White Witch by Elizabeth Ashton Read Free Book Online Page A

and you have become a tradesman!’
    Luis laughed goodhumouredly. ‘A much more profitable thing to be than an obsolete nobleman—you must move with the times, Mama.’
    Peter, who had just taken in what he had said, was staring at him round-eyed.
    ‘A hotel... all mine?’ he gasped.
    ‘Every stone in it, when you come of age.’
    Laurel too was taken aback. Luis had told her he owned several hotels, but she had no idea that Peter could claim one of them. She caught his quizzical glance and knew he guessed her thoughts—uncanny how he was able to read them.
    ‘Worth coming to Spain for?’ he asked in a low voice.
    ‘For Peter, yes,’ for she would get nothing out of it except to lose the boy. ‘Where is this place?’
    ‘Ronda? It is a very old town up in the mountains, and is distinguished by being split in two by a nine-hundred-feet deep gorge. You will find it fascinating.’
    ‘I’m sure I shall,’ but she was wondering if she dared spend a day alone with Luis, for Peter hardly counted. Esteban too seemed to have a similar idea, though for a different reason, for he said:
    ‘Mind if I come along too? Senorita Laurel is too young and pretty to risk her reputation without a duena .’
    ‘She is family,’ Luis said curtly.
    ‘But not within the table of affinity. You know what a nasty tongue Mercedes has, and she did not fancy our guest. Besides, I would like to see Ronda again myself. I have not been there since the corrida last December.’ He turned to Laurel.
    ‘Though it was the home of Pedro Romero, our most famous torero, it only has one fiesta a year.’ His eyes kindled. ‘He introduced fighting on foot, face to face with the bull. Before that it was always done on horseback, and he was reputed to have killed six thousand bulls without having been gored once.’
    Laurel shuddered. ‘Horrible!’
    ‘What not getting gored? Oh, claro !’ He looked dashed. ‘You are English and side with the bull, though quite a lot of your countrymen watch the corridas .’
    ‘I don’t know how they can,’ Laurel murmured, looking at Luis, and caught his faintly scornful smile.
    She must never forget he was Spanish, and his race was capable of great cruelty. The Inquisition had been a Spanish institution. If she allowed herself to become emotionally involved with him she could expect no mercy. He would use her and throw her away without compunction. At least Pedro had married Joanna, whatever he had done to her afterwards, but Pedro had been a good deal younger than Luis, who would never commit such a folly for the sake of love. As it was, he was thinking she was feeble and squeamish to be revolted by the bloody spectacle which he no doubt enjoyed. She must find an excuse not to go to Ronda with him.
    But all her wise resolutions vanished like dew before the sun when she found herself alone with him that same evening. After a comparatively early dinner by Spanish standards at eight o’clock, the tired child dropped off at once into exhausted sleep, and one of the maids told her she had been instructed to keep an eye on him if the Senorita wished to patronise the bar for a drink and to find company. Laurel did not wish for either, but she was too restless to stay in her room. She wandered out on to the terrace on to which the bar opened. The nights were still chilly, and the patrons, preferred its shelter to the fresh air outside. So the terrace was deserted. It faced towards the sea, and the myriad lights of Fuengirola spread a carpet of stars along the border of the ocean. She was leaning over the balustrade gazing at them, when Luis came noiselessly to join her. Her heart gave a hard throb when she caught sight of him. He had dined with his mother and his evening clothes made him look every inch a Spanish grandee. She said uncertainly:
    ‘I’m glad to see you, I want to talk to you.’ For it was not good for Peter to dine at night in the hotel restaurant.
    ‘I am enchanted to hear you say so.’
    She