Matador, Mi Amor Page 7

  Ladonna was smiling, and her voice sounded as if she were merely bantering; so, why was Alyssa so uncomfortable?

  Ladonna released Alyssa’s hand and moved closer to Adriano. She raised her right index finger to his face, her blood-red nail pinpointing the small scar still forming on the handsome man’s lower lip. “You’re looking hardly the worse for wear,” she said, her smile widening. “Considering Joaquín’s description, I expected you to arrive with all sorts of scarring.”

  “I heard about that unfortunate incident, Adriano,” Fanuco said. “Stupid peasants, yes?” There was certain sarcasm in his voice.

  “They were neither peasants nor stupid!” Alyssa announced, reflexively coming to the defense of her ranch hands.

  As a result, the three turned their attention in her direction. What could have been turned into an uneasy situation, however, was saved from it by Adriano.

  “There were extenuating circumstances,” he admitted. “Alyssa is probably right in insinuating her men acted rationally—everything considered.”

  “You always make such a good martyr, don’t you, darling?” Ladonna said, shaking her head and clucking her tongue.

  “Don’t be a bitch, my dear!” Joaquín chided. Then, he excused himself, saying he had been waiting all morning to get a chance to talk with Homas Falón and finally saw his opportunity.

  “And, you two will excuse Adriano and me for a few moments, won’t you?” Ladonna said, hooking her arm in Adriano’s. “It’ll give Alyssa a chance to get better acquainted with our guest of honor.”

  Adriano smiled his helplessness in the face of Ladonna’s persistence; and, promised Alyssa he wouldn’t be long.

  “They do make a striking couple, don’t they?” Fanuco said. He guided Alyssa out of the mainstream of traffic and over to a small bench sitting within a small grape arbor.

  “Yes, very,” she reluctantly admitted. She noticed how, when Fanuco sat, his left leg touched her right.

  “It was indeed unfortunate their engagement was called off, don’t you agree?”

  “Ladonna Hidalgo and Adriano were engaged?” Her surprise was more than evident. Why shouldn’t she be surprised? She was surprised! How could Adriano, who had kissed her so passionately, not once have…?

  “They were engaged,” Fanuco emphasized the past tense. “The marriage, of course, became quite impossible when the Montego ranch went to you and not to Adriano. Marriages in this country, at least among the aristocracy, still aren’t made for love. They’re made for convenience and the merging of land.”

  “You mean their engagement was broken because Adriano’s father didn’t leave him the ranch?” She was incredulous. Still a romantic at heart, she found it impossible to reason how any two people could split up because of something as silly as acreage. The idea was medieval!

  “The separation was by mutual consent, I assure you,” Fanuco promised. “Both realized Ladonna could hardly be expected to marry a man unable to bring with him holdings at least equal to those eventually inherited by his bride.”

  “That’s simply archaic!” Alyssa was still unable to believe it. “Besides, Adriano has assured me his father hardly left him a pauper.”

  “Oh, his old man left him very well off, to be sure,” Fanuco agreed. “In money, that is. Land is what’s important in Spain, Señorita. Lalo Montego left you the land. The rumor, of course, is that he did so solely to abort the intended marriage of his son.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Well, you’re not the only one left curious on that score,” Fanuco said with a laugh. He had an attractive face made even more attractive by his lingering smile. “No one really knows what Lalo Montego’s objections to the marriage were. For all intents and purposes, he should have found it made in heaven. The Hidalgo land combined with the Montego holdings would have made the biggest spread in Spain. Everybody should have been happy as a lark about the arrangements.”

  “But, Lalo Montego left the ranch to me?”

  “So, you mustn’t be too concerned if Ladonna comes across a little cold at times. After all, she does have to see you as the monkey wrench thrown into the works. She’s now saddled with Victoro Isidro. And, a man of sixty-four can hardly hold out much invitation—except his land holdings—for someone as obviously young as Ladonna.”

  Alyssa wasn’t sure she understood any of it!

  Fanuco motioned for one of the waiters who wandered around the courtyard with a tray of glasses containing champagne and orange juice. He retrieved two and handed one to Alyssa.

  “By all means, you mustn’t be at all surprised if Joaquín begins making romantic overtures, even if he’s old enough to be your father.”

  “I’m afraid you’re completely losing me.”

  “Am I?” Fanuco asked, dubiously. “Are you sure?”

  Alyssa had gotten the insinuation that Fanuco de Galena had made in regard to how she should be suspect of any romantic attentions Joaquín Hidalgo might express towards her. She had something Joaquín wanted; something his daughter had been unable to get—the ranch of the deceased Lalo Montego. If Joaquín could charm his way into Alyssa’s confidence, despite their obvious age difference, there was a way he could add not only the Isidro property to his coffers, through his daughter’s eventual marriage to Victoro Isidro, but, also, snag the Montego estate, via Alyssa. Such success would deliver into his hands the whole giant land-acreage enchilada.

  By association, there was more than a slight hint that Alyssa should, also, be on guard against Adriano Montego, for how could a young man who had his marriage plans aborted, because of his father’s will, really be as unconcerned as he seemed? Wasn’t it more likely he was out for some kind of revenge? Wasn’t it possible he was out to charm himself into Alyssa’s good graces, seduce her, and even marry her—to get the ranch?

  Alyssa didn’t like the thoughts Fanuco had planted in her head. The next step was for her not to like Fanuco. She was thoroughly prepared to do so, but she found it decidedly difficult to dislike someone so handsome and with such an attractive smile. Still, good looks were only skin-deep.

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked. She couldn’t figure it out, for the life of her, and if Fanuco didn’t know why he was doing it, it was highly unlikely anyone else would.

  “Doing what?” His expression was wide-eyed innocence that equally relayed that he knew very well to what she referred.

  “I’m not very good at game-playing,” she said.

  “A pity,” he replied, taking a sip of the champagne-orange juice mixture and eyeing her over the rim of his glass, “because, anyone who can’t play the game, around here, is liable to end up eaten alive.”

  “Maybe you would oblige by at least providing me with the rules?”

  “Except, there are no rules.” His attractive smile still played the corners of his sexy lips. “Not formal ones, that is. Merely the rules of the jungle.”

  “Surely, you can be more specific than that.”

  “I suppose I could, but do I really have to be? You can surely see how any attention you receive from either Joaquín or Adriano might be suspect.”

  “What’s confusing to me is why you’ve said anything. You, Joaquín, and Adriano are all good friends, aren’t you?”

  “Whatever gave you that idea?” His look was of genuine astonishment. “Oh, you mean because of our seemingly warm greetings?”

  Alyssa was literally at a loss.

  “But, I thought…,” she began but didn’t finish.

  “What you have to learn is how to cultivate a knack for seeing beyond facades.”

  “You’re not friends, then?”

  “Let’s see if I can’t clarify it for you a little. I merely think Ladonna, Joaquín, and Adriano, have more than enough already without their gobbling up your inheritance in the bargain. I see no reason why they should have any unfair advantages; although, yes, my motivations, I readily admit, are spawned from pure, unadulterated jealousy.”

 
; “Jealousy of Joaquín and Adriano, or both?”

  “Even of Ladonna,” he added. “Even, for that matter, of you.”

  “Me?”

  “You’ve all been born with silver spoons in your mouths, haven’t you?”

  “You weren’t?”

  “Good God, no! Who has been filling your pretty head with that kind of nonsense?”

  “I merely assumed.”

  “Well, you assumed incorrectly. My father was a ranch hand on the ranchero you now own. I was born in a house with no inside plumbing.

  He didn’t look as if he were the son of some poor ranch hand.

  “What you see—the suit, the expensive boots, the styled hair, the manicured nails—is only one of those façades of which I mentioned. Beneath all of this is the same snot-nosed kid who only got his chance at the bulls because Lalo Montego thought he might be able to spur his own son’s interest by offering some competition in the form of a wretched little ragamuffin. So, you see, not even Lalo Montego and I were really friends—in the true sense of the word.

  “And did Adriano respond to the competition you offered?”

  “The only thing that ever got a response out of Adriano was hatred of his father. That inspired him to give up a promising career in bullfighting rather than possibly becoming one of Spain’ greatest matadors. I’ve always suspected Adriano could have achieved his vengeance on his father far more aptly had he kept on with the bullfighting and eclipsed his father’s overrated reputation in the corrida.”

  “His father’s reputation was overrated?” Alyssa wasn’t all that familiar with bullfighting, but she had always assumed Lalo Montego was first-rate at what he did. To hear Fanuco now insinuate otherwise was surprising.

  “He was just slightly more than mediocre in a field that had sunk to the depths of mediocrity. He looked so good only because his competition was so damned bad.”

  Alyssa wasn’t about to believe a word of that until she checked into the subject a bit more thoroughly. She wasn’t at all sure but that what she was hearing, here, was nothing but an undeserved put-down and sour grapes by a very egotistical young man.

  “Why did Adriano hate his father so much anyway?” She might as well get Fanuco’s ideas on that while he seemed so anxious to spill everything.

  “Lalo Montego was not a very nice man with women, Adriano’s mother included. Oh, he could be quite charming when he wanted, but he was mean as a rogue bull the majority of the time. Of course, it was his profession which drew women to him like flies to rotten meat. There’s something about the corrida de toros that makes female blood run hot, yes?”

  “I’ll have to take your word for it,” Alyssa said noncommittally.

  “Yes, do.”

  “What about Lalo’s relationship with Joaquín Hidalgo?”

  “What about it?”

  “I understand they were very good friends.”

  “Just because Lalo hated women, don’t assume for a moment he was homosexual.”

  “I…ah…wasn’t.” That notion had never crossed her mind.

  Fanuco laughed at her embarrassment, and said, “Oh, it probably would have been far better if he had been. Anyway, it might have given him some sort of inner peace if he had found someone—man or woman—he could enjoy, in and out of the bedroom. His problem was that he really didn’t enjoy sex at all. But, knowing it was expected that he should, he just kept searching for enjoyment—never finding it. As for his relationship with Joaquín, I assure you it was purely asexual. It wouldn’t have lasted as long as it had if Lalo hadn’t realized there was no one else in the world he could call a friend, except Joaquín.”

  “The two remained friendly, then, up until Lalo died in the bullring?”

  “Committed suicide in the corrida, don’t you mean?”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “It looked like suicide to me,” Fanuco said, “and I was there to see it.”

  “Suicide?”

  “Granted, he wasn’t anywhere near the performer he had been—which, as I’ve already said, was never all that good, but he certainly shouldn’t have gone down the way he did. It looked very much to me as if he stepped into that horn.”

  “Why would he have killed himself?”

  Fanuco shrugged, and then asked, “But, you were asking about the friendship between Lalo and Joaquín, were you not?”

  Alyssa could only nod her head. Fanuco’s suggestions had left her pretty much speechless.

  “Well, the answer is, yes; at least, it’s yes as far as I know. Do you have any reason to believe, they weren’t friends to the end?”

  She was about to mention what her mother told her, but they were interrupted by Joaquín with a Catholic nun in tow.

  “Sister Dominica de Reyalda,” Joaquín introduced her to Alyssa. Fanuco already knew Sister Dominica. “It’s for her orphanage that Fanuco has so graciously donated the proceeds from the corrida he’ll be fighting in Madrid next Sunday. The affair has been sold out since the first day the tickets went on sale; aficionados coming from all over the world to see Fanuco de Galena take on all six bulls.”

  “I’ll be sorry to miss it,” Alyssa said, wondering if she genuinely meant it. Certainly, it did sound like quite an occasion, but she really wasn’t all that sure she would relish seeing someone she knew—even vaguely—face six dangerous bulls in the course of one short afternoon.

  “But, of course, you won’t miss it!” Joaquín contradicted. “It’s quite unthinkable that you should even consider passing up the event.”

  “Didn’t you just say it has been sold out for weeks?”

  “Maybe so; however, there’s always an extra seat to be scrounged up for a friend of the matador, isn’t that right, Fanuco?”

  “Of course,” Fanuco said, his voice insinuating that money always had, and always would have, the clout to pull strings. “In fact, I should be most insulted if Señorita Dunlap didn’t attend.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Having fun, are you?” Adriano asked Alyssa.. He had suggested they join the crowd drifting toward the corrals. Fanuco and Joaquín had gone off with several other men to round up heifers for testing with the cape. Adriano had declined their invitation to join them.

  “So far, it’s been pleasant enough,” Alyssa said, acutely aware of his guiding hand resting gently on her left elbow.

  “Funny, but I got the definite impression you were looking a bit peaked there for awhile.”

  “No, I’m fine,” she said, though she had been suffering from the discomfort of short bouts of slight nausea. “I guess I ate something that didn’t quite agree with me. More likely, I just got a little too much sun. Nothing serious, I assure you.”

  “I thought, maybe, you’d just found Fanuco distasteful,” Adriano said. “Joaquín suggested it might be a big mistake for us to surrender you to him so soon after your arrival.”

  “What a strange thing to say,” Alyssa said.

  “You mean that Fanuco didn’t take the opportunity to fill your head with all sorts of detrimental tales?”

  “About what?”

  “You mustn’t get the impression that Joaquín, Ladonna, and I aren’t genuinely fond of Fanuco. We’ve all spent a good many years together, you know?”

  “He said you and he trained for the bulls together.”

  “Mmm.”

  They walked a tree-lined pathway and not alone. Everyone seemed headed in the same direction, but Alyssa and Adriano managed certain isolation by appearing prepared to fend off any infringements upon their private conversation.

  “Was your father a good matador?” she asked.

  “Isn’t ‘good’ subjective?”

  “You know what I mean. Was he a good technician? Did he have good style? However it is that one judges such things in a matador.”

  “Fanuco told you that my father was rather mediocre, did he?”

  “Why would he do that?” Why was she defending the attractive matador, especially since he hadn’t once
said anything about their discussion being confidential?

  “Actually, my father was rather mediocre,” Adriano admitted, surprising her with his candidness. “Certainly, he wasn’t as good as Miguelín, Ortega, or Bienveida. Nor did he have the flamboyance of an El Cordobés. But, he arrived on the scene when the corrida hadn’t seen a really good matador in years. He resurrected interest that was waning. That’s why he became so popular and respected.”

  “What about Fanuco? I mean, is he good?”

  “Fanuco is more than good. Fanuco is great.” He gave an amused smile. “He did tell you that, too, didn’t he?”

  “What he said was that you might have been better.”

  “Yes, I do think he thinks that.”

  “And?”

  Adriano shrugged.

  “That’s modesty, is it?”

  He shrugged again.

  “But you were good?”

  “I was told I had potential. I saw no point in risking my life every Sunday afternoon to prove it.”

  “If you’d had no money, like Fanuco, would you have taken being a matador more seriously?”

  “I wasn’t poor like Fanuco, though, was I?”

  “But, if you had been?”

  “Who knows? I hear poverty can be powerful as motivation.”

  They walked a little farther in silence.

  “Did your father commit suicide?” she asked, after several long seconds of getting up the courage to venture asking. She expected him to be vehement in his denial. Instead, he replied with a chuckle.

  “Heard that rumor, too, did you? My goodness, you have been a busy little bee throughout the day.”

  “That doesn’t really answer my question.”

  “Only because the only person who could answer that question is now dead. I can only tell you that if my father did step in front of that horn, no one has yet been able to come up with any logical explanation as to why. He had everything any man could have wanted. Fame, fortune, land, respect. Even that final corrida was a raging success for him—up until the moment of its tragic conclusion. Suicide? I think I would have to veto that notion until someone comes up with a truly logical explanation as to why he would have decided to end his life at that precise moment.”