ahead of them, she could see the
castillo.
She had not realised it would be so large, so imposing, and her breath caught on a betraying gasp of awe. Its architecture was a blend of a traditional Moorish style and something of the Renaissance, and sunlight shone on the narrow iron-grille-covered windows of its turreted corners.
This wasn’t a home, Fliss thought apprehensively.It was a fortress—a stronghold designed to reveal the might and the power of the man who held it and to warn others not to challenge that power.
They had to drive past formal gardens and an ornamental lake before reaching the front of the
castillo,
where Vidal brought the car to a halt.
An elderly manservant was waiting to greet them once they had stepped into the vast marble hallway, and a housekeeper who smiled far more warmly at her than Rosa was summoned to escort her to her room after Vidal announced that she might want an opportunity to ‘freshen up’ whilst he spoke with his estate manager.
‘Since it’s almost lunchtime, I suggest that we delay our visit to Felipe’s house until after we have eaten.’
Vidal might be using the word
suggest,
but what he really meant, and wanted her to know, was that he was giving her an order, Fliss thought angrily, forced to nod her head and accept his dictat, even though she wanted to insist that she see her father’s house immediately.
A couple of minutes later, following the housekeeper down a long, wide corridor on the second floor, Fliss reflected that both the vastness of the
castillo
and its architecture reminded her of a long-ago visit to Blenheim, the enormous palace given to the Duke of Marlborough by Queen Anne. Here at the
castillo,
the ceiling of the long gallery-style corridor was decorated with ornate plasterwork, and the crimson-papered walls were hung with huge gilt-framed portraits.
They had almost reached the end of the corridor when the housekeeper came to a halt and opened the doubledoors in front of her, indicating that Fliss was to precede her into the room beyond them.
If she had thought that her bedroom at the family townhouse in Granada was large and elegant, then she had obviously not realised what the words could actually mean, Fliss recognised. She put down the overnight bag she’d brought with her, lost for words in the middle of what had to be the most opulent bedroom she had ever seen.
Gilt swags and cherubs adorned the half-tester bed, whilst above it on the ceiling nymphs and shepherds rioted in discreet pastel-painted pastoral delight. Ornate gilt plasterwork decorated the cream-painted walls, framing insets of rich gold cherub-imprinted wallpaper, and matching silk curtains hung at the windows and fell from the bedhead.
All the furniture in the room was painted cream—feminine and delicate—as well as highly decorated with a good deal of gilt rococo work. On the bed was a gold coverlet made out of the same fabric as the curtains, its cherubs stitched and padded to stand out. Against one wall, between two sets of tall glass doors that led out onto narrow balconies, stood a desk with its own chair, and in the corner was a low table on which she could see a selection of glossy magazines. Fliss, who had a little knowledge of antiques, suspected that the cream-and-gold carpet was probably a priceless Savonnerie, made especially for the room.
‘Your bathroom and dressing room are through here,’ the housekeeper informed Fliss, indicating the recesseddouble doors on either side of the bed. ‘I shall send a maid up to escort you to lunch in ten minutes.’
Thanking her, Fliss waited until the door had closed behind her before investigating the bathroom and dressing room.
The bathroom was very traditional, with marble floors and walls and a huge roll-top bath alongside a modern shower enclosure. Every kind of product a visiting guest might require was laid out on the marble surround to the basin. A quantity of thick fluffy towels hung from a modern chrome
castillo.
She had not realised it would be so large, so imposing, and her breath caught on a betraying gasp of awe. Its architecture was a blend of a traditional Moorish style and something of the Renaissance, and sunlight shone on the narrow iron-grille-covered windows of its turreted corners.
This wasn’t a home, Fliss thought apprehensively.It was a fortress—a stronghold designed to reveal the might and the power of the man who held it and to warn others not to challenge that power.
They had to drive past formal gardens and an ornamental lake before reaching the front of the
castillo,
where Vidal brought the car to a halt.
An elderly manservant was waiting to greet them once they had stepped into the vast marble hallway, and a housekeeper who smiled far more warmly at her than Rosa was summoned to escort her to her room after Vidal announced that she might want an opportunity to ‘freshen up’ whilst he spoke with his estate manager.
‘Since it’s almost lunchtime, I suggest that we delay our visit to Felipe’s house until after we have eaten.’
Vidal might be using the word
suggest,
but what he really meant, and wanted her to know, was that he was giving her an order, Fliss thought angrily, forced to nod her head and accept his dictat, even though she wanted to insist that she see her father’s house immediately.
A couple of minutes later, following the housekeeper down a long, wide corridor on the second floor, Fliss reflected that both the vastness of the
castillo
and its architecture reminded her of a long-ago visit to Blenheim, the enormous palace given to the Duke of Marlborough by Queen Anne. Here at the
castillo,
the ceiling of the long gallery-style corridor was decorated with ornate plasterwork, and the crimson-papered walls were hung with huge gilt-framed portraits.
They had almost reached the end of the corridor when the housekeeper came to a halt and opened the doubledoors in front of her, indicating that Fliss was to precede her into the room beyond them.
If she had thought that her bedroom at the family townhouse in Granada was large and elegant, then she had obviously not realised what the words could actually mean, Fliss recognised. She put down the overnight bag she’d brought with her, lost for words in the middle of what had to be the most opulent bedroom she had ever seen.
Gilt swags and cherubs adorned the half-tester bed, whilst above it on the ceiling nymphs and shepherds rioted in discreet pastel-painted pastoral delight. Ornate gilt plasterwork decorated the cream-painted walls, framing insets of rich gold cherub-imprinted wallpaper, and matching silk curtains hung at the windows and fell from the bedhead.
All the furniture in the room was painted cream—feminine and delicate—as well as highly decorated with a good deal of gilt rococo work. On the bed was a gold coverlet made out of the same fabric as the curtains, its cherubs stitched and padded to stand out. Against one wall, between two sets of tall glass doors that led out onto narrow balconies, stood a desk with its own chair, and in the corner was a low table on which she could see a selection of glossy magazines. Fliss, who had a little knowledge of antiques, suspected that the cream-and-gold carpet was probably a priceless Savonnerie, made especially for the room.
‘Your bathroom and dressing room are through here,’ the housekeeper informed Fliss, indicating the recesseddouble doors on either side of the bed. ‘I shall send a maid up to escort you to lunch in ten minutes.’
Thanking her, Fliss waited until the door had closed behind her before investigating the bathroom and dressing room.
The bathroom was very traditional, with marble floors and walls and a huge roll-top bath alongside a modern shower enclosure. Every kind of product a visiting guest might require was laid out on the marble surround to the basin. A quantity of thick fluffy towels hung from a modern chrome
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