Free Indiscretion by Hannah Fielding

reached a path at the end of the garden where centuries-old sycamores and cypresses spread their dense shade. On either side, orchards of carefully tended lemon, pomegranate and orange trees exhaled their intoxicating scent. She paused momentarily, not wanting to become lost before she could make it back to the house in time for breakfast, but an impulse to explore further got the better of her. All at once, at a bend in the avenue of trees, she came to a clearing where the shade was less dense, a sort of elevated plateau overlooking the surrounding countryside from where several narrow paths ran in different directions.
    Alexandra stopped to take in the impressive view that stretched boundlessly to the horizon. Scattered in the distant, windswept hills were modest whitewashed buildings, olive groves, fig trees, and herdsmen on horseback with their long lances, tending the horses and bulls. She breathed in the air, listening for the slightest sound.
    England seemed so far away: the house in Chelsea … Aunt Geraldine … Alexandra’s attention returned to the landscape and she leaned against the trunk of a cypress tree, closing her eyes. The air was balmy, dense, charged with a multitude of different sounds and intermingling scents. There was the soft rustling of leaves and the continuous buzzing of insects, the noisy chirping of birds and the muffled murmur of a nearby stream, punctuated by the strident creaking of
norias
, ancient water wheels that still dotted the countryside, the buckets attached to them used to raise water and transfer it to various irrigation channels. Suddenly, she was startled by a voice calling from behind her: ‘Doña Alexandra, I presume.’
    She turned sharply. Lounging against the trunk of a lemon tree, in the orchard beside the track on which she was standing, his arms folded, a man was looking at her with a mocking smile. She watched as he approached. He was tall and fair, with a weather-beaten complexion that emphasized the colour of his corn-yellow hair, which seemed to Alexandra a trifle too long. His countenance looked, to her mind, somewhat vulgar, although doubtless many women would find him seductive. She instantly felt a visceral dislike for him.
    He gave a slight bow. ‘Fernando Lopez, steward and trusted servant of His Grace the Count of Rueda, at your service,’ he announced smiling and, without waiting for her reply, he went on: ‘Isn’t it a glorious morning?’
    ‘Indeed,’ she agreed. ‘I couldn’t resist your dazzling sun. I’m afraid I’ve managed to get lost,’ she added, eager to escape from the man as quickly as possible. ‘Perhaps you would be good enough to direct me back to the house.’
    ‘It will be a pleasure to escort you there, dear
señorita
,’ the steward replied in an oily voice.
    ‘I can make my own way, thanks. What time is it?’
    ‘Twenty past nine, you’d better make haste.’
    She disliked his proprietory tone. ‘And why is that?’
    ‘Because breakfast is served at half-past nine,’ he shrugged. ‘It’s common knowledge that her Grace the
Duquesa
has rather eccentricviews about punctuality at mealtimes, and I don’t think it would be wise to run foul of the old girl when you’ve only just arrived.’
    Alexandra raised her eyebrows in surprise at the evident lack of respect that Fernando Lopez had just shown towards her grandmother. She surveyed him coolly. ‘I don’t think my grandmother’s requirement that her family join her at mealtimes is the slightest bit eccentric,’ she said curtly. ‘On the contrary, it shows a sense of family and is completely justified, since she’s the head of it. I’d be grateful if, in the future, you restrain yourself from criticizing any member of the family in my presence.’ Her green eyes flashed angrily. She was taken aback by her own vehemence on behalf of the
Duquesa
, towards whom she herself had felt such antagonism for so many years. Still, through some impulse of instinctive loyalty,