The Stand-In Bride Page 15

  This was the other Sebastian, the one she’d longed to know, to set beside the autocrat. And now she saw that when she’d met him, she hadn’t even recognised him.

  ‘I had to leave you to know how much I love you,’ she murmured. ‘And if I return to you-will I love you still? Which man will you be then?’

  But then she felt someone else there, a bitter unwelcome presence, reproaching her for her desertion, forbidding her to love again.

  ‘Go away!’ she screamed. ‘I can’t help you now.’

  Hurriedly she put the light on and looked around, shivering. But she was alone.

  Sebastian stayed in Seville on parliamentary business until the last moment, then returned home just as February slipped into March. There was a pleasurable expectancy in the household, for this month would see Sebastian’s birthday, the first since his marriage, and naturally Donna Margarita would wish to make a big celebration. If only she would return soon and start giving instructions.

  Working late in his study, Sebastian studied the calendar, noting uneasily how close the day was becoming. If his wife failed to be there, it would announce to the world that something was badly wrong, and his fierce pride rebelled at the thought.

  But perhaps she didn’t know the date? What could be more natural than that he should call, ask how she was, and slip it into the conversation? It needn’t sound like pleading, not if he phrased it carefully.

  He got as far as dialling, but at the first ring he slammed the receiver down, driven by sheer masculine stubbornness more than anything. To hell with it! To hell with her, if she could treat him like this!

  He put his head in his hands.

  He could hear Alfonso moving about outside, and called him. ‘Do you know where Catalina is?’

  ‘I, Señor?’ The young man responded a fraction too quickly, and when he appeared the flush of embarrassment on his face told its own story.

  ‘Yes, you. You’re the one who follows her movements the most accurately.’ He added wryly, ‘Are you having any success?’

  ‘No, Señor,’ Alfonso replied despondently.

  ‘No.’ Sebastian added under his breath, ‘That seems to be the common ailment around here.’

  ‘Señor?’

  ‘Nothing. See if you can find her.’

  Alfonso was gone a long time and when he returned he reported awkwardly that Catalina had vanished.

  ‘You mean she’s gone out?’

  ‘She didn’t order a car.’

  ‘Then she’s still here somewhere.’

  After ten minutes searching it was Alfonso who discovered Catalina in the bird garden, concealed behind some trees. She was not alone.

  ‘Why are you spying on us?’ she demanded fiercely.

  ‘Señorita-please-’ he said in dismay.

  ‘All right, Alfonso. I’ll take over from here,’ Sebastian said, appearing behind him. ‘Good evening, Señor Ruiz.’

  ‘Good evening,’ José replied with as much dignity as he could muster. ‘If I could explain-’

  ‘No, don’t explain,’ Catalina said defiantly. ‘Our love is nobody’s business but our own.’

  ‘You may be right,’ Sebastian said surprisingly. ‘But you should have let him say it, Catalina. I wanted to see you so that you could send for him. Señor Ruiz, no doubt my wife has told you that your cousin has been cleared?’

  ‘She has.’

  ‘Come to my study in ten minutes. That will give you time to wipe the lipstick off your face. I have things to say to you, and then I wish to listen while you do the talking.’

  ‘You mean-about my prospects-to support a wife?’

  ‘That can wait until another time. Tonight I want you to tell me everything you can remember about your cousin. There are questions that I should have asked long ago, but I was too proud. Had I not been-’ A shadow, as if of pain, crossed his face. ‘Well, some mistakes can be put right and others can only be lived with. Perhaps we never know the difference until it is too late.’

  The second day became the third, the fourth, a week had passed. Maggie packed away her belongings, tidied up all loose ends until the only thing left to do was give up her apartment. She put that off for a day, and then another. She wondered if Sebastian would telephone her. Perversely she even wished he was there, bracing her with an argument, laying down the law as of old, even making her angry.

  Perhaps he would call to remind her that it was his birthday soon. In that country where proper appearances mattered so much, her absence would cause sniggering gossip of exactly the kind he dreaded. But the phone remained silent, and she understood. He was leaving her to make her own decision with no pressure of any kind.

  In the end she found that the decision had already been made, not by her, and not then, but at some moment in the past that she couldn’t pinpoint. She waited to be sure, then gave up her apartment, arranged for her belongings to be sent on, and caught the next plane to Malaga.

  She told nobody that she was coming, and it was late in the evening when the taxi drove through the gates of the Residenza. She entered the house quietly, looking in on Catalina and Isabella, but only for a moment.

  ‘Thank goodness you’re home!’ Catalina exclaimed. ‘He’s been like a bear, working into the small hours and growling at everyone. He’s in his study now. Poor Alfonso is half dead.’

  Poor Alfonso certainly looked up gratefully as Maggie appeared in the doorway of the anteroom where he had his desk. He beamed but she put her finger over her lips.

  ‘Alfonso,’ Sebastian called through the half-open door, ‘are you going to be all night with that file?’

  Alfonso hurriedly picked up the file but Maggie took it from him and slipped into the study. Sebastian was in his shirt-sleeves and looked not at all like an autocrat, just a weary man with a headache, who needed his bed but was uneasily reluctant to seek it. Maggie noticed that the couch looked rumpled, and she guessed that he’d been mostly living in this room. Beside him on the desk was an empty wine glass and a half-full bottle. Suddenly her heart ached for him.

  ‘Bring it over here quickly,’ Sebastian said without looking up.

  She came quietly to the edge of the desk and laid the file down without speaking.

  ‘I hope you’ve read it as I asked,’ Sebastian growled. ‘What did you think?’

  ‘I think it was about time I came home,’ she said.

  His head went up, and for a moment he simply stared, as if his eyes couldn’t focus. He might have been gazing at an apparition that he longed for, but feared to believe in. Then understanding came, and what Maggie saw in his face made her draw a sharp breath. So that was it! And she hadn’t known.

  The glass overturned. The file vanished somewhere, his chair crashed to the floor, and Sebastian was round the desk, seizing her in his arms, enveloping her in the fiercest embrace he had ever given her.

  ‘You returned,’ he said huskily. ‘You came back to me.’

  ‘Of course I did,’ she said when she could speak. ‘I had to bring your birthday gift.’

  ‘The gift is you,’ he said, kissing her again.

  ‘But I have another. Here.’ She took his hand and laid it gently on her stomach.

  ‘What-what are you telling me?’ His voice shook.

  For answer she just smiled, and drew his head down so that his lips lay on hers. She kissed him tenderly, with reassurance, for that was what he needed most just now.

  ‘When we were in the mountains, you said that you didn’t know what the answer was, and that perhaps there wasn’t one,’ she reminded him. ‘I don’t know what the answer for us is, either. But I believe there is one. And while I was away from you, I realised that we must find it here-together.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  T HE entire household settled to prepare for the birth of Sebastian’s son, for it was unthinkable that a man of power and respect would not sire a son first time. The boy would, of course, take his first name from his father, but there were several other names to
be chosen, and the cook and the steward argued incessantly about the rival merits of Federico and Eduardo.

  Sebastian took no part in this, merely shrugging and saying that fate would send what fate would send. Nobody took this foolishness seriously, but they respected him for his gallantry to his wife. It was clear that they were the perfect couple, which was only to be expected with a great man.

  Nobody suspected that behind the ideal façade Don Sebastian and Donna Margarita were holding their breaths. They had their child and their happiness, but something had yet to be resolved. There were thoughts they shared, but never spoke of.

  She knew, from José, of the night he’d talked to Sebastian about Roderigo and his behaviour during their marriage, but Sebastian himself made no mention of the matter. And if his knowledge of what she had endured made him gentler than ever towards her, how could she tell? He was always gentle, these days.

  Something precious was flowering between them, but it grew slowly and hadn’t yet reached the point of mutual confidence. They both realised that on the night a photograph slipped out from the pages of a book Maggie had brought back with her from England.

  ‘I didn’t know it was there,’ she said, apologetically reaching down to take it before her husband saw. But he reached it first, because she was growing large now, and moving slowly.

  It was a wedding picture. The bride was very young, her face open, innocent and adoring. The groom wore a ‘suitable’ smile. To Sebastian’s suspicious eyes, it seemed less adoring than predatory, but he knew better than to voice this thought.

  The past was still a threatening shadow, but he knew that Maggie had somehow come to terms with it, and he wouldn’t risk disturbing that delicate equilibrium. So he retrieved the picture and handed it to her, smiling to hide his jealousy.

  ‘I thought I’d destroyed them all,’ she said.

  ‘There’s no need to destroy it because of me,’ he said, longing for her to do so.

  He thought for a moment that she would, but then she gave a tense smile and slipped the picture away in a drawer.

  ‘You still feel guilty?’ he asked.

  ‘Only because I have so much. It seems dreadful to be happy when he’s dead.’

  ‘Are you really?’ he asked with a touch of wistfulness.

  ‘You know I am.’

  ‘I know only of the joy you give to me,’ he said, dropping to one knee and laying his hand over her swelling. ‘I wish there was some gift I could give you in return.’

  ‘But you give me everything.’

  ‘I don’t mean that kind of gift. I mean peace of mind-the freedom to be happy-’

  ‘The freedom to be happy,’ she echoed longingly. ‘Does anybody have that?’

  ‘I have it-or rather, I would, if you had it too. I wish-’ He stopped and sighed. ‘But what can I do?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she said, understanding him. ‘We must treasure what we have, and not ask for more.’

  He couldn’t find the words to say that this couldn’t be enough for him. Somehow, somewhere, there was a gift of love he could make her, and if he watched for the chance, it would surely come. If only, he thought, it didn’t take too long.

  Yet when the moment did arrive, he almost missed it.

  Catalina was passionately interested in Maggie’s pregnancy. She read baby books, she studied diets, she argued about names, and grew closer to Isabella who was similarly absorbed. Sebastian, noting these changes, observed that it was time she married.

  ‘Then you’d better ease up about José,’ Maggie observed as Sebastian gave her his arm to cross the short distance to their bed.

  ‘I have. I allow him to haunt the house like a sick donkey. She goes out with him, always returns home later than she promised, and I turn a blind eye. And today I told her that if she wished to become betrothed I could probably put up with it.’

  Maggie chuckled as he settled her pillows. ‘Done with all your grace and charm, in fact.’

  ‘Well, I told you,’ he growled, ‘I don’t like it, and I’m damned if I’m going to pretend that I do.’

  The following evening Catalina had dinner in town with José. When she returned she went straight to Sebastian’s study. He looked up, surprised to see her alone. ‘Where is José?’

  ‘He didn’t want to come in.’

  Something constrained in her manner made him frown. ‘But isn’t this a night for celebration? Didn’t you get engaged? Catalina, what has happened?’ For the girl shrugged and looked awkward.

  ‘I’m not sure-that is-we don’t know each other so well.’

  ‘After all this time? Besides, I thought you were determined to marry him.’

  ‘That was when you were saying no,’ Catalina said in a burst of honesty.

  Sebastian grinned. ‘I see. Now I’ve said yes, it becomes a boring, conventional courtship, without the spice of drama.’

  ‘The world is full of handsome young men,’ Catalina said dreamily. ‘I’ve told José that I will still see him, but we can’t be engaged, and I consider myself free to see other men.’

  ‘You’ve what?’

  ‘Alfonso is very nice.’

  ‘Alfonso is a damned sight too good for you.’

  Catalina giggled. ‘He doesn’t think so. He says I’m so far above him that he dare not hope-but I told him no man should give up hope.’

  ‘Spare me the details. So you plan to keep them both on tenterhooks. I begin to pity José. I was thinking of you as his victim, but in fact he is yours. Was he very upset?’

  Catalina shrugged. ‘I may marry him one day-if I don’t marry Alfonso-but I want some fun first.’ Then her smile faded and she looked uneasy.

  ‘Is something else the matter?’ Sebastian asked.

  ‘José gave me this,’ she said, producing an envelope from her bag. ‘For Maggie.’

  Frowning, he took the envelope. It bore no name, and was sealed. ‘Did he tell you what’s in it?’ he asked.

  ‘Only that it’s a letter, from Roderigo. He’s had it for years, and now he wants her to see it. He says he should have given it to her long ago, but she was so bitter and unhappy that he feared it would make things worse. Oh Sebastian, don’t you see what that means? Roderigo must have written this in prison, while he was dying, and entrusted it to José. It’s his last letter to her. Let me burn it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘What good can it do her to read it now? You can guess what it says, can’t you?’

  ‘Doubtless he repeats his protestations of innocence,’ Sebastian said wearily. ‘Which we now know are true.’

  ‘But suppose it’s worse than that. Suppose he says he loves her? That’s just the sort of tricky thing he’d do to spoil everything for her. Maggie is yours, now, but if she reads this-’

  Then her husband’s last declaration of love, made from his deathbed, would reconcile her to his memory with a completeness and finality that could shut out Sebastian again. He knew the bitter truth.

  How much better, then, to do as Catalina said? It could only increase Maggie’s grief, while doing no practical good. To destroy it would help him keep her heart for himself, and her heart was the only thing in the world that mattered to him now. He turned away from Catalina’s shrewd eyes and went to stand by the window, racked with temptation.

  ‘Why do you hesitate?’ Catalina demanded. ‘Burn it, now-for both your sakes.’

  ‘For my sake? Perhaps she needs to see this.’

  ‘But what good could that do-now that it’s too late?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said heavily. ‘I only know that not to give it to her would be dishonest. And if two people don’t have honesty between them, they have nothing.’

  ‘Is this you talking, Sebastian? I’ve heard you say that sometimes a man must deceive a woman a little, for her own good.’

  ‘Did I say that? Well, perhaps-a long time ago, in another life.’

  ‘So what am I to do?’

  ‘Leave this with me. And, for the mome
nt, say nothing to Margarita.’

  When Catalina had gone Sebastian stared at the blank, unrevealing envelope. Now his own fine words rose up to mock him. Honesty, yes, but at what price? The price of seeing Roderigo Alva’s memory vindicated in the heart of the woman who had loved him-perhaps, still did?

  His life had been built on fine-sounding principles-honesty, duty, honour. Suddenly they were impossibly hard, demanding an act that could tear the heart out of him. But if it could ease her suffering and bring her peace-what right did he have to deny her that?

  Once he had thought it would be so easy to love. A man loved a woman; she loved him. What more was there?

  Now he saw that love could devastate a man, and give him nothing in return but the knowledge that he had sacrificed himself for a woman, and that she neither knew nor cared. Should anyone be asked to pay such a price?

  He took up the envelope, turning it this way and that between his fingers, wishing he knew what was inside. At last he rose and went to the fireplace. Summer had come, but in the foothills it was still sometimes chilly at night, and a few logs glowed. He stood for a long time, staring into the flickering light. Then, slowly, he held out the letter to the flames.

  Maggie was almost ready for bed when he came to her. He found her sitting by the fire in her own room, looking at the wedding picture of herself and Roderigo that she’d brought from England. It struck him suddenly how often she gazed at that picture when she thought he didn’t know.

  She looked up quickly as he neared and showed him the picture. ‘I was thinking it was time I got rid of it.’

  ‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘Wait until you see this.’

  ‘What is it?’ she asked, disturbed by his grave face.

  ‘I’ve brought you something. José gave it to Catalina tonight, to give to you. It’s a letter from Roderigo.’

  ‘A letter-for me?’ It seemed to him that she paled.

  ‘He must have written it in prison just before he died and entrusted it to José. He’s kept it all this time, waiting for the right moment.’