep
me waiting,'

         
she told him huskily, if you - love me - enough, you need
never want for anything.

         
.. .'

         
The words trailed away as he let her draw his head down to
hers, and she gave a little sound that was half a gasp and half a sigh of
satisfaction as his scarred mouth touched hers. But then as her arms tightened
round him, he paused, and the coldly inimical look on his face shocked her.

         
'Your memory is short, Elena. You said we had done with
lying. I will pleasure you at a price, but as for love, I have no more desire
to offer it than you have to receive it; it does not matter, does it, between
us?'

         
Elena shook her head impatiently, brushing aside the words
she hardly heard; her gaze was too intent upon his mouth for her to comprehend
what he said, and the delay was goading her to frenzy. Somewhere in her brain a
small, unwelcome thought nagged and would not be swept away, but it was only
when the first waves of her desire were assuaged that she remembered what it
was. It had been stimulating, even exhilarating, to be possessed by a man as
uncaring as she was herself; a ruthless man who did not seem to have any
compunction about hurting her and who did not crawl or snivel like the rest of
the tame lap-dogs who frequented her bed. It was something she had never
dreamed that that ugly, importunate youth of so long ago could come to teach
her. Strange, she thought, that his indifference now should be so much more
exciting than his love had been then.

         
She moved a little, savouring the hard ruthlessness, the
sheer muscular size of the man in her arms, and she found herself wondering,
with a sudden curiosity that startled her, what passions lay chained behind his
mask of a face; even as he lifted her to the heights it had been unmoved,
unreadable, as though his body's participation were a mere ritual that left his
calculating mind untouched. It puzzled her; never before had she cared what a
man was thinking, so long as he satisfied her.