Chapters

TWO OF A KIND

Clare Cassy

Chapter One

The hot, Spanish sun soaked deliciously into Juanita Estevez’s bare, brown shoulders as she jotted down the prices of the traditional, cornflower-blue china she wanted to buy for her father’s restaurant. Fifteen euros a plate? Ridiculous! she tutted, marching on to the next shop window. These were all real tourist prices, she’d go to Calle Mayor, she’d be sure to find something cheaper there.

It had been a good morning until she went shopping. She’d finished the scarlet, calf length, silk dress she had been working on for the last three months at college. It was typical of Juanita or “Juani” as she was usually called, to insist on wearing it shopping. “It’ll get all creased on the bus!” Señora Lopez implored her. But firmly, casting her tutor's good-natured objections aside, Juani slipped into her latest creation and was totally unaware of the envious glances from passing women in the street.

No more college for six weeks, she mused as her fingers sought out more plates in the shop. I can’t wait that long to get back to my drawing board. Of course, she could always work at home, but her pins and needles everywhere drove her father mad. Besides, it was the tourist season and most of her time would be spent working in his restaurant. But, there was the Feria to look forward to. Everything stopped for the Feria when there would be three days of wild, passionate, flamenco dancing; eating, drinking and celebration in her small village's streets.

With just a year to go until she was a fully-fledged fashion designer, Juanita already had her future planned. She’d have her own small shop and design studio here, in Seville, where she would snip and tuck to her heart’s content and make as much mess as she liked. The streets were starting to empty. A quick glance at her watch told her it would soon be Siesta time. She must get home with some wretched plates before the heat became unbearable. Home was Hinojos, a small traditional, sleepy Spanish village about thirty kilometres outside Seville. Juani's parents and grandparents had all been born there. People wandered in and out of each other's houses without as much as a knock. There were no closed doors in Hinojos.

One more look down the Calle San Cruz and that would be it. She'd get the bus home. Just as she was jotting down some more prices on the back of her sketch pad, there was a sudden, sharp camera click, just centimeters from her face. Spinning round angrily on her heels, she was vaguely aware of a tall, broad shouldered man striding past her down the street.

“Thanks,” he called back over his shoulder. “You’re beautiful.”

Seething with fury, she couldn’t help but notice his attractive mocking smile and thick, black, wavy, collar length hair. Who did he think he was sneaking up on her like that? How dare he? He wasn’t even a tourist. It was unheard of for a Spanish man to take such a liberty with a Spanish girl. Just as she was desperately thinking of some suitable insult to fling back at him, two youths sped past her on a moped, swiping her bag and nearly knocking her flying.

“Help! Thief!” Juani shouted, gathering up the hem of her dress and running like fury after them.

Hearing her frantic screams, the man with the camera, turned around to see this beautiful girl, her waist length, raven-black hair streaming out behind her, pointing frantically at two scruffy boys speeding towards him on a moped. Throwing her his camera, he dashed into the road and grabbed one of them straight off the back of the bike. The next thing Juani saw was a profusion of arms and legs kicking and scraping on the ground. People were stopping in the street to watch, tutting and shaking their heads.

“Apologise to the Señorita!” the handsome stranger demanded, shaking them both by the scruff of their necks, his eyes blazing with fury, “I said apologise!” The two boys hung from his grasp like two skinned rabbits.

“Sorry Señorita.” They muttered under their breath, handing Juani back her bag. Seemingly satisfied, he released his grasp and they ran off down the street.

“You okay?” he asked, wiping the blood from his nose and examining the rip in his white linen shirt.

“Just about,” she answered, cussedly. “I’m afraid I didn’t catch your camera though.”

For a moment his teasing, masculine mouth set in tight-lipped fury as he snatched it back and examined it knowingly.

“Is your film ruined?”

“Just a small technical hitch,” he answered, smiling. “Don’t worry, your picture’s safe with me... You should be more careful though.”

“What do you mean?” she retorted, angrily.

“You’re not a tourist, you should know better than to walk around with an open bag like that.”

“What about you and that stupid camera you thrust in peoples’ faces? If that isn’t an open invitation to a thief, then I don’t know what is?”

“I know how to look after myself.”

The arrogant, contemptuous pig! Juani felt like grabbing his wretched camera and smashing it to the ground and yet there was something about him. Her feelings unnerved her.

“C’mon, we both need a drink,” he said in a conciliatory tone.

“No thank you, I must go and get my bus…”

“I don’t know, you Spanish girls…” he smirked.

"What do you mean? You are Spanish...”

“Am I?” he asked, more to himself than her. “Oh, come on,” he said impatiently, “I’m not going to abduct you.”

And before Juani knew it, she was sitting drinking Sangria with him in the Café Alfonso.

“Do you make a habit of sneaking up on people stealing photos?”

“Only when they are as beautiful as you,” he said, leaning back on his chair, his eyes drinking her in as he smoked his cigarette.

“I’m sorry,” he said, running his hand through his hair. “That was presumptuous of me… sometimes my camera just takes over. Before I know it, ‘snap!’ it’s taken a picture…. anyway," he added in a lighter tone, “If it hadn’t been for my camera we wouldn’t be sitting here now and I can’t think of anything I would rather do.” he said, leaning closer to her across the table, instinctively causing her to lean straight back in her chair.

“Nice or not,” Juani snapped, suddenly leaping up out of her chair and brushing down her dress. “I can’t sit here all day." She regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth. She’d sounded so prissy and defensive, not like the real fun-loving Juani at all.

“That’s a nice dress,” he remarked, his coal black eyes scanning her body. “You have a good sense of style.”

No man had ever complimented her on her clothes before in such a knowing way and Juani could sense that he meant what he said.

“Thank you, I made it.”

“You should be a designer.”

“That’s what I plan to do.”

“Good,” he said, “You have talent, make sure you use it.”

“I have to go now, adios,” she said, picking up her bag.

“Adios,” he said, “Until we meet again.”

“I wouldn’t count on it if I were you.”

“Ah, but I do,” he said, smiling his infuriatingly, irresistible smile. “Watch that bag.” he teased as she stepped into the street.

This was the first time Santi Alverez had been back to Spain in a while. Nothing had really changed much, he reflected, except a lot of the people he had grown up with were married with young families of their own. Not many of them had travelled outside Spain, preferring to step into the security of a family business or profession, whereas Santi, in addition to travelling the world photographing some of the most beautiful women, was one of the richest, self-made business men, under thirty-five years of age in Europe. Once he started making money, it seemed he just couldn't stop.

But it was quite a scandal when he disappeared to London from Almonte, the village where he grew up, on the outskirts of Seville, with not much more than a rucksack and his precious camera when he had just turned nineteen. His father didn’t speak to him for five years and forbade Santi’s mother and the rest of his family to contact him. He was so angry and distraught that his favourite and brightest son turned his back on their family business, which was the most renowned and well-established law firm in Seville.

“What is the matter with the boy?" He wailed to his friends. "Practising law is such an honourable profession. Why would he turn down a place at law school and choose to make such a haphazard living taking ridiculous pictures…?"

And no matter how many of those pictures appeared in the World’s most prestigious magazines, his father never forgave him because in his eyes, his son had turned his back on his family and his heritage.

So, Santi Alverez felt a lot more English or American nowadays than he did Spanish. It wasn’t really surprising. He had done most of his real growing up in London and spent much of his time working in New York overseeing his business ventures... Of course, he still had friends in Seville but now that he’d become a world-famous fashion photographer many of them viewed him with jealousy and suspicion. He didn’t need their approval though, he was his own man, with his own newly built, large spacious house in Seville. Besides it was soon to be the Feria and the more he returned to Spain, the sooner they would come around.

“Where are you? Have you got the plates?” Juani’s father boomed down her mobile phone as she rushed to the bus stop, her head in a spin.

“No Papa, I haven’t, the prices are ridiculous…”

“Juani, I don’t care how much they cost. We need more plates, it’s the Feria, the restaurant is already packed…”

“Okay,” she answered respectfully, swinging back into dutiful daughter mode. “I’ll go back and buy some….”

Putting her phone in her bag, she forced thoughts of Santi Alverez to the back of her mind and reluctantly made her way back to Calle Mayor to buy those stupidly over- priced plates.

It was going to be a long night. The restaurant was packed and it was still early in the evening.

“Juani, you forgot the paella for the English ladies!”

“Sorry Papa.” she sighed, re-tying her apron.

“What’s the matter with you? You are forgetting everything today.” he said, throwing his hands up into the air.” We can’t keep the English ladies waiting!”

The English girls. Everybody in the village was talking about the "English girls." Papa’s eyes would light up as soon as they came in. Nothing was too much trouble for them.

Juani had always been proud of her waist length, blue-black hair. But now she wished she was blonde and wore blue denim jeans and short skirts like them. Of course, she would never have believed it if someone had told her how stunning and stylish the English girls secretly thought she was – they’d never seen any clothes in London like the ones she wore. She wasn’t any ordinary village girl, that was for sure. Nevertheless, Juani was sick and tired of hearing about them all day. They could drink in bars and go on holiday by themselves whereas Papa just about let her go in to Seville on her own to buy plates for the restaurant. And she was nearly twenty-three! Although Juani had been to Madrid and Barcelona for the famous flower festival, that was the furthest she had ever travelled outside Hinojos. How she longed to go to London, Paris, New York…

After Fernandez, the barman, had carefully garnished each plate with a giant prawn, mussels and a few luscious green olives, Juani took the piping hot paella dishes over to the English girls. Papa was talking excitedly to them in his pigeon English, drawing pictures on the paper table cloth in an effort to make them understand. Just as Juani was putting down their plates and was poised with the black pepper, Santi Alverez came in to the restaurant.

“Hola!” one of the English girls called out excitedly, motioning to him to join them.

Hola.” he answered back, launching into fluent English. Juani’s knees felt weak. She could hear her heart beating in her head and had to stop herself running back into the safety of the sweltering kitchen. Deliberately not looking at him, she inched away as he bent down to kiss them on each cheek in the usual Spanish way.

The girl with the long blond hair and bright red lipstick threw back her head and pursed her lips. Juani couldn’t understand everything she said as she was speaking very quickly in English. But she must have asked him to take her picture because she was pouting and primping her hair. The other girls then decided they wanted to be in the picture too, so made a big fuss of re-applying their lipstick and adjusting their push-up bras under their skimpy t-shirts.

“Don’t forget me.” Juani’s father called out, as they all pushed their chairs together. In an instant, he’d practically jumped over the bar and squashed his portly frame between the giggling girls.

“Picture for me, for wall.” he said, excitedly, pointing at his gallery of photographs pinned above the bar.

“Si, Si Señor.” they said together. Then with a flash and a click, Santi Alverez had taken the picture.

“Bravo.” called out Juani’s father. “More, more!” But the girls had decided they’d had enough of posing by now and wanted to get back to their delicious looking paella.

“No, Señor,” they chorused, “Another day.”

“Okay ladies, okay.” Juani’s father answered with mock hurt, showing off the only English he knew.

Putting his camera away, Santi Alverez joined the girls at their table. The girl with the blonde hair and red lipstick must be his girlfriend, Juani reflected as she collected empty plates from a nearby table. Her eyes are on him the whole time…

“Señorita, Señorita?” she called over rudely to Juani.

Oh no, I’ve got to go over and serve them again. Juani couldn’t look at him… let alone talk to him and take his order. This was the worst day of her life. Her cheeks were burning as she made her way over to their table, so she directed all her attention to the English girl, who clearly didn’t understand any Spanish. Looking at Juani disdainfully she ordered some tapas, stabbing the menu with her bright red fingernail.

“Ah no, wait, I won’t have that. I’ll have this,” Anticipating that Juani may not be able to understand or speak much English, Santi explained what was on offer and politely ordered a beer and plate of tapas for himself. So, for the fourth time, Juani crossed out what the English girl had ordered and started again. Then, just as she was making her way to the kitchen with her order she called Juani back again. Finally, she settled on squid and a mixed salad.

“You work here?” Santi Alverez asked Juani, holding her with his eyes, as she set down their order.

Juani was so pent up and unnerved by his presence she was hardly aware of her answer. It was something like, 'Yes she did and this was her father's restaurant.'

“That is good, very good. So, you are studying and working at the same time? I like that…”

But his companion clearly wasn’t happy that he was having a conversation with their waitress in Spanish and demanded to know what they were talking about as Juani went off to serve another customer.

“Hey Juani,” Fernandez, her father’s barman, whispered in a conspiratorial tone as she handed him a drinks order, “That’s Santi Alverez, the famous photographer."

So, he’s a famous photographer and he has a picture of me…

“So, who are the English girls?”

“Who are the English girls?” Fernandez joked. “The most beautiful, sexy blondes I have ever seen in Spain!”

“Is she his girlfriend?” Juani motioned with her eyes, trying not to look over at them.

“I hope not, he’s bigger than me and I’m hoping to take her out tonight… Ah, I know, you want your picture taken too.”

No, Juani didn't. But before she could stop him, Fernandez was making a big show of calling the English girl over to the bar. “Jade, my darling, my little friend, Juanita here, would like her picture taken by your friend…”

“Fernandez, no, what are you doing….?”

The rude English girl, obviously called Jade, sauntered over to the bar.

“So, you’d like your picture taken?” she asked, looking Juani up and down.

“You can ask him can’t you Jade? He won’t mind if you ask him.” Fernandez cut in.

Drawing on her cigarette. Jade thought a moment. Then exhaling slowly, answered coolly.

“He’s a fashion photographer and works with models, but if she is that desperate she can ask him herself.”

“He’s already taken one of me, so I don’t think I’ll bother getting another one,” Juani smiled sweetly.

Jade’s face dropped visibly as she stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray on the bar.

“You never told me,” said Fernandez, wiping the bar.

“There’s a lot I don’t tell you Fernandez”. Juani answered back over her shoulder as she went to serve another customer.

“What’s the matter with my little bambino today?” Her father asked, taking the tray from her. "You are not yourself tonight."

“She’s thinking of the Feria of course.” Fernandez answered for her.

“Ah the Feria…” her father remarked knowingly. “Go home my flower and make yourself beautiful for the Feria.”

Chapter Two

Seville and its neighbouring villages are famous for their Feria. Families and neighbours join together and save all year round for this one great social event, enjoyed by young and old alike. Lasting on average, three days and nights, everybody yearns for the Feria, which starts with a special service of thanks-giving in the village church and is attended by the whole village.

How Juani loved her village church. Everyone was there tonight, crowded into the tiny aisles and pews.

“Hail Mary full of Grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women,” intoned Father Sanchez at the altar.

“A-m-e-n,” sang back the congregation. Closing her eyes under her black lace mantilla as she knelt in prayer, Juani breathed in the heady scents of polish and incense and imagined herself in a few months’ time, walking down the aisle, on Papa’s arm, on her wedding day.

Alexi, her childhood sweetheart would be standing at the altar with Father Sanchez, eagerly anticipating her entrance. They would look into each other’s eyes as they exchanged their vows. Then he would gently lift her veil and kiss her in front of all their family and friends before they walked back down the aisle as man and wife. If only Juani’s beloved mother could be with them to share their special day. It broke Juani's heart that her mother would never see her in her wedding dress. Papa fell to pieces when she died two years ago. Juani’s older sister, Magdalena, was married with a young toddler now and so it fell to Juani to help her father run the restaurant whenever she could.

It was generally agreed by everybody in the village that Juani’s father owned the smartest restaurant in Hinojos. Ever since Juani could remember, she and her sister would go there every night with their parents. Mama would dash from table to table with Papa’s wonderful food while Juani and Magdalena charmed all the customers who patted their heads and slipped them shrimps or olives from their table. At around midnight, people would clap their hands for their father to play his guitar while their mother performed the Flamenco. This would go on until two or three in the morning when they would pick up their sleeping babes and drive them home. How proud Juani and her sister both were when they watched their mother stamp her feet and click those castanets to the fiery, passionate music that burst forth from Papa’s guitar.

Snapping back to reality, a huge statue of the Madonna, resplendent in a silk dress and lace mantilla stood at the top of the church by the altar. One by one, people crowded into the tiny church, each person lighting a tiny, ivory coloured candle which they placed reverently around her feet. Then, at the end of the Mass, all the young men of the village, including Alexi, filed up to the altar and solemnly heaved the mighty statue onto their shoulders. What a spectacle they made as they carried Her out of the church into Hinojos' tiny winding streets. The young men's heads bowed in reverence as Juani, her father and all the villagers followed; each person carrying one of the hundreds of shimmering candles from the church. Everybody was silent as the Madonna dominated the night. Around the village they went, in a long solemn procession before the young men returned her to her resting place in the ancient church. This time-honoured tradition, signaled the start of the Feria.

Juani had been counting the days to the start of the Feria and would normally be in a frenzy of excitement by now. But she was troubled by her encounter with Santi Alverez. She couldn't believe he’d persuaded her to go to a cafe with him. And he had a picture of her. What was wrong with her? She was engaged to be married, what if Alexi or one of their friends saw them together? It didn't bear thinking about. She was furious with herself and resented the time she spent thinking about him. She hadn't thought about Alexi in days. Tall, broad shouldered and unusual for a Spaniard, blond with blue eyes. Alexi was twenty-five. They made a handsome pair. Him, with his cool, blond good looks and her, with her dark sultry beauty. Their parents had grown up together and were the best of friends. Ever since Juani and Alexi were babies, both families hoped they’d grow up and get engaged. Neither Juani nor Alexi particularly questioned it. Both were the most attractive girl and boy in the village. They were destined for one another. So, they’d grown up quite happy to do the expected thing which was to get married and please their families.

Alexi’s father owned a lot of land around Hinojos. As well as running a vineyard, he bred and trained horses on the family's world-famous stud farm. There was nothing Alexi liked better than to be out in the open fields all day training the horses. The eldest of four boys, he was his father’s heir. One day it would be his task to run the vineyard and take charge of the stud farm. His brothers were quite happy, if not relieved. They had their hearts set on university and didn’t want to spend the rest of their lives in Hinojos, whereas Alexis could never imagine living anywhere else.

After the procession of the Madonna around the village, Juani rushed back home to get changed into her Flamenco dress. Like most of the women in the village she had been working on her dress all year. A beautiful burnt orange, which perfectly complimented her dark hair and olive skin, it had a tight bodice and fell into a traditional three tier flounced skirt. Scraping her hair back off her face and looping it softly at the nape of her neck, three, fluted, Spanish style, tortoiseshell hair combs and a couple of freshly cut, white carnations, completed her look. Just a little red lipstick and some kohl pencil to outline her eyes and she was ready – except for her castanets and lace fan. Oh, why couldn’t she find things when she wanted them?

“Papa, Papa, have you seen my lace fan?” she called down from the top of the stairs. “Are you alright? she asked, with some alarm. He was standing at the bottom of the stairs staring up at her blankly.

“Ah, Juanita, if only your mother could see you now.”

“C’mon Papa,” she said, affectionately, coming down the stairs and squeezing his arm “We must get to our caseta, everyone will be waiting for us."

A caseta was a little, one room, wood-chip house each family in the village had specially erected for the Feria. All Joined together, they looked like rows of small semi-detached houses. Friends and family would be invited there for food, music and dancing and of course everyone tried to outdo one another by building the best caseta.

Juani and her father had worked on theirs for weeks, along with her sister Magdalena and her husband. Last year they had won the prize for the most original caseta; Papa was so proud when he was presented with the trophy by the village Mayor. This year he had vowed they would do even better and had even erected a small stage where his girls could dance the flamenco.

Hinojos was a sea of colour that night. Everywhere you looked there were brightly coloured Flamenco dresses proudly worn by all the women and little girls. Their hair piled high in the traditional Sevillian style, decorated with flowers and tall, fluted, tortoiseshell hair combs.

All the engaged, or soon to be engaged couples now paraded on horseback past the brightly painted little casetas; the girls riding side-saddle behind their men. Alexi was waiting for Juanita with his grey stallion outside his family’s caseta.

“Hola!” shouted out Juani.

“Hola.” Alexi called back, striding over and kissing her on both cheeks.

“This is it!” she teased proudly, holding out the skirt of her dress and twirling around, her traditional black silk, embroidered shawl fanning out behind her.

“You look beautiful,” Alexi whispered, his eyes feasting on her.

“Well lift me up then.” Juani joked, clasping her arms around his sturdy neck.

“Here goes,” he said, lifting her up firmly into his horse’s saddle.

People were cheering and throwing rosebuds at the happy couples as they rode past, each boy proudly showing off his future wife. Juani was suddenly marvelously happy. She was about to get engaged to a good man and it was just the beginning of the Feria. Tossing her proud head back in the wind and clasping her hands tightly around Alexi’s waist, she caught a Gardenia and tucked it into her hair.

People were laughing and cheering and the sky was raining rosebuds. Then, quite suddenly in the middle of the procession, Alexi’s horse reared. Trying desperately to control it, he pulled tighter on the reigns but to no avail. Convinced she was going to be tossed into the crowd and break into a hundred pieces, Juani couldn’t stop herself screaming. Clinging for all she was worth onto Alexi. Suddenly, someone ran into their path and grabbed the horse's bridle.

"There boy, it’s okay," he spoke firmly to the horse, "It's okay." he repeated calmly, patting its mane. When Juani eventually caught her breath and dared to open her eyes she saw it was Santi. This was crazy, he was everywhere. Alexi was shaking his hand and thanking him for calming their horse. Her heart was pounding as she tried desperately to avoid Santi’s eyes. She should have said thank you but she couldn't even look at him. Holding tighter on to Alexi, she could feel Santi Alverez’s eyes burning into her back as they re-joined the procession.

Magdalena was balancing her wriggling toddler, Flavia, on one hip and waving to Juani and Alexi as they rode up the main village street with all the other couples on horseback.

“Hurry up, we’re all waiting for you in the caseta,” she called out excitedly. Alexi stopped the horse and expertly lifted Juani down from the saddle, picking rosebuds out of her hair as she smoothed the skirt of her flamenco dress. The sisters kissed each other hurriedly as they were more interested in comparing dresses.

“You look great!” Juani said, kissing her sister and little niece on both cheeks.

“Your dress is beautiful,” exclaimed Magdalena, a touch of envy in her voice. “See how clever your Auntie is Flavia? When you are a big girl she will make you a lovely dress like this.”

Magdalena had been working on her dress all year too. A bright emerald green with tiny black polka dots, with Juani’s careful tutorage it fitted her like a glove. Three lacquered hair combs held her long chestnut mane in place. Fairer skinned than her sister and slightly smaller in height, everybody in the village agreed that they were two very fine-looking sisters. Always the best of friends they had become even closer since their mother died. A mother now herself, Magdalena was deliriously happy and was always saying she couldn’t wait to have more babies and wouldn’t swap places with Juani and go to college for the world.

“Hurry up you two, Papa’s getting impatient.” Carlos, Magdalena’s husband called to them from inside the caseta.

“Okay, we’re coming.” Juani answered in between smothering Flavia with yet more kisses. Then linking arms affectionately, as Spanish girls do, they made their way into the caseta, Flavia toddling behind them.

A long trestle table was laid out with a sumptuous display of lobster, crab, gambas, olives, tall jugs of Sangria, beer and wine. Papa was already in a party mood, dressed in his best suit and tie.

“Ah Flavia, my cherub,” he exclaimed, “Come and dance with your Grandpapa!”

Suddenly the child was scooped up in his arms and he was dancing the Tango with her. Mothers danced with their babies in the night air; children chased each other around tables. Old men and women recounted stories of past Ferias. There were fireworks, every sort of side show and Flamenco dancing everywhere.

“Juani, dance for us.” called out Magdalena.

“Yes, Juani, dance for us.” chorused the children excitedly. Carlos picked up his guitar as everybody in the caseta started stamping their feet and clapping their hands.

“Where’s Alexi?” Juani asked Magdalena, looking around the caseta anxiously, he was there a minute ago, entertaining little Flavia. “He mustn’t miss my dance, I’ve been practicing for months.”

“He won’t.” Magdalena assured her, pushing her sister up on to the stage. “He’ll be here in a minute, go on... everybody is waiting.”

As she stepped up onto the stage, Juani threw up her arms, stamped her feet and proudly threw back her head in time with the passionate Flamenco music; then slowly raising her skirt to her calves, then her arms up past her face, she clicked her castanets seductively in circles around her head and down past her face. As the music beat faster, she stamped her feet harder. Spinning, turning and swirling her skirts. Quite a crowd had gathered to watch her, all cramming into their little caseta.

Then, she saw him watching her, with that flaming camera around his neck. Averting her eyes, she lost herself in the music and prayed he’d be gone by the time she spun around again. But no, he was still there. Trapping her with his coal black eyes. The harder he looked at her the harder she’d stamp her feet and the faster and more passionately, she’d dance. It was as through she’d been taken over by some strange force, pulling her to him like a magnet. The crowd wouldn’t let her go. She wanted to run out into the safety of the night – anywhere away from his powerful gaze. But they all kept clapping for more. Then to her horror, Magdalena came up on to the stage and gave Juani her black lace fan. Carlos changed tempo, from the fast and furious Flamenco to the slow, seductive music, famously played for the ‘Fan Dance.’ She had no choice but to open her fan and perform this sensuous dance, taught to her by her mother when she was a little girl. She could feel his eyes boring into her and slowly, undeniably, Juani knew that she was dancing for Santi and for Santi alone.

“Bravo!” called out the crowd as she finally folded her fan and stepped down off the stage to rapturous applause.

Just at that moment, Alexi came back into the caseta.

“Where were you?” Magdalena demanded. “You missed Juani dance.”

Breathing beer and slurring his words, he tried to avoid her but couldn’t.

“I was invited to Frederico’s caseta and forgot the time,” he answered sheepishly.

“You should have been here.” Magdalena snapped.

“There’s the guy who calmed our horse.” Alexi quickly called over to a subdued looking Juani; purposely cutting Magdalena short.

“Hola!” Alexi called over to Santi. “Welcome to our caseta. We would like to say thank you to you for saving our necks today…. He did a great job, didn’t he?” he remarked to Juani as he offered Santi a beer.

“Yes, thank you,” she spluttered.

“This is my fiancée, Juanita, and I am Alexi,” he said, pulling Juani close to him.

“Hello Juani.” Santi said, fixing her with his eyes. “She’s a wonderful dancer.”

“Yes,” agreed Alexi, “She is.” His attention was then taken by one of his friends waving him over, leaving Juani alone with Santi.

“Are you a professional dancer too?”

“No,” she answered curtly, fanning her face to cool her cheeks.

“That was quite a performance. When are you getting married?”

“In a few months’ time.”

“You haven’t set a date?”

“No, not yet.” Of course, they had. She was to be married on the twelfth of August in four months’ time and their engagement party was a few days after the Feria. Her dress was ready. The invitations were written… His eyes bore into hers. A smile crossed his masculine mouth, totally disarming her.

“What?” she asked defensively.

“Your fiancé is a lucky man.” He drained his drink and put down his glass. “Remember, you are a wonderful dancer. Adios and thank you Señor.” he called over to her father.

“Hey Santi?” Alexi called over just as Santi reached the door. “Come to our engagement party, next Saturday, at Pablitos’. Juani’s father’s restaurant, here in Hinojos.”

“Thank you, I might,” he said, turning and catching Juani’s eye.

“What did you do that for?” Juani snapped at Alexi.

“Do what?”

“Invite him to our engagement party?”

“He’s a good man, he saved our necks today… Hey, Juani,” he said soothingly, stroking her cheek, “you’re cross because I missed you dancing…”

What was happening to her? she asked herself as she looked into his deep blue eyes. How could a man she didn’t even know turn her life upside down?

“Let’s go riding tomorrow. Just the two of us.” she said, snuggling into his shoulder.

“Sounds good to me,” he answered. “Are you still cross with me?”

No, she wasn’t cross with him anymore. She was afraid. But she couldn’t tell him why.

Juani didn't get to bed until the early hours of the morning and probably wouldn't for the next two nights of the Feria. Papa was asleep when Juani crept into the house - for once he hadn't waited up for her. She was meeting Alexi at his father's stables at midday and Papa was still snoring when she pulled on her jodhpurs and riding boots the next morning. He was usually up on the balcony drinking coffee and eating bread and honey by now. Dear Papa, he'd been so proud dancing under the stars with little Flavia last night.