Chapter 15

Rosalba was sitting in the shade of the doorway, making lace. At first her fingers were slow and clumsy, but after a while they caught the rhythm and seemed to work of their own accord, the delicate lace tumbling onto the cushion in a froth of white. As her fingers took over, she allowed her mind to wander. This lace was exactly the same pattern as the lace that her grandmother and she had made for her own wedding dress all those years ago. She remembered her grandmother teaching her how to do the delicate work, sitting together in a doorway almost opposite to the one she was sitting in now. And as she worked, she thought about Carlos.

It had been very strange, the way it had happened. One minute, it seemed, Carlos had just been one more little boy running barefoot in the street and the next, he was a tall, handsome young man, standing in the church looking at her. She had looked up and caught his eye, and then hastily looked down again, feeling hot and uncomfortable, aware of his eyes on her. Every so often, unable to resist, she had sneaked a quick look at him from under her lashes, and always he was still looking at her, and she was afraid and excited all at once.

She saw him everywhere after that. When she went for the evening stroll with her father and grandmother he was there, sitting on the wall by the fountain with his friends, or walking with his own family. If she went to sit on the balcony in the cool of the evening, he would be walking down the street, and always he would look up at her with dark, brooding eyes, but he never smiled or waved, just stared.

She couldn't get him out of her mind. She lay awake at night, imagining his face, conjuring up his features in her imagination, his dark curly hair, straight nose and full lips. And she imagined kissing those lips, and holding him to her. What was the matter with her? She had never had these thoughts before. It was insupportable!

She tried to put him out of her mind, but every time her mind wandered, she found herself once again thinking of Carlos, and she began to despair.

Then one evening, Carlos did an unthinkable thing. They were strolling along the main street, as they always did at this time, when Carlos came towards them, took off his hat, bowed to her father and said, "I hope I find you well, Don Alfonso. I wonder if I might be permitted to join you and your family for the evening stroll?"

Her father had drawn himself up to his full height, his nostrils flaring with anger. "You most certainly may not!" he declared. And taking Rosalba and her grandmother more firmly by the elbows, he continued the stroll rather more quickly than before.

That night she heard them talking in the sitting room and she crept up to the balcony to listen. She could see her grandmother quite clearly through the wooden railings. She was sitting in a high carved chair with some needlework in her lap. Her father was pacing about and passing in and out of her vision as he spoke.

"The impertinence! 'May I join you and your family in your stroll, Don Alfonso?' indeed! Who does he think he is?" And then without allowing the grandmother to answer the question. "He's a dirty little Moor, that's what he is."

Then her grandmother's voice, clear and calm. "You know very well that Carlos L¨®pez Gutiérrez is no more a Moor than we are, Alfonso. He is a very nice, polite young man, from an honest, hard-working family."

"Pshaw!" snorted her father. "They are as poor as church mice."

The grandmother bent her head over her work. "I doubt," she remarked, "that they are as poor as we are. We live in this enormous house, yet we have no money to maintain it. The roof leaks and the plaster is coming off the walls."

Alfonso strode once again into Rosalba's view and his face was like a thundercloud.

"We may not have any money," he shouted, "but we have a good name."

"What a pity" murmured the grandmother, "that one cannot eat a good name, or mend the roof with it."

Alfonso ignored her and went on, "What can he possibly want, anyway? Why does the son of a shopkeeper wish to walk with an hidalgo?"

The grandmother looked up from her work. "If you do not know what he wants, Alfonso, then you must be blind. It is as plain as the nose on your face. He wants Rosalba. He has been making sheep's eyes at her for weeks. And unless I am very much mistaken..." she paused and looked up at the balcony. Rosalba could swear she was looking right at her. But surely she could not be seen in the shadows. It must be a coincidence. "Rosalba returns the feeling."

"It is preposterous!" Alfonso roared. "He must be out of his mind, casting his eyes upon a woman of gentle birth. The audacity!" He subsided into a wrathful silence.

"So what would you have for Rosalba?" the grandmother asked quietly. "Must she remain a virgin because there is nobodywith a suitable name for her to marry?"

On the balcony, Rosalba gave a little gasp and covered her mouth with her hand, so that the noise would not be heard.

"Of course not," roared Alfonso. "She will marry a man of breeding, a man of proper rank"

"And did you have anyone in mind?"

Alfonso paused in his pacing. "Well," he said, after some consideration, "there is Julio Larios."

Rosalba caught her breath in horror.

"Julio Larios de G¨®mez!" said the grandmother, raising her voice for the first time. "He is an old man. Surely you will not condemn the girl to share an old man's bed because you are too proud to allow her to marry the man she loves!"

"He is not old," said Alfonso, "he's only forty or so."

The grandmother snorted in a most unladylike manner. "He is fifty-five if he is a day and entirely unsuitable for a young woman with blood in her veins. And besides, he lives miles away. Am I to be denied the comfort of my grandchild, who is like my own daughter to me, in my old age? Am I to be denied my great grandchildren? I cannot think what is the matter with you, that you will send Rosalba away."

She paused to draw breath, then continued in a quieter voice. "I do not believe we should prevent her from finding out how she feels about this young man. I think we should invite him for the Sunday lunch after church. God knows what I will give him to eat, but I will do it somehow."

"But," Alfonso began.

"No buts, Alfonso. I have made my decision and that is that," she said, pressing her lips together firmly.

And Alfonso, realising that she could not be swayed, left the room.

The grandmother looked up once again to the balcony and Rosalba could have sworn she gave a wink before she turned her head again to her work.