Suddenly the cry went up, ‘There they are!’ And suddenly everyone was hurrying off the dance floor and crowding the windows that looked out onto the street below. Maggie and Sebastian were swept along with the crowd. Catalina was also on her feet, waving to attract their attention.
‘What is it?’ Maggie asked, bewildered.
‘Santa Claus,’ Catalina told her excitedly. ‘Every night until Christmas he has a torchlit procession, and tonight is the first one. Come along.’
In her eagerness she seized Sebastian’s hand and pulled him after her, leaving Maggie to follow more sedately. Someone opened the doors to the balcony and they all crowded out into the night air.
Far up the mountain they could see the glint of coloured lights against the darkness, making a long, wavy tail speeding down the slope. As it neared, the lights seemed to separate, revealing that each one was fixed to the head of a skier. There were fifty skiers, in fancy dress, some elves, some angels, some fairies, forming a guard of honour to a sleigh, drawn by more skiers, wearing horns to suggest reindeer.
The sleigh itself was magnificent, decorated with tinsel that reflected back every light, the back filled with sacks and parcels. And there, holding the reins, was a big, red-garbed, white-bearded, ho-ho-hoing Santa Claus. Swiftly they came on, growing bigger as they reached the village and glided through the main street, a long stream of glittering colour.
Everywhere doors and windows were open and people came out to look, to cheer and applaud while the procession swept on in glory.
And then it was gone, and there were only the lights fading in the distance, until they had vanished altogether. A collective sigh went up, and the spectators suddenly seemed to realise how cold it was. They retreated back into their well-lit buildings, with only memories of the beauty that had lived so briefly.
And that was how it would have been, Maggie realised, if she’d yielded to the pounding in her blood. Sebastian had said she must be strong for both of them, and for a brief instant strength had seemed too hard.
She could have had her moment, but it would have been like the torchlit procession-beautiful, brilliant, fleeting, leaving only a memory in the darkness.
Thank heavens all this would soon be over. Isabella was returning, Sebastian and Catalina would be married, and she could return to her humdrum life in England, and forget.
CHAPTER SIX
AS HER wedding grew closer Catalina’s mood veered wildly. Sometimes she was calm, and almost indifferent, at other times she would indulge in bursts of tears.
She entered a lively dispute with Sebastian about their honeymoon. Catalina’s choice was a trip to New York. Sebastian’s idea was a slow tour of his estates, introducing her to his people, and also her new duties. Maggie threw up her hands in despair at this notion of a honeymoon, and she came within an ace of kicking Sebastian’s shins before he belatedly saw sense, and gave in.
Isabella arrived amid much rejoicing, and after another week in hospital she was well enough to move into Sebastian’s house, with two nurses.
Some of Catalina’s responsibilities came with the season. Nearby was the tiny parish church of San Nicolas, where it was a tradition for the de Santiago family to provide the crib. Sebastian drove her and Maggie the short distance to the charming little building, and played his part in setting the scene. At last, everything was finished, except for the manger, which was still empty.
Maggie gently unwrapped the tissue paper and handed Catalina the tiny wooden figure of a child. It was exquisitely carved and painted, with a peacefully sleeping face, and she felt a sudden tremor go through her. There had been another child that had lain in her arms and slept like that. But the baby had not woken again.
Catalina laid the baby in the manger, and turned away in answer to some remark of the priest’s. Feeling sure she was unnoticed, Maggie moved quietly forward and looked into the crib.
‘Isn’t it beautiful, Senora?’ Father Basilio appeared beside her.
‘Beautiful,’ she said softly. ‘And the real miracle was that he lived.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘All that stress, and the journey on the donkey-he was probably born early. Children sometimes die when they’re premature.’
The old man’s eyes were kind and understanding. ‘Yes, Senora. Sometimes that happens. Was your baby blessed with any life at all?’
‘Just a few days,’ she whispered.
Somebody spoke to the priest. While his attention was distracted Maggie laid her hand gently on the infant. Suddenly she couldn’t see properly. She closed her eyes and took a long breath, and when she opened them again she found Sebastian looking at her. For a moment she thought he would speak, but Catalina burst in with, ‘Maggie, isn’t it just beautiful?’
‘Beautiful,’ she said brightly, forcing herself back to reality.
‘Sebastian, don’t you think everything is perfect?’
‘Perfect, my dear.’
‘Have I performed my duties to your liking?’
‘You’ve done admirably,’ he said, and it might have been Maggie’s imagination, but she thought he smiled with an effort.
Christmas passed fairly quietly, as was common in continental Europe. On Christmas Eve the entire household attended the great cathedral in Granada, and on Christmas Day they went to the little parish church.
The time for colourful festivities was the New Year, and in particular, the Feast of The Three Kings, in January. This would be celebrated with the jollity that in England was associated with Christmas, with much wine, good food and giving of gifts. Ten days later Sebastian and Catalina would be married in Granada Cathedral, and Maggie would be free to return home.
She was looking forward to that, she told herself many times. Once back in England she would be able to put these strange, hectic weeks behind her and get Sebastian in proportion, a man who loomed large because of his power and arrogance, but who wasn’t really very important after all.
Between New Year and the Feast the place was a bedlam of preparation. Of all the parties in town, Don Sebastian’s celebration for his bride was
Extra cooks were brought in to cater for the armies of guests. An internationally famous chef was installed the week before and began the preparations for garlic soup, mussels steamed in sherry, giant prawns cooked in olive oil, roast suckling pig, almond sponge cake and marzipan coated with bitter chocolate. He had several lively discussions with the steward in charge of Sebastian’s huge cellar, and the two of them nearly came to blows over the rival merits of Gramona Chardonnay and Solar Gran Blanco Crianza.
Cleaners polished the place from top to bottom. Every lamp was washed until it sparkled and glowed against the tiles and mosaics. With two days to go the weather struck a warm spell and outdoor festivities became possible. Lights were hung throughout the courtyards, throwing into vivid relief the delicate arches and casting reflections in the water.
Catalina was having a new gown created for the occasion by the same establishment that had made her wedding dress, and insisted on buying Maggie a gown also. Catalina helped her study fabrics and styles, but when it came to the fitting she would lose interest and wander out for a quick shopping trip.
The gown was splendid, long, sweeping and made of dark crimson velvet. Most fair-haired women would have had trouble with the colour, but Maggie’s Mediterranean eyes set it off perfectly.
Sebastian’s expression said he thought so, on the night of the party, when she came downstairs in her glorious creation, and he gave her a heavy, solid gold antique locket, set with rubies, to wear with it.
‘Catalina told me how you would look, so that I could choose your gift correctly,’ he said, draping it around her neck.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she said breathlessly. ‘But-it’s too much-’
