'Almost every house in Seville has its cellars—a legacy from the times of the Moors—places of sanctuary and safety.'
'And sometimes prisons,' said Jessica, shivering a little. Like most people she found something distinctly frightening about the thought of being imprisoned underground.
'That too,' he agreed. 'The thought distresses you? There are not many of our leading families in Seville who have not had recourse to their cellars, for one reason or another, at some time in their history.'
'This is a very fascinating part of Spain,' Jessica commented as they were served with chilled gazpacho. 'A true mingling of East and West.'
'Not always with happy results,' Ramon told her. 'The Moorish character is a proud one, sombre too, and those in Seville who can trace their line back to the Moors are inordinately proud of their bloodlines. It has not always been so, of course. There was a time, during the Inquisition in particular, when to own to Moorish blood was to sign one's own death warrant.'
'Do you have Moorish ancestors?' Jessica asked him, genuinely interested.
He shook his head ruefully. 'No, my family was originally from the north, but the Conde can trace his family back to a knight attached to the Court of Pedro the Cruel. It is said that he ravished away the daughter of his arch-enemy, although there is a legend in the Conde's family that this was not so; that the girl was seduced by her cousin and in fear of her father she laid the blame at the door of his most bitter enemy. The Conde's ancestor was a proud man, and rather than endure the slur on his good name he offered to marry the girl—that is the story passed down through the Conde's family.'
And it bore a sombre echo of truth, Jessica thought wryly. She could well imagine a man who could not be moved by any other emotion being moved by pride; pride in his name and his race. She could almost see the dark flash of bitter eyes as he was faced with his crime… She shook herself mentally; what was the matter with her? For a moment in her mind's eye she had mentally imagined Sebastian de Calvadores as that accused ravisher. She would really have to stop thinking about the man. What was the matter with her? She was behaving like a teenager! If she felt anything for him it could only be contempt—and yet when he had stood there saying those dreadful things to her she had longed to tell him the truth, to see him smile instead of frown.
It was Jessica's turn to frown now. Why should she care whether Sebastian de Calvadores frowned or smiled? It was immaterial to her; not that she was ever likely to see him again anyway!
Ramon Ferres was an entertaining companion, and although Jessica suspected that he did not entirely approve of a woman in what he plainly considered to be a man's world, he answered all her questions as pleasantly and fully as he could.
'Much of this you will have to ask the Conde,' he told her with another of his shrugs, when she had asked several highly technical questions. 'I'm afraid I am employed more as a public relations manager than a technical expert. The Conde, on the other hand, knows everything there is to know about the manufacturing process. The whole thing was his brain-child; he conceived the idea when he was in South America working on the rancho of his godfather—it is from there that he gets the wool; it is of the highest quality and the partnership is a good one. It is said that Senor Cusuivas would like it to be even closer— he has a daughter who would make the Conde an excellent wife. Forgive me,' he added hastily, 'I should not have said that. The Conde…'
'I've forgotten it already,' Jessica assured him, amused that he had so far forgotten himself to gossip a little with her. As he had said himself, he was not from Southern Spain, and perhaps a little homesick here among the more taciturn, secretive people of Seville, who had lived too long in the shadow of death and danger not to weigh their words carefully. Centuries of bloodshed had stained this soil, leaving the inhabitants a legacy of caution—deep-seated and ineradicable,
'I shall have to leave you in the foyer for a few minutes,' Ramon apologised to her when they got back to the factory. 'Senor Weaver should not be long, and I'm afraid I have some business to attend to, but I shall leave you in Constancia's capable hands.'
Constancia was the secretary. She gave Jessica a brief smile, and offered a cup of coffee. Jessica accepted; the wine with their lunch had left her feeling thirsty.
The girl had been gone about five minutes when the door behind her desk was suddenly thrust open.
'Constancia…'
Jessica felt her heart lurch in recognition of the voice, less grim than when she had heard it last, but recognisable all the same. She was halfway out of her seat, the blood draining from her face, when Sebastian de Calvadores turned and saw her, frowning in disbelief. 'Dios!' he swore angrily. 'You would pursue me even here? Have you no pride, no natural feminine reticence? I have told you as plainly as I can, senorita, that my brother has no interest in you. And nor will you find him here. He is away from home at the moment, visiting the family of his novia-to-be,' he added cruelly, 'a young girl of excellent family who would rather die than tell a man to whom she was not married that she was to bear his child.'
This last gibe brought the hot colour back to Jessica's face.
'Did you send your brother away so that he couldn't see… me?' she asked heatedly.
'Hardly. I had no prior warning of your arrival. However, I am sure that had we done so, Jorge would have thanked me for saving him from an unpleasant confrontation. What did you hope for by coming here? To browbeat him into changing his mind and offering you the protection of his name—our name?' he added proudly.
Before Jessica could retaliate the door opened again and Colin came out, beaming as he caught sight of her.
'Ah, Jessica my dear, you're back. Conde,' he smiled, turning to Sebastian de Calvadores and astounding Jessica, 'allow me to introduce my assistant to you. Jessica—the Conde de Calvadores, Chairman of Calvortex!'
'This is your assistant of whom you have spoken so highly to me?' Just for a moment Jessica saw that Sebastian was practically dumbfounded, although he managed to conceal his shock faster than she could hers.
He was the Chair
man of Calvortex! He was the person on whom the future success of Colin's business depended. Her heart sank. She couldn't see him agreeing to anything that involved her, no matter how remotely.
'Yes, this is Jessica,' Colin was agreeing happily, plainly unaware of any undercurrents. 'Like Senor Ferres, the Conde expected my assistant to be a man,' he added to Jessica.
'Perhaps because I'm a woman he would prefer to see me shut away behind a locked gate—or better still, in one of Seville's many dungeons,' Jessica said lightly, and although Colin laughed, she knew from the tiny muscle clenching in the
Conde's lean jaw that he had not missed her point.
'The Conde has invited me to join him for dinner this evening,' Colin told her. 'We have still not discussed everything.'
Jessica's heart pounded. Was the discovery that she was Colin's assistant going to affect his decision adversely? Surely as a businessman Sebastian de Calvadores would make his final judgment on commercial grounds only, and yet she couldn't help remembering what Ramon Ferres had said about his family and how it tied in with her own impression that he was an inordinately proud man. Would he turn Colin's suggestions down simply because Colin employed her?