at what he plainly considered female fancies. Yet even then she had to concede that his tall body and proud head had a magnificence that matched his surroundings.
‘He might want to keep her apart if he loved her very much,’ she observed. ‘You, of course, would find that incredible, Senor.’
‘Totally incredible,’ he agreed dryly.
‘Oh, you’re so unromantic!’ Catalina scolded. ‘I love to think of the Sultan standing at a window of the Alhambra, gazing up to where the favourite stood on this balcony, calling her name across the valley. Maggie, why do you laugh? It isn’t funny.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she choked. ‘But you said he wanted to keep her hidden from the world. She wouldn’t be much of a secret if he was bawling her name across fifteen miles.’
‘How unromantic you are!’ Sebastian chided her in Catalina’s words, but he was grinning. ‘And, for the record, Sultan Yusuf wasn’t murdered by a jealous lover. He was assassinated by a madman. And no ghost walks these rooms, Senora-don’t be alarmed.’
‘I wasn’t alarmed,’ Maggie told him crisply. ‘I don’t believe in ghosts. Not that kind, anyway.’
The last words were spoken half to herself and made him glance at her with a quick frown. But he said nothing.
‘You have no souls, either of you,’ Catalina said crossly.
Sebastian stood back, indicating for them to return inside. ‘Forgive my intrusion, ladies. Senora Cortez, welcome to my home. I hope the hospitality meets with your approval.’
‘It’s overwhelming,’ she said, indicating the splendid apartment. ‘Much too fine for me. I’ll get lost in all this.’
‘Be sure that I’ll send out a search party for you,’ he said. And he actually smiled right at her, almost inviting her to share a joke.
He shouldn’t do that too often, she thought. It was dangerous.
CHAPTER FOUR
AT THE centre of Sebastian’s home was the Patio de los Pajaros, the garden of birds, an enclosed garden, with a pool and a softly plashing fountain. Elaborately carved stone birds sat in silence beneath the trees and between the shrubs, and more birds hovered beside the pool.
Beyond the trees and shrubs were elaborately decorated arches whose twisted pillars seemed too frail for their burden. And yet the total impression was of perfection. Everything here was of peaceful symmetry, joyful harmony.
A moon was rising high in the dazzlingly clear sky as Maggie slipped outside and took a breath of the sweet night air. It was hard to recall that England was under snow. This far south the December nights were often pleasant, although here in the foothills it was cooler than in the city below, and she wore only a thin nightdress and robe. But even the chill was pleasant, and perhaps the harmony of the garden could restore the harmony of her mind.
The evening meal had been awesome. A pack of Sebastian’s relatives, living nearby, had flocked to see his bride’s return, and they had been joined by some distinguished names from the local government.
The only one who stood out in Maggie’s mind was Alfonso, a distant cousin in his twenties, who worked as Sebastian’s secretary. He was aloofly handsome, and at first glance he had the haughty demeanour of a de Santiago. But his smile was charming, and when he gazed at Catalina there was a kind of dumbfounded shock in his eyes that made Maggie pity him. He would have been a more suitable husband for her than Sebastian, yet even he, Maggie thought, was too grave and serious for such a flighty creature.
Catalina’s butterfly moods changed this way and that with dizzying speed. When they arrived she’d been a girl, so thrilled with her expensive new toys that she’d forgotten the price she must pay. But as the evening wore on the price became more obvious, until she was almost drooping. Both she and Maggie were relieved when they could retire to bed.
Poor Catalina, Maggie thought as she trailed her hand in the water. How right I was to oppose this marriage. It will be terrible for her.
She leaned over, watching her own moonlit reflection, scattering as she moved her fingers, but then becoming one again as the water stilled.
‘Like me,’ she said to the night. ‘All broken up one moment, peaceful the next. But the peace is an illusion; it can be shattered so easily. Why ever did I come here?’
‘Why, indeed?’ murmured a voice behind her.
In the same moment she saw him in the water, a man’s shape, turned to silhouette by the moon. ‘I didn’t know you were there,’ she said, turning.
‘I’m sorry I startled you,’ Sebastian said. ‘It was wrong of me.’
She nodded. ‘One should always wander in an enclosed garden alone. Thus you will find truth and paradise.’
He gave a small start of pleasure. ‘So you understand the symbolism?’
‘I know why so much Moorish architecture is built around places like this,’ she said. ‘But I’m not sure I agree with it. How can you achieve truth or heaven when the enclosure shuts so much out?’
‘But you forget, it also symbolises the whole cosmos, the world and infinity. Here, all beauty can be held in the palm of your hand.’
He dipped his hand and raised it, so that the water streamed down, leaving just a little cupped in his palm, until he opened his fingers, allowing it to trickle away. In the moonlight it glittered like magic, holding Maggie’s gaze, almost hypnotising her. ‘You can turn the symbolism any way you like,’ he said.
She could watch the water for ever, feeling the peace invade her bones. This was a magic place, and it would be fatally easy to surrender to that magic. She too slid her hand into the water and lifted it high, fascinated by the droplets. Sebastian took her fingers between his, holding them lightly.
‘Thank you for everything,’ he said. ‘For calming Isabella’s fears and befriending Catalina, for being wise and strong.’
Through the cold water she could feel the warmth of his hand, holding hers in a grip whose power was concealed but inescapable. She tried to speak, but couldn’t. Something was impeding her breathing.
‘I think you belong in an enclosed garden,’ he said.
‘Shut away from the world?’ she asked, struggling to escape the spell. ‘Not me.’
‘No, not shut away. You would bring the world inside with you, and contain it here in your hand, and the man who came seeking truth and wisdom would find it in you. Then he could truly shut out the rest of the world, having all he needed here.’
The words were ravishing, seductive, seeming to swim in the air. With an effort Maggie gave herself a little mental shake. ‘Is it wise to make so much of symbolism?’ she asked softly. ‘If we blind ourselves with symbols, where is the reality?’
‘I wonder which reality you are speaking of?’
‘Is there more than one?’
‘There are a million, and each man chooses his own.’
‘Each man, perhaps,’ she said wryly. ‘But how often can a woman choose? Mostly she has a man’s reality forced upon her.’
‘Was it forced on you? Or did you choose it freely-and then find that you had chosen in blindness?’
‘Aren’t all choices made in blindness? And we discover too late.’ She gave a little shiver.
‘You should have been more sensibly dressed to come out here,’ Sebastian told her. Swiftly he removed his jacket and draped it around her shoulders. Unconsciously she sighed at the warmth. ‘If you become ill I shall be in disfavour with my bride. She’s already angry with me for “brutally forcing” you-her words-to come here, where your heart will be broken by memories of your great lost love.’
‘Oh, dear! I’ve told her not to see me through a filter of tragic romance.’
‘You’re wasting your time. She loves seeing you that way. Next she’ll be wanting you to wander the streets of
