“It sounds wonderful. Thanks for a lovely evening,” Tracy said. “Good night, Jeff.”
She lay awake a long time, her mind filled with thoughts she had no right to be thinking. It had been so long since she had been emotionally involved with a man. Charles had hurt her badly, and she had no wish to be hurt again. Jeff Stevens was an amusing companion, but she knew she must never allow him to become any more than that. It would be easy to fall in love with him. And foolish.
Ruinous.
Fun.
Tracy had difficulty falling asleep.
The trip to Segovia was perfect. Jeff had rented a small car, and they drove out of the city into the beautiful wine country of Spain. An unmarked Seat trailed behind them during the entire day, but it was not an ordinary car.
The Seat is the only automobile manufactured in Spain, and it is the official car of the Spanish police. The regular model has only 100 horsepower, but the ones sold to the Policía Nacional and the Guardia Civil are souped up to 150 horsepower, so there was no danger that Tracy Whitney and Jeff Stevens would elude Daniel Cooper and the two detectives.
Tracy and Jeff arrived at Segovia in time for lunch and dined at a charming restaurant in the main square under the shadow of the two-thousand-year-old aqueduct built by the Romans. After lunch they wandered around the medieval city and visited the old Cathedral of Santa María and the Renaissance town hall, and then drove up to the Alcázar, the old Roman fortress perched on a rocky spur high over the city. The view was breathtaking.
“I’ll bet if we stayed here long enough, we’d see Don Quixote and Sancho Panza riding along the plains below,” Jeff said.
She studied him. “You enjoy tilting at windmills, don’t you?”
“Depends on the shape of the windmill,” he said softly. He moved closer to her.
Tracy stepped away from the edge of the cliff. “Tell me more about Segovia,”
And the spell was broken.
Jeff was an enthusiastic guide, knowledgeable about history, archaeology, and architecture, and Tracy had to keep reminding herself that he was also a con artist. It was the most pleasant day Tracy could remember.
One of the Spanish detectives, José Pereira, grumbled to Cooper, “The only thing they’re stealing is our time. They’re just two people in love, can’t you see that? Are you sure she’s planning something?”
“I’m sure,” Cooper snarled. He was puzzled by his own reactions. All he wanted was to catch Tracy Whitney, to punish her, as she deserved. She was just another criminal, an assignment. Yet, every time Tracy’s companion took her arm, Cooper found himself stung with fury.
When Tracy and Jeff arrived back in Madrid, Jeff said, “If you’re not too exhausted, I know a special place for dinner.”
“Lovely.” Tracy did not want the day to end. I’ll give myself this day, this one day to be like other women.
Madrileños dine late, and few restaurants open for dinner before 9:00 P.M. Jeff made a reservation for 10:00 at the Za-lacaín, an elegant restaurant where the food was superb and perfectly served. Tracy ordered no dessert, but the captain brought a delicate flaky pastry that was the most delicious thing she had ever tasted. She sat back in her chair, sated and happy.
“It was a wonderful dinner. Thank you.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it. This is the place to bring people if you want to impress them.”
She studied him. “Are you trying to impress me, Jeff?”
He grinned. “You bet I am. Wait until you see what’s next.”
What was next was an unprepossessing bodega, a smoky café filled with leather-jacketed Spanish workmen drinking at the bar and at the dozen tables in the room. At one end was a tablado, a slightly elevated platform, where two men strummed guitars. Tracy and Jeff were seated at a small table near the platform.
“Do you know anything about flamenco?” Jeff asked. He had to raise his voice over the noise level in the bar.
“Only that it’s a Spanish dance.”
“Gypsy, originally. You can go to fancy nightclubs in Madrid and see imitations of flamenco, but tonight you’ll see the real thing.”