Flamenco features prominently in my new series, Andalusian Nights, because it is an integral aspect of the Andalusian culture and because it is so ardently passionate. As I wrote Indiscretion and Masquerade – and my forthcoming book, Legacy – I listened to flamenco music and found myself transported to the south of Spain.

You never forget your first flamenco show. I remember how I felt, in my early twenties, entirely captivated by the strumming guitars and raw vocals and shoes tapping in time to the rhythm of my heartbeat. I remember the mesmerising grace of the dancers, their stunning sensuality, their naked emotion. Most of all, I remember the spectacle of it all: the swirling, vivid colours of the beautiful costumes.

What young woman isn’t intrigued upon discovering a new fashion? When I saw my first traje de flamenco (flamenco costume), my first thought was, ‘Wow – beautiful!’ My second: ‘I want one!’ This was before the days of Madonna’s popularisation of the flamenco dress through the video for her song ‘La Isla Bonita’. The flamenco attire I saw was novel, and alluringly exotic to me.

The traje de flamencacan be traced back to early-twentieth-century Andalusia. At that time it was the gypsies who began the fashion, creating special outfits for livestock fair gatherings. By 1929, the traje de flamencahad become the official attire for women attending the Seville Fair, and not only gypsies: women from other classes were copying the fashion.

In fact, two kinds of traje de flamenca exist. The first is a day dress worn by women of Andalusia to festivals, and the second is the dancer’s dress. Traditionally, the outfit comprises:

A dress in red or black, often with polka dots: The dress hugs the silhouette before giving way to ruffles that cascade down. A day dress hugs the form for longer, to mid-thigh, while a dancer’s dress is cut higher, at the hip, to allow a greater range of movement. Depending on the fashion of the time, the skirt may reach the ankles or merely to the knee.

A manton (shawl): Often beautifully embroidered or intricately woven of lace, with long fringes.

A peineta (hair comb): Originally, these were made of tortoiseshell.

Nowadays, flamenco fashion is big news, capturing the imaginations of fashion designers the world over. They come to Seville each February to showcase their creations in the international flamenco fashion fair, alongside many homegrown Andalusian designers. The designs are spectacular, taking the basic design of the tailored bodice and flounced skirt into new and beautiful territory, all the while celebrating the curves of the female form. (If you have a moment, take a look at the Guardian’s photographs of this year’s show: http://www.theguardian.com/global/gallery/2015/feb/06/the-international-flamenco-fashion-show-2015-in-pictures).

For me, the ultimate flamenco dress clings to curves and cascades luxuriously in its flounces. It is blood-red, like the matador’s flag. As Federico Garcia Lorca wrote:

The dancer’s trembling heart must bring everything into harmony, from the tips of her shoes to the flutter of her eyelashes, from the rustles of her dress to the incessant play of her fingers. Shipwrecked in a field of air, she must measure lines, silences, zigzags and rapid curves, with a sixth sense of aroma and geometry, without ever mistaking her terrain. In this she resembles the torero, whose heart must keep to the neck of the bull. Both of them face the same danger – he, death; and she, darkness.

The traje de flamenca cannot be lost in the darkness. It is a fire, as the poet Rainer Maria Rilke beautifully encapsulates:

Spanish Dancer

As in the hand a sulphur match, first white,
stretches flicking tongues on every side
before it bursts in flame–: so in the circle
of close watchers, hot, bright, and eager
her round dance begins to flicker and fan out.

And all at once it is entirely flame.

With a glance she sets her hair ablaze
and whirls suddenly with daring art
her whole dress into this fiery rapture,
out of which, like startled snakes,
her bare arms stretch, alive and clacking.

And then: as if the fire grew tight to her,
she gathers it all up and casts it off
disdainfully, with imperious demeanour
and looks: It lies there raging on the ground
and keeps on flaming and does not give up–.
But triumphant, self-assured, and with a
sweet greeting smile she lifts her face
and stamps it out with little furious feet.