The Stand-In Bride

He put his head in his hands.

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

‘I, Senor?’ 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, Senor,’ Alfonso replied despondently.

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

‘Senor?’

‘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.

‘Senorita-please-’ he said in dismay.

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

‘Good evening,’ Jose 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. Senor 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

THE 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 facade 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 Jose, 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