“I want nothing to do with the history of Morales family,” Luna replied. “I also didn’t want to dig up the truth about the Beltrán family and hurt Paco. All I wanted was the Ortega side of my own family.”
“And yet you caused so many problems.”
“I can assure you that I didn’t want to do that.”
“You know I was a Guardia Civil member?”
“Yes.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“I have respect for the police. Society needs laws.”
“That includes on a moral level.”
Luna frowned, not sure of what he meant.
“I hope that you have stopped digging around people’s pasts and are going to leave history to those of us who shaped it and know it best.”
“History is merely the opinions of the winners.”
“Remember who were the winners in Spain.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means, stop messing about with history. You can’t re-write it. Fit in here or move on.”
Luna shook her head. The man was being cryptic and more than a little irritating. “Sort of a, ‘know your place and shut up’, kind of thing?”
“You found your grandfather out in Valencia, now stop fussing with the past, which is none of your business. You never know what trouble could befall you.”
Luna stood on her own, feeling cold in the office when José left. That was confusing and bizarre. It was almost threatening. She glanced back to the wedding dresses. Maybe she had more problems than she thought. What did the Morales family have to hide?
4
Valencia, España ~ Marzo de 2010
It felt satisfying to be up at Escondrijo. Valencia city smelled like gunpowder for the first three weeks of March with the Las Fallas fiesta going on, and the air in the mountains was a welcome relief. The problem with Escondrijo was that there was no peace this time. The death of Alejandro Beltrán a few months ago weighed on Luna, and every time she was there, it made the whole sorry mess feel so unresolved. The time had come to bury his ashes here. Her surrogate grandfather, the murderer of her real grandfather, commanded far more of her sympathy than he should have.
Luna stood in the old stone house, in the single room where Alejandro lived his life. All his belongings sat where he had left them on that lonely December night when he passed away. He didn’t have much, but what he did have was a collection of articles on the lives of Paco and Cayetano Beltrán. It could be painful for Paco. He didn’t even know his father, and today he had to see where the man had hidden all his life.
Luna shivered; that awful feeling of presence had entered the room. She spun around, worried what she might find. Luna had seen Cayetano and Paco outside the window and knew it couldn’t be either of them. She jumped when a barely familiar man stood over her. “Joder,” she cursed. “Never sneak up on me. I don’t take it well.”
The man looked down at her with a grin. He was gorgeous. Had Luna not been so surprised to find him, she would have gone weak at the knees. His chiselled olive skinned face had a naughty playboy smile on his full lips, deep brown eyes and long black eyelashes. He had slicked black hair, a few days stubble on his cheeks. He was uncommonly tall; he towered over Luna in a second. “Hola, ángel,” his deep voice purred. “Qué acabas de caen de los cielos?”
Luna burst out laughing. “Did I just fall from the heavens? Did Cayetano suggest that you come in here and say that?”
“He taught me the line. What else are cousins for?”
Luna nodded and stood up on her tiptoes to kiss Miguel on both cheeks. She had met Cayetano’s cousins once before, but Miguel wasn’t easy to forget. He looked so different to the rest of the Morales family; he was dark like his Andalusian mother, and an only child. Definitely the odd one out. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Well, Papí José isn’t well, so I suggested I come along in his place. You should know by now that Cayetano can’t escape the Morales entourage.”
“I’m still learning my way around that.”
“I understand that you went to Madrid last weekend and spoke with José and Consuela. They are tremendously happy to have you in their golden grandson’s life.”
“Who said that?” Luna crossed her arms with a frown.
“Papí did. He is so pleased that Caya has a woman that makes him happy.”
“I didn’t get that impression.”
“Papí knows that you and Paco are close. That is surprising; not many people are close to Paco.”
“You all know the story of Paco’s parents, and my grandparents, who loved who, who killed who.”
“Indeed. A beautiful and sad story. Caya told me all about it. But then, the Beltrán history must seem easy compared to the Morales Pena family.”
“It is confusing, I will admit. There are so many of you.”
Miguel nodded with a smile. “My father is Pedro, the oldest son of the group. Uncle Jaime is the middle son, and he has Alonso, Eduardo, Mirabel and Rosa.”
“Alonso and Eduardo work as banderilleros in the bullring for Cayetano, ¿no?”
“Sí. The youngest Morales Pena son is uncle Luis, and he has Hector, Caya’s assistant, and three daughters, Carmina, Benita and Sara. Then add in their spouses and children and it’s a tremendous family.”
“Excuse me, I have no family. I find it hard to keep up with names.”
“You will learn. You will have to; soon they will all be at your wedding.”
“Caya told me that he asked you to be the best man.”
“He did. You should have seen the look on the faces of the other guys. They are all offended, except Hector. Being as gay as he is, he will probably want to be your bridesmaid.”
“That’s a bit mean!” Luna joked.
Miguel laughed. His deep husky voice warmed the room and conversation. “We love Hector. Well, the younger members of the family do. My Papá Pedro and Papí José, they are more old-fashioned. It is easier than it used to be, though.”
“I was thinking of asking Sofía to be my head bridesmaid.”
“That is nice. It will offend all my other female cousins, but of course, you are closer to Sofía, she is Caya’s sister. Cayetano said that you’re not excited about the wedding.”
“A grandiose wedding isn’t my choice. But alas, I’m just the bride. I have been married before, and done all that, and the wedding is not that crucial in the grand scheme of life.”
Miguel nodded. “I know. I’ve been married.”
“¿Sí?”
“Yes, I got married in my twenties, to a flamenco dancer in Seville, as cliché as it sounds. I was down there for a couple of years and met Monica. I learned to dance and got my heart broken. We divorced a few years ago when she wanted to remarry.”
“Is that where Caya learned his dance moves? From you?”
“Sí, we used to help each other with the ladies when we were younger,” Miguel grinned. “But you’re marrying my best friend, so it is my duty to protect all his secrets.”
“I see,” Luna said with a nod. Between Cayetano and Miguel, two of the most handsome men she had ever come across, the trouble they could get into together could be massive. “I won’t dare ask.”
‘‘Don’t worry, Luna. If you can count on one thing, you can count on Cayetano’s loyalty. No one could dispute that. He carries a heavy weight on his shoulders, for all of us.”
“I know, José built up the Rebelión bull breeding business, gave it to Paco, and now Caya is set to take over it all. And carry on his own career in the bullring.”
“Do you think he’s feeling the weight?”
“I think he worries.”
“As do we all,” Miguel sighed. “Spain is changing. The economic climate has so many clouds on the horizon. If we are to weather the storm, we need to be careful.”
“It’s not an exciting time to be in the business of non-essential services. Trust me; bike racing is exactly the same.”
&nb
sp; “Caya says you love your job. It doesn’t pay well?”
“I get by on my own. That is enough for me and my children.”
“For me, also. I get to live in one of the farmhouses at Rebelión for free and get to work with the animals, so I’m happy.”
“You don’t want to live in the city?”
“No, country life is more for me.” Miguel smiled. “For you, too, ¿no? Buying his place?”
“Well, Alejandro left Escondrijo to me when he died.”
“He may have been Paco’s biological father, but he is more a relative of yours, that’s how it sounds.”
“Alejandro murdered my grandfather. It’s still messy.”
Miguel looked around the little one-room home. “This is his home, ¿no? Alejandro Beltrán Caño… poor uncle Paco. Nothing is more valuable than family.”
“I know. I suppose I should go and say hello to Paco.”
“He and Cayetano were talking about something, so I decided to leave them to have a father and son moment. This is the first time Paco has come to where his biological mother is buried and to see where his father lived. That’s sad. I thought maybe they needed time.”
“If it wasn’t for me, Paco would have lived out his days thinking the woman who raised him was his mother, not his aunt. I caused this heartache.”
Miguel raised his large dark hand to Luna’s pale cheek and brushed her long black hair from her face. “You underestimate yourself, belleza. This I can tell.”
Luna cleared her throat and stepped away from Miguel. The man was courteous, but he called her a beauty and that made her nervous. “Can you now?” she said to the stone floor.
“My Mamá, Jovana, she was a fortune teller in Granada, did you know that?”
“No.”
“Her father died when she was still young, and she moved to Madrid in search of work with her mother. That was how she met Papá and joined the Morales family.”
“Pedro has a psychic wife, does he?”
“He does, and Mamá gave many of her powers to me. I can tell a lot just by watching a person, or touching a person.”
Luna eyed him for a moment. She didn’t believe in psychics or fortune tellers, not for a moment, but that could sound offensive. “I guess that comes in handy when trawling for women with your cousin Caya.”
Miguel chuckled. “I never use my powers for evil.”
“Miguel.”
Luna looked around the tall Spaniard and saw Cayetano. “Miguel, if you are bothering my preciosa, I will have to punish you.”
“You have no faith in me, señor.” Miguel turned and looked his cousin, who smiled back.
“Where’s Paco?” Luna asked.
“Over by the almond trees,” Cayetano said. “I’m not sure what he’s thinking. He is being very short and sharp with me.”
“That’s nothing new. I’ll go and say hello. Excuse me, gentlemen.”
Cayetano reached out and put his hand on her back for a moment as she went past him. He watched her smile back at him before she disappeared out the old door of the masía.
“She’s lovely,” Miguel said.
“Yes she is,” Cayetano replied.
“Too good for you.”
“Don’t tell her that.”
Miguel looked around at the old stonework. “This place will need work for the rest of your life, do you know that?”
“I do. But it’s Luna’s and she loves it. The property is beautiful. Peaceful.”
“You would really give up life in Madrid, and Rebelión, for life in Valencia?”
“I’m not throwing my life away.”
Cayetano and Miguel stepped through the old front door and back into the bright sunshine. They could see Paco and Luna talking together by the almond trees. “There is something special about being out here in Valencia,” Cayetano said. “I love my life, my family, my job, but with Luna out here it’s like I have her to myself, you know?”
“I suppose. Why would you want to hide her away?”
“I don’t want to hide her, it’s about privacy. My life is my own here. I have a lot of freedom here. One day we will live in Madrid, I know that for certain, but for now we can relax.”
“On the other hand, if Rebelión goes bankrupt, you will have somewhere to live. Make sure Luna’s assets aren’t tied up with yours. If we go bust, it won’t harm anything here.”
“Escondrijo is Luna’s, like the Valencia apartment. Nothing to do with me, or our family trust.”
“Be careful about the whole business being signed over to you, Caya,” Miguel said. “You could take the fall on your own if the company goes broke.”
“I’m a bullfighter, not a businessman,” Cayetano replied.
“That’s the trouble. I don’t say that just for my own job, but everyone is tied up in the business. All the family homes, too. Gone are the days of money being in abundance, and of being able to carry every relative who can’t get a job elsewhere.”
Cayetano looked at his concerned cousin and then over to Luna and his father. She glanced over and gave him a brief smile. Luna didn’t need to know the trouble, and he hoped she couldn’t see the concern on his face.
Paco glanced over his shoulder back towards his son and nephew as they chatted. “What do you think of Miguel?” he said to Luna.
“He seems… nice. If he is close to Cayetano, that’s a good enough reference to the man’s character.”
“Miguel is a polite boy. Quiet compared to others in the family. He has lived his whole life out at Rebelión, so if you ever needed advice on running a country place, he is the man to ask.”
“I have no idea what I want to do with Escondrijo.”
“Must be hard, given the history of the place.”
“I know I can’t touch the almond grove, not with Cayetano Ortega and Sofía Pérez buried here.”
“You haven’t considered moving their bodies?” Paco asked.
“I try not to think about it too much,” Luna said. “I don’t feel as if it’s my place. They were buried here in a time that I can’t understand. No one is looking for my grandfather so I can leave him here, and no one will ever know. Sofía is your mother, what do you want?”
“I can’t make that decision. She never even lived long enough to lay eyes on me. And Alejandro, he was my father, but I feel nothing for him. I didn’t know him. These decisions need to be made by you.”
“You still feel like that, now that you’re here?”
Paco shrugged. “It’s tranquil out here. I can see why you like it. Maybe, if I visited more often…”
“You’re welcome here anytime. I have no plans to tell anyone about the bodies here. I’m not the only person in Spain sitting on a secret like this. And the secret is safe with me.” Luna knew how Paco felt. With those other bodies they had found last month still a secret to everyone but her and Cayetano, she knew the weight of keeping a secret. The families of those people may be looking for them. Whether she liked it or not, she was going to have to do something about them.
“No hay tonto como un viejo tonto,” Paco muttered.
“No fool like an old fool? I don’t know about that, there are plenty of young fools around.”
Paco half-smiled. “But I’m too old for the worries I have. Too old for a lot of things.”
“Like what?”
“Like feeling guilty because I want to know more about who my parents were. I feel guilty because my whole life, I have loved the woman who raised me, the woman I thought was my mother.”
“Luna Beltrán was your mother. She adopted you… in a way. She is your biological aunt. Had you been born into another time, she would have helped raise you along with your natural parents. She wouldn’t begrudge you for wanting to know Alejandro and Sofía.”
“Alejandro murdered his best friend, in front of his sister, who held me in her arms. I don’t want to know him.”
“Then why don’t we just leave it alone for a while?” Luna offered. “We have plent
y of time. You’re here in Valencia to see your son perform in the bullring. Let’s enjoy that instead.”
Paco frowned. “Has Caya talked to you about the business?”
“He talks about what he does. About his preparations for the fights. That seems to take priority over everything.”
“Has he mentioned the state of the Rebelión business?”
“No, I thought that was your business since you’re still in charge. Cayetano talks about taking over one day, but… is there something I’m supposed to know?”
“No, nothing, hija, nothing. You have your own life to lead.”
Luna nodded. “Well, one day, if you like, we can bury Alejandro’s ashes out here. If you don’t want to have anything to do with him, I can do it one day on my own. We can leave that period of our families’ history behind now. Maybe we should just relax and enjoy Las Fallas.”
“Luna, I have a favour to ask you…”
5
Valencia, España ~ Agosto de 1957
José yawned as he dragged himself up the staircase in his apartment building. It was a dark building, yet the shade did nothing to keep out the late summer heat. The air was stale and hot. The wind had picked up through the day, and with it brought the all too familiar yellow dust that stuck to every surface in the city. Until he was in the hallway heading for his apartment, José didn’t realise how much of the dust was on his uniform.
A quick turn of the key in the flimsy look, and a waft of fresh air greeted José. The apartment was very basic, a small living room with just the simplest furniture, but the window was open; its thin white curtain blew in the breeze.
“Papá!”
José closed the door and turned to see his daughter, Inés, shoot out from the doorway into the kitchen and straight to her father. At three years old, she was her father’s daughter.
“Mi querida niña.” José groaned when he scooped up his daughter. Luckily he had changed his uniform; he didn’t want to hold her against the uniform that a drunk had vomited on earlier in the day. The afternoon had been spent clearing out a brothel, not an enjoyable way to spend a day. The whores and pimps would be out on the streets again in a few days. “How are you, little one?”
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