haunting power over her; the hungering need she felt for him was likely to intensify with time unless she did something about it, whatever that might be. Still, for now she must concentrate on the task at hand, which was to secure the book assignment with the directors of the Eduardo Raphael Ruiz de Salazar estate.
It was on one of those solitary afternoon walks along the beach that Luz encountered Paquita the gypsy for the first time.
Luz was sitting on a boulder gazing down through the crystal-clear waters at the subaqueous jungle of swaying seaweed that was crinkling, twisting, curling and uncurling as the waves washed against the reef. Silver fish and velvety brown baby crabs darted in and out of rocks; a gaggle of colourful sailboats bobbed up and down on the little white crests of the waves as they slowly floated past her; not too far away a small group of winkle pickers were was hard at work with their spades and nets.
Luz closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sky; she wanted to savour the delicious warmth of the sun on her skin. When she opened them again the old witch was there, peering at her with hooded eyes beneath bushy eyebrows, a mask-like expression on her swarthy, wrinkled face. She had come out of nowhere, making no noise as she approached. Short and bent as she stood there in the sand, she wore a red scarf over her white scraggly hair. Her nose was strong and hooked.
Luz gave a start and instinctively recoiled in fear. The old gypsy’s eyes flashed with cunning and her mouth curved into a smile, albeit one like a grimace that uncovered toothless gums.
‘Hermosa jovencita, beautiful young lady, don’t be afraid, Paquita means you no harm,’ she rasped.
Luz suddenly realized how isolated she was. People rarely strolled so far along the beach and the gypsies had a reputation for being quick with knives, even old women like this one. If she screamed, no one would hear her.
‘Please go away,’ she said politely. ‘I have no money on me and nothing else to give you.’
‘Paquita isn’t looking for money or anything else from you. Give me your palm, I know who you are.’ Insistent and slyly menacing in her manner, the old woman moved surprisingly swiftly towards her and claimed her wrist with thin, gnarled fingers.
‘What do you mean, you know who I am?’ Luz demanded. She tried to pull away from the gypsy’s iron grip. Her eyes fell on the old woman’s long nails – they reminded her of a bird of prey’s talons. She shivered.
‘Gypsies never forget.’ The sharp black irises glowed with a strange fire. ‘You have your father’s bewitching eyes and your mother’s clear complexion, a happy combination. Paquita is an old friend of the family … a very old friend. Ask your parents about me, they will tell you.’
‘I doubt they will remember you,’ said Luz sceptically, jerking her wrist out of the witch’s claws. Even supposing they did, she very much doubted that it would be a welcome topic of conversation.
The old hag gave a hoarse chuckle. Her wizened old face lit up with a wicked grin. ‘They’ll remember me all right. I was there – I saw it all. If they had listened, they would have heard, but they ignored Paquita.’ She scoffed and shrugged her bony shoulders, a look of contempt on her sharp features. ‘And now, hermosa jovencita , you must listen to me,’ she said, peering at Luz again through narrowed eyes.
Luz’s brows lifted. ‘And why is that?’ she asked, trying to seem detached.
The tone of the witch’s voice changed a little. ‘Because I see into the future, I know the unknown!’ she replied. ‘So tell me, child, what are you looking for, or should I say, who are you looking for?’
‘You tell me, since you can see into the past and the future.’ Luz fixed Paquita with fierce, steely blue eyes.
The old crone winked and, once again exposing her ungainly jaws, broke into hideous crackles of laughter that resonated eerily in the silence. ‘A
It was on one of those solitary afternoon walks along the beach that Luz encountered Paquita the gypsy for the first time.
Luz was sitting on a boulder gazing down through the crystal-clear waters at the subaqueous jungle of swaying seaweed that was crinkling, twisting, curling and uncurling as the waves washed against the reef. Silver fish and velvety brown baby crabs darted in and out of rocks; a gaggle of colourful sailboats bobbed up and down on the little white crests of the waves as they slowly floated past her; not too far away a small group of winkle pickers were was hard at work with their spades and nets.
Luz closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sky; she wanted to savour the delicious warmth of the sun on her skin. When she opened them again the old witch was there, peering at her with hooded eyes beneath bushy eyebrows, a mask-like expression on her swarthy, wrinkled face. She had come out of nowhere, making no noise as she approached. Short and bent as she stood there in the sand, she wore a red scarf over her white scraggly hair. Her nose was strong and hooked.
Luz gave a start and instinctively recoiled in fear. The old gypsy’s eyes flashed with cunning and her mouth curved into a smile, albeit one like a grimace that uncovered toothless gums.
‘Hermosa jovencita, beautiful young lady, don’t be afraid, Paquita means you no harm,’ she rasped.
Luz suddenly realized how isolated she was. People rarely strolled so far along the beach and the gypsies had a reputation for being quick with knives, even old women like this one. If she screamed, no one would hear her.
‘Please go away,’ she said politely. ‘I have no money on me and nothing else to give you.’
‘Paquita isn’t looking for money or anything else from you. Give me your palm, I know who you are.’ Insistent and slyly menacing in her manner, the old woman moved surprisingly swiftly towards her and claimed her wrist with thin, gnarled fingers.
‘What do you mean, you know who I am?’ Luz demanded. She tried to pull away from the gypsy’s iron grip. Her eyes fell on the old woman’s long nails – they reminded her of a bird of prey’s talons. She shivered.
‘Gypsies never forget.’ The sharp black irises glowed with a strange fire. ‘You have your father’s bewitching eyes and your mother’s clear complexion, a happy combination. Paquita is an old friend of the family … a very old friend. Ask your parents about me, they will tell you.’
‘I doubt they will remember you,’ said Luz sceptically, jerking her wrist out of the witch’s claws. Even supposing they did, she very much doubted that it would be a welcome topic of conversation.
The old hag gave a hoarse chuckle. Her wizened old face lit up with a wicked grin. ‘They’ll remember me all right. I was there – I saw it all. If they had listened, they would have heard, but they ignored Paquita.’ She scoffed and shrugged her bony shoulders, a look of contempt on her sharp features. ‘And now, hermosa jovencita , you must listen to me,’ she said, peering at Luz again through narrowed eyes.
Luz’s brows lifted. ‘And why is that?’ she asked, trying to seem detached.
The tone of the witch’s voice changed a little. ‘Because I see into the future, I know the unknown!’ she replied. ‘So tell me, child, what are you looking for, or should I say, who are you looking for?’
‘You tell me, since you can see into the past and the future.’ Luz fixed Paquita with fierce, steely blue eyes.
The old crone winked and, once again exposing her ungainly jaws, broke into hideous crackles of laughter that resonated eerily in the silence. ‘A
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