Matador, Mi Amor. William Maltese
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liquid heaped, here and there, with fluffy mounds of bubble-bath-spawned suds.
In the mirror, her duplicate reflected back: blonde hair, smooth skin, exquisitely long legs, slim waist, ample breasts, and sensuous shoulders and neck.
She sat, letting the water cover all of her except her neck and face, as Mara moved quickly to pile Alyssa’s mane of hair atop the young woman’s head and wrap it securely into place with a heavy towel.
Mara, who only vaguely remembered Alyssa’s mother, was quite convinced Alyssa could lay claim to most of the mother’s remembered good looks. That said, from what Mara could divine, on such short notice, the daughter’s disposition was far better than the mother’s had ever been. Then, again, Lalo Montego had something about him that eventually made all of his women less than lovable. There had been something decidedly destructive about Lalo’s relationships with women—and men. Any woman. Any man, except, maybe, for Joaquín Hidalgo. Mara conjectured that Lalo had never loved any of them. All he had ever loved, up until his bitter end, had been his precious bulls and the times he spent in the corridas with them. At least Alyssa had been spared Lalo Montego.
Lalo had been the victim of a bull-horn thrust which should never have caught him in the belly. He’d been way too old to be fighting bulls in the bullring at the time. Yet, he couldn’t stay away; and, despite what some people had thought, it had nothing whatsoever to do with the large sum of money the promoters had paid him for his come-back. Lalo Montego always had plenty of money, even before he ever stepped into his first bullring as a boy of thirteen.
For some reason, he had simply been drawn to the corrida, even at the very end. Apparently, it had made no difference that his coordination wasn’t what it had once been, nor that the bulls were no the less dangerous.
No matter what all the bleeding liberals said, the bulls were not always destined to be bested on every Sunday afternoon. Ask Lalo Montego, wherever he was—in heaven or, more than likely, in hell.
Kneeling to wash Alyssa’s back, Mara didn’t like to think of Lalo actually in hell; although it was suspicions of his presence there that saw her praying for his soul each and every night. He had destroyed and mangled a lot of lives, even if he had always been kind to her. But, then, he had never really loved her. If he had, she, too, might have come to have a different impression of him. Strangely, it was the ones Lalo seemed to love the most (if he loved at all), who had ended up suffering the most at this hands.
“Do you think it would be all right if I just stayed where I am for awhile and just soak?” Alyssa asked, knowing that Mara had finished on her back and was now merely going through the motions. “It really feels so glorious.”
“You soak, then,” Mara said. “I’ll go unpack your things to makes sure it gets done properly. As you’ll soon find out, some of the girls around here need someone to take a firm hand. I’ve tried my best to keep them in tow; but, any great house needs a master or mistress in residence to take up the slack resulting from most everyone’s natural inclination toward laziness at the first opportunity.”
“You’ll have to help me, Mara,” Alyssa said. “Until I get the rhythm of things, I’m afraid I’m rather out of my element.”
“Don’t you worry, honey,” Mara told her. “You’ll do just fine.”
The servant retreated to the other room where Flavio had unobtrusively deposited Alyssa’s luggage.
Alyssa slipped deeper into the womb-like warmth of the water. She laid her head against the edge of the tub and shut her eyes. She didn’t actually fall asleep; but, she was very close to it when Mara returned to yank a large Turkish towel from the warming rack.
“You don’t want to stay in there so long as to catch a chill,” Mara warned with concerned authority.
Reluctantly, Alyssa obeyed her summons from the bathtub, enjoying the warm towel that quickly wrapped her.
The bed was turned down, revealing its crisp white sheets and providing a welcome invitation, indeed. Alyssa, whose last couple of days seemed filled with plane and car rides, suspected she was beginning to suffer the nemesis of all long-distance travelers: jet lag.
“What you need now is siesta,” Mara informed. “After which, you’ll be in good shape.”
Alyssa exchanged the towel for one of her nightgowns and crawled into the bed.
She must have gone to sleep as soon as she hit the mattress. Though, it didn’t seem all that long before she was being coaxed back to consciousness by a gentle but insistent nudge of her arm.
Pulled drapes had converted the room into twilight; even though, it was still daylight outside.
Alyssa stretched deliciously, enjoying the sensuous pull of her muscles and spine. She recognized Mara by the bed. She didn’t notice the concern etched on the Spanish woman’s face.
“Oh, but that did feel good,” Alyssa said. She added, somewhat guiltily, “I could have slept for hours.”
“I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Señorita,” Mara apologized, but.…”
“No apologies necessary,” Alyssa interrupted, threw back the lone sheet which covered her, and came to a sitting position. Her toes sought out, and found, the slippers that Mara had put beneath the bed earlier. “Certainly, I didn’t come all of this way to spend all of my time in bed.”
Her slippers on, she stood and snatched her robe from the back of the nearby chair. She walked to the windows to throw back the drapes and let in sunshine which, somehow, seemed less hostile than it had during her long drive to get there.
It was only when she turned back to Mara that she realized the Spanish woman was concerned about something.
“Whatever is the matter?” Alyssa asked, moving closer to Mara. Now, there was no mistaking the anxiety written in the expression on Mara’s matronly face.
“Ramón wanted to see you, whenever was convenient,” Mara informed. “I told him you were sleeping; but he now insists that what he has to say really won’t wait.”
And, that sounded more than a little ominous!
“Do you know what he wants?” Alyssa asked. At the same time, she wondered what she should wear, until she realized Mara had already solved that problem by having laid out a white blouse and a light blue skirt.
Mara answered by delivering an exaggerated shrug.
Alyssa suspected the woman knew what Ramón wanted but probably wasn’t talking. Alyssa contemplated giving her the third-degree, but, then, rejected that as being out of hand. Whatever it was Ramón had to tell her, she would find out soon enough.
“Tell Ramón I’ll be down shortly,” Alyssa said.
“I did keep telling him you were still resting,” Mara mumbled under her breath as she exited the bedroom and pulled the door shut behind her.
Alyssa hurriedly dressed and spent a quick few minutes at the vanity table getting her hair and face back into presentable shape. Then, she left the bedroom and headed along the hallway to the stairs that descended to the living room.
Ramón was standing, not sitting, as if he were uncomfortable inside the big house and would have far preferred sitting a horse somewhere out on the plain.
“Ramón?” Alyssa greeted as soon as he’d spotted her. “Mara said you have something urgent to tell me.”
“Urgent, yes,” he agreed. He held his hat in both hands, twisting it along its brim.
“Would you like to sit down?” she suggested.
He shook his head, obviously wanting none of that.
She waited while he continued to say nothing and look extremely ill at ease.
“There’s a problem?” she ventured, thinking that the way things were going, the two could very well end up standing there all night.