Free Meeting in Madrid by Jean S. Macleod Page B

Lucia observed drily, ‘but do we have to talk about Manuel all the time? He does his job at Soria and that is all we have to be concerned about.’
    ‘So long as he does it well,’ Don Jaime agreed, serving Catherine with a portion of the delicious mountain ham sliced so thinly as to be almost transparent. ‘I will see him in the morning about the horses.’
    ‘Cathy ought to have a horse to ride,’ Teresa suggested. ‘It is the only way to get around the estate when all the cars are in use.’
    ‘Can you ride?’ Don Jaime looked round at Catherine with a hint of doubt in his eyes.
    ‘Not very well,’ she was forced to confess. ‘I didn’t live that sort of life in England. My home was in London.’
    ‘Everyone rides here,’ Ramon interjected. ‘I will teach you, Cathy.’
    Don Jaime frowned.
    ‘I think we will rely on Manuel,’ he said drily. ‘You have other work to do.’
    A quick flash of resentment sparked in his brother’s eyes. ‘You must know that all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,’ he said, ‘but I will concede that Manuel does the teaching while I supply Cathy with the experience—in my free time.’
    Their gaze met over the silver candelabrum which adorned the table, the small flames of the candles reflected in their eyes as they confronted one another on yet another issue, before Ramon laughed.
    ‘Have no fear, Jaime,’ he said. ‘I am not rash enough to imagine that I will make a conquest immediately. Cathy will be hard to win!’
    Catherine felt distinctly uncomfortable. The others were looking at her, Teresa with amusement, Lucia with frank distaste, and Don Jaime with something like anger in his eyes. No one answered Ramon’s foolish boast, but the unguarded remark suggested that he might be the gay Lothario of the family, the youngest son encouraged to be macho by indulgent parents because they had little more to offer him. Eduardo had been their heir, and Don Jaime after him, but a third son would have to rely solely on his wits and whatever charm he might possess.
    The meal ended with large bowls of fresh fruit being passed round, peaches, dates and sweet Almeria grapes, all grown on the estate, and Don Jaime refilled their glasses with the smooth white wine which he had poured for the main course. A good sharp cheese followed with the excellent coffee which Dona Lucia poured at the table.
    It was midnight before they finally rose to go to bed and Lucia, as befitted the hostess, lingered in the sala while the others moved towards the staircase.
    ‘Jaime,’ she said briskly, ‘may I speak with you for a moment?’
    Don Jaime turned back towards the fireplace where they had all been sitting discussing Madrid.
    ‘Now, out will come all the complaints!’ Teresa murmured. ‘Jaime will have to listen to every little detail of domestic upheaval until she gets it all out of her system. Also—’
    She paused and Catherine turned to look at her.
    ‘There’s you and me,’ Teresa added. ‘Neither of us pleases my stepmother. I never have, and you have just come as a great shock to her. She expected you to be middle-aged and plain.’
    ‘Everyone did,’ Catherine sighed. ‘Even Don Jaime. When he first met me at the airport I thought he was about to send me straight back to London on the next flight.’
    ‘The Marquesa would not have it, and I am glad,’ Teresa declared, linking her arm in Catherine’s. ‘It is good to have someone young to talk to.’
    ‘Your stepmother isn’t exactly old,’ Catherine pointed out.
    ‘She’s twenty-nine,’ Teresa returned briskly. ‘One year older than Jaime. She married my father when she was twenty-five because no one else had spoken for her.’
    ‘Must a girl still be “spoken for” in Spain?’ Catherine asked doubtfully.
    ‘Not always. We are more emancipated now and can choose for ourselves, but Lucia came from a very strict family and she had lived all her life in the country. She was very old-fashioned, but