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‘I hope you’re right, Sarah. Pawns don’t survive long on the board,’ he spelt out unpleasantly.
* * *
Their flight was delayed and it was late afternoon when they finally landed in Seville. The heat was horrific. By the time Sarah had reclaimed their luggage and dissuaded the twins from wandering off and getting lost, she felt hot and tired and bedraggled.
‘Where’s Daddy?’ Gilly wailed.
Where indeed? Sarah wondered grimly as she scanned the busy reception area. Of course, in the few minutes he had spared her on the phone he hadn’t said that he would meet them; she had taken that for granted. It really didn’t pay to take things for granted with Rafael.
‘Senora Alejandro?’
She spun and found herself facing a portly little man, clutching a chauffeur’s cap between his hands. ‘Yes…si?’ she adjusted uncertainly.
‘Don Rafael sends his apologies. He is unable to be here,’ he said in slow and carefully enunciated English. ‘I am the chofer, Timoteo Delgados. Please to follow, por favor.’ His expression was anxious, suggesting that he had just delivered a well-rehearsed speech.
Without further ado, he took charge of the trolley and cut a firm passage through the crowds. Gilly and Ben raced ahead and Sarah quickened her pace to keep up. It was cooler outside but the more bearable temperature barely registered with her as she crossed to the parking area. Timoteo was loading their cases into an incredibly opulent white Rolls-Royce. Sarah raised a brow. It had to be a hire car, she decided, and a limousine was decidedly over the top. A personal appearance from Rafael would have been far more impressive.
‘Is it a long drive?’ Timoteo regarded her blankly. ‘Have we far to go?’ she rephrased.
‘Lo siento mucho, senora. No hablo ingles,’ he confided worriedly.
He slammed the door, sealing them into the luxury interior. In a spirit of rebellion Sarah kicked off her shoes and flexed her cramped toes while her highly impressionable children exclaimed over the superior mode of their transport. Even so, she was conscious of a treacherous little jag of excitement when she looked out on the city’s narrow, tortuous streets and flat-roofed white houses and glimpsed the Gothic magnificence of the fifteenth-century cathedral that stood out against the stark azure-blue skyline. Too soon they were speeding down the motorway where interesting views were at a premium and it was almost an hour before they graduated on to twisty country roads. Silvery green olive groves and orchards bursting with oranges and lemons were interrupted by rich expanses of pastureland. An evocative citrusy scent filtered into the car and her nostrils flared appreciatively.
The limousine began to slow down at the top of a steep hill and made a graceful turn into the mouth of a massive stone archway barred by tall wrought-iron gates. In electronic silence the gates parted and swept back. A broad tree-lined driveway stretched straight as an arrow before them.
Sarah sat bolt upright and stared. The driveway fanned into a delicate arc in front of a vast building boasting an elegant faade of slender columns and arches in an architectural style that was strongly reminiscent of a Moorish palace. An exotic tangle of red and violet bougainvillaea cascaded over the walls. Stone urns of hydrangeas and geraniums in full bloom studded the mosaic-tiled terrace beneath the arches. Through the trees she had teasing glimpses of verdant gardens embellished with palms and fountains playing glittering jets of water into the hot, still air.
Her frown of astonished incomprehension slid away. Obviously Rafael had booked them into a hotel. She should have guessed that at the airport when the chauffeur and the limousine had materialised! Presumably two weeks’ cool-headed reflection had persuaded Rafael that full-time parenting might make serious inroads into his freedom. And they were only two and a half months short of a divorce. In London Rafael had decided too much in the heat of the moment and this was the result. Bitter anger currented through Sarah as the car drew to a stately halt. He was a self-centred, double-dealing swine! He had uprooted her from her job, her home and her security on a whim, and now he was parking them under a hotel roof where they could cause him the least possible inconvenience!
‘Daddy!’ Ben squealed, and as Timoteo opened the door the twins hurtled in a miniature stampede towards the male standing on the terrace.
Sarah alighted with a lot less haste, an icy smile on her lips. An enormous amount of hugging and kissing and frantic speech was being exchanged. In a white shirt that threw his gleaming black hair and bronzed skin into prominence and slim-fitting black jeans that sleekly accentuated his narrow hips and the long, lean line of his legs, Rafael looked infuriatingly spectacular.
‘Why wasn’t you at the airport?’ Gilly demanded ungrammatically.
‘Abuela…my grandmother, she was not well,’ Rafael was explaining in suspiciously carrying tones because Sarah was taking her time about joining them. ‘But you will meet her tomorrow when she is feeling better. She is very much looking forward to meeting you.’
Red that had little to do with the heat was warming her skin, a flag of guilt for all her unpleasant assumptions as to the reasons behind his failure to show.
‘Can we go into the garden?’ Ben asked.
‘Yes but you stay out of the water,’ Rafael decreed. As the twins took off, rich dark eyes zoomed in on Sarah and lingered. ‘You look tired. You should rest before dinner.’
‘Oh, you’re joining us for dinner, are you?’
His winged brows drew together. ‘Where would I be going?’
Sarah shrugged. ‘I just wondered. I wouldn’t want you to over-exert yourself on our account.’ He was staring at her, unusually slow on the uptake to the challenge of a thrown gauntlet. She spread an admiring glance over their surroundings. ‘Not that I have any complaints. This is a beautiful hotel. As long as you’re picking up the bill, I’m perfectly happy to stay here.’
Rafael tautened. ‘This is not a hotel, Sarah.’ He hesitated. ‘This is my home.’
‘Your home?’ Sarah laughed and then stared at him wide-eyed for a staggered pause, searching his level gaze for some sign of humour and finding none. In the hot and cold limbo of shock, she whispered, ‘You’re not joking, are you?’
‘I would have a strange sense of humour if I were.’
The taut silence was smashed by a loud splash followed by a combined shout and screech. Rafael swung on his heel with a curse and tore down worn stone steps into the gardens. The twins were clambering guiltily out of a lily-pond the size of a swimming pool.
‘What did I say?’ Rafael roared.
‘I wanted to sit on the big leaf,’ Gilly howled.
‘Rafael…’ Sarah interposed.
‘Go into the house and cover your ears if you can’t bear to hear this!’ he shot at her.
He tore strips off them. He explained the danger. He drew an excruciatingly horrible description of death by drowning. By the time he had finished the twins were more chastened than Sarah had ever seen them. The hovering presence of two uniformed maids and an older woman in a black dress, who had come hurrying outside in the midst of the fracas, forced Sarah to keep her tongue between her teeth.
Rafael issued instructions in a flow of Spanish and Gilly and Ben were removed dripping from the scene by the dark-eyed maids, who were trying to hide their smiles. The older woman remained.
‘This is my housekeeper, Consuelo,’ Rafael murmured smoothly.
‘Buenas tardes, senora. I hope you had the good journey.’ Consuelo’s homely face was wreathed with a pleasant smile.
‘Muchas gracias, Consuelo. I am glad to be here,’ Sarah lied shakily.
‘We would like coffee in the sala,’ Rafael dismissed the older woman with an inclination of his dark head. He glanced at Sarah. ‘You are angry with me. All the children need is a firmer hand. They have to learn that when I say no, I mean no. When you say no, sometimes you mean maybe, sometimes you even mean yes, please. For myself, I do not mind this indecision; it adds spice.’
Still too shaken even to reply in kind, she followed him silently up on to the terrace where she preceded him through arched balcony doors. With a numbed sense of complete unreality, she walked into a very large and exquisitely furnished room. A stunning Aubusson carpet of beautifully blended pastels lay beneath her feet. Elegant curio cabinets and silk upholstered couches abounded. Objets d’art were dotted with negligent ease on polished antique surfaces throughout the room. Everything she saw screamed old-established money and exclusivity, collections gathered up over generations and displayed with often careless understatement.
Rafael’s home. How could it be possible? No, she could not believe it yet. She was still fathoms deep in shock. Presumably this treasure house had devolved to Rafael through his father’s side of the family. He had never talked about them. For two years of marriage he had kept all this a secret from her. Not a hint, not an accidental single slip had escaped him.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ She could no longer suppress the feelings of angry hurt and betrayal warring within her. ‘You let me make an outsized fool of myself.’ She shook her head numbly. ‘I feel humiliated.’
Rafael elevated a brow. ‘Enamorada, that is not the stock Southcott response to hard currency in plenty.’
‘I just don’t understand how this is possible,’ she muttered tightly.
‘During our marriage, I was not welcome here at Alcazar,’ he advanced with flat emphasis. ‘I received nothing from the estate although I was legally entitled to an income from it. My grandfather, Felipe, hated me and I must confess I had no greater affection for him.’
