by JJ Marsh
The receptionist shook her head. “It’s a busy time of year, I’m afraid. Might I suggest you call ahead next time, and I’ll see what I can do?” She slid her hand back to the mouse and stared at the screen. Ana suppressed her parting shot and left quietly.
The lunchtime rush created the usual jam of vehicles, all searching for the elusive parking spot. Thank God for the Vespa. Ana unlocked it and retrieved her helmet under the seat. From the open window of a passing blue Mercedes, a cigarette butt traced a long arc to the gutter at her feet. Ana glanced at the driver, but only a hand and forearm were visible. She just registered a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves and a missing forefinger, before the car turned the corner. What a tosser.
Whilst the beauty of the region left her slack-jawed with awe, Beatrice wasn’t sorry to return indoors. The sun, even in October, still contained substantial force. Crouching low under the vines, she’d admired the texture of the trunk, twisted and fibrous like the ropes of a mighty ocean liner, and relished the shade.
Aguirre talked them through the harvesting process, emphasising the length of time from the earliest September ripeners, such as the Viura grape, to the latest in November. He encouraged them to taste a grape from the vine and pointed out the baskets and padded trucks used for transporting the fruit to the press house. The middle-aged British couple plied him with questions, while the Danish family and three Bolton boys limited themselves to respectful nods. The two Danish children, no more than thirteen, behaved impeccably. Their interest in wine must have been on a par with Beatrice’s in Disneyland, but not once did their attentive demeanour slip.
En route to the wine press, Kevin introduced her to his companions.
“This is Beatrice, who tried to nut me between the shoulder blades back there. Beatrice, meet Tyler and Jase, two of me oldest mates. It’s Tyler’s fault we’re here, ’cos he’s getting married in three weeks. This is his stag weekend.”
Beatrice shook hands with the two men. “Pleased to meet you, and congratulations, Tyler. I’m aware a stag weekend is supposed to entail alcohol and entertainment, but I’d always assumed something racier than a wine tasting.”
They all laughed and Tyler shrugged with a weary grin. “There’s eighteen of me mates and family arriving in Bilbao on Saturday. But it were only us three fancied seeing summat more than the inside of a bar.”
Jase took over. “So we come out a week early, hired a car and headed to Rioja country. What about you, Beatrice? You one of them pilgrims?”
“Good God, no. My interests are far more secular. I’m on holiday, using Vitoria as a base to explore the region’s food and drink. The only pilgrimage I’m likely to make is to the altar of fine wine. Talking of which, we’re holding everyone up.”
Aguirre’s smile as they approached the elevated walkway remained as broad as ever, although Beatrice detected a tension in the jaw, as if he were grinding his teeth.
“Ah, finally, our stragglers. So, if you’d like to gather round, I’ll explain the process and let you watch in peace for a few minutes. First, the grapes are de-stalked before entering the press. The machine squeezes out the grape juice and here at Castelo de Aguirre, we allow the juice to rest with the skins for two hours, to allow maximum flavour. After the pressing and resting, the juice is extracted to vats for the fermentation process to begin. Why don’t you spread out and have a look?”
Beatrice was about to follow Kevin to a vantage point at the end of the platform when Aguirre intercepted her. “Probably the best spot is at this end. Come.”
His arms were spread in an open gesture of demonstration, although Beatrice couldn’t help feeling as if her getaway were blocked. She allowed him to guide her away from the others with the distinct impression she’d been corralled.
Even the Vespa couldn’t avoid every jam. Especially when the traffic was bumper to bumper. Ana rested her foot on the ground and waited as a vegetable truck, beeping its monotonous alarm, reversed into a delivery bay. Radios competed from open windows and the smell of roasting chestnuts teased across the stationary traffic, reminding Ana of her stomach. The café opposite the office always did decent pintxos so that would be her first stop. A sudden impact jerked her forward, causing her to slide off the seat and bang her knees against the chassis. The bike heaved sideways as her foot left the ground and she struggled against its weight. Once stable, she twisted in her seat to yell at the thoughtless driver behind.
Rather than the apologetic mother or impatient taxi-driver she expected, the occupants of the blue Mercedes were four men, all wearing sunglasses and staring blankly at her.
“What the fuck! Look where you’re going, arsehole!” She twisted over her shoulder to see if the Vespa had sustained any damage. The Mercedes blasted its horn, making her jump, and was joined by several others behind. The truck had gone and the road was clearing. She flipped them the finger, revved and took off down Calle Postas, furious and shaken.
Macho dickheads! Dressed up like Reservoir Dogs and having fun by picking on a woman on a Vespa. She should have taken the number of the Merc. Too late. After dodging in and out of the lanes on Calle de los Herrán, it was nowhere to be seen. Her adrenalin levels began to settle as she took a right, muttering insults in three languages.
A squeal of tyres made her glance in her mirror. The Mercedes tore onto Calle de Olaguibel, gaining fast. The liquid heat of her anger solidified into an icy fear. She felt exposed and precarious on the Vespa, against the malevolent weight of the approaching car. They couldn’t do anything, not out in the street, surely? Without indicating, Ana took another right turn and accelerated well over the limit towards the park.
They were right behind her. The Vespa had the edge on standing starts, but it would never outrun a vehicle with that horsepower. It pulled level with her back wheel. Ana’s hands, sweaty and tense, reached for the brakes. She had to slow down. One nudge at this speed would send her flying over the handlebars. But if she slowed, they could draw level and broadside her. Lights changed ahead and Ana leaned to the right, braking hard. A group of teenagers sauntered over the pelican crossing to Parque di Judizmendi. The nose of the Mercedes inched closer until the wheel arch brushed Ana’s calf. A half-curse, half-gulp escaped her and she made a decision. As the lights turned amber, she swung the bike up onto the pavement, spun around and tore over the crossing after the kids. She hit the squeaky little horn, which parted the group, allowing her to squeeze through and into the park itself. With one eye on the mirror, she rode as fast as she dared across to the other side, out onto Calle Errkatxiki and turned left. A supermarket car park seemed the perfect place to rest, to have a few shaky tears, but she kept going to Avenida de Santiago, which would take her almost all the way home.
Chapter 14
It was good to be back.
Until today, Luz had resented the enforced separation from Tunçay, finding fault with everything at Castelo de Aguirre; her sisters seemed boring, her mother shallow and her father insufferable. Not only that, but her return barely registered as significant, because everyone was focused on Thursday’s birthday party. The Birthday Party. Her nephew, Ramón, would be one year old, and the celebrations planned were worthy of The Last Emperor. Only her little brother, Basajaun, seemed pleased to see her. Probably because she was the only one who had time to play with him, listen to his excitable chatter and construct hugely complex Lego empires.
But early on Wednesday morning, her mother knocked on her door. Luz was awake, reading The Pelican Brief, in an attempt to improve her English.
“Coffee.” Marisol took the book from Luz’s hands and handed her a cup. She read the title and gave it back with an approving smile. “Good idea. Reading should never be an idle pleasure for an intelligent mind. Now, Basajaun has gone to school, the marquee and catering people will want to set up, so I thought you and I could go into the city. I want to buy you some beautiful things. Maybe a new dress for tomorrow? And after we’ve given the credit card some exercise, we’ll have
lunch. You can choose where.”
Luz looked up at her mother under her eyebrows. She wanted to refuse, to tell her that she knew exactly the purpose of the outing, and that no matter how much they spent on a dress, Luz would not be groomed and paraded in front of eligible suitors like a prize poodle. But a morning away from the Castelo with her mother’s full attention was an opportunity not to be missed.
“All right. But I don’t want anything colourful. Ideally, I’d like something black.”
Marisol opened the blinds. “Why not? Shall we get your lip pierced as well? I mean, if you want to buy into the nihilistic student uniform, you really should do it properly. Now, I’m going to check which car we can take, and I’ll see you outside in twenty minutes. Put your hair up and wear those earrings your grandmother left you. Strapless bra and comfortable shoes but bring a pair of stilettos in your handbag.” She smiled. “Today, we are shopping professionally.”
Two pairs of amazing heels, a silver choker, a cocktail ring and now the dress. Marisol should have been a lawyer. She knew exactly how to make you think you’d won, while she came away with every box ticked. It was black, yes. A halterneck prom dress, with diamante detail and a circle skirt. Despite herself, Luz stared at her reflection, entranced. Her mother had always had an eye. All the Aguirre girls had the classic pear shape. But this dress suggested a cleavage, while minimising her substantial hips. She twirled, imagining Tunçay’s face.
“What do you think, my darling?” Marisol’s voice carried pride, admiration and the slightest wobble. Luz couldn’t resist.
“It’s perfect, Mama. I love it.”
Marisol held her face and kissed her on both cheeks before grasping her hands. She had tears in her eyes. “My baby girl. Look at you. Such elegance. You do have real poise, Luz. Your father will just burst with paternal pride when he sees you.”
Luz doubted that, but chose not to break the moment. “Thank you.”
“Now change, quickly. I’ll pay and then we have one more stop before lunch. No outfit is complete without the right foundations. Just one moment ...” She ducked behind Luz, took out a marker pen and drew a line on her back where the dress ended. She was an expert, no question.
“Black, yes, and a flesh-coloured one but we’ll take toupee tape so there’s no danger of slippage. Visible underwear ...” Marisol shuddered and the assistant nodded with absolute sincerity.
“Is that everything?”
“I’m not sure. Luz, why don’t you choose some things for yourself? There are some fabulous sets here. Look at this one, blush pink with either a thong or Brazilian to go with it. I’m sure you’re getting to the age when you appreciate beautiful underwear. Or perhaps you know someone else who does.”
Luz spotted the conspiratorial look between her mother and the assistant. The smiles. The understanding. It would be so easy to play along.
“No one apart from my room-mate. And she favours sports bras, so there’s not much point. Shall we go? My stomach is rumbling. I missed breakfast, you know.”
“It’s only half past twelve, my sweet. And even if you don’t see the need right now, perhaps you might be glad of some quality items soon enough. I’m going to look at pyjamas for Basajaun. You choose and put them on my account. See you in a minute.”
The assistant and Marisol melted away, as if by an agreed signal, and Luz felt like a mouse facing a cube of cheese. If she took it, she was trapped. If she refused, her mother, with feline patience, would get her claws in some other way. So she might as well have some decent knickers. Those black high-legs reminded her of paintings by Lautrec. If they had a matching bra in her size, a private version of the can-can might be just the thing. Luz picked up the lacy panties.
By the end of their lunch, during which Luz demolished a full Marmitako and her mother picked at a Caesar salad, Marisol had still not pounced. They chatted about the law course, Basajaun, the imminent party, Luz’s room-mate, the guests invited for tomorrow, local gossip and the advantages of small breasts for an ageing décolletage. Over coffee, the conversation became more intimate, Marisol sharing her concerns about Inez’s marriage and Angel’s impotence. Luz enthusiastically defended Angel, who did not fit the typical arrogant money man Aguirre preferred to cultivate.
“And I bet if you two stopped looking over their shoulders and putting on the pressure, it would happen. Sometimes, I wonder if you realise how much your children feel more like puppets than individuals.”
Marisol’s teaspoon stopped its circular motion and her eyes locked onto Luz.
“That’s a strange thing to say. I fought with your father for months so that you could go to university. I thought, maybe I was naïve, I was trying to give you independence.”
“I know. You did fight for me and I’m sorry if that sounded ungrateful. I love being there, I’m happier than I could have imagined, but I keep asking myself, am I really free?”
The waiter brought the bill and Marisol tossed the credit card onto the silver platter without checking.
“Free. That’s an interesting word. How was your lunch?”
Luz blushed. “If you mean ...”
Marisol’s face hardened and she shook her head. “As you grow, my dear, spoilt, little girl, you will realise that no one is free. The hawk, soaring over the fields at will, is chained by his need to find prey. The bat, roaming the night while the world sleeps, is driven by a need to survive. You have no such biological urgency. You have never had to fend for yourself. But you are part of the system. We all find ways of surviving.”
Luz rolled her eyes at the rhetoric, but didn’t hesitate. “Why can’t I find my own way of surviving? What if I don’t want to be a submissive brood mare like Paz? I can be a useful member of society, a lawyer, a professional who can earn her keep. I’m not ungrateful, it’s just I have to be my own person.”
Neither spoke again until they left the restaurant and headed for the car.
“Mama, thank you for lunch and all the shopping. I’m sorry.”
Marisol reached out to kiss her on the cheek. “It was a pleasure. I don’t get to spend enough time with you. Today was important to me.” She pressed the fob and unlocked the vehicle. “But I am keen to hear about the boyfriend.”
Luz opened the back door and stashed her bags. She didn’t speak until her mother started the car.
“It’s complicated.”
“Most things are. But is he worth the pain?”
Luz turned to her. “How did you know? Please tell me the truth.”
The Jaguar pulled out of the underground car park and into the afternoon sun. Two nuns crossed in front of them and Luz watched her mother nod at them piously, then break into a smile.
“You’re glowing, my darling girl. Your family evidently bore you to tears, you can’t wait to get back to Burgos and I haven’t seen your eyes shine like this since you were six years old and we bought you that puppy.”
“Bear. I loved that dog.”
“He was a favourite with all of us. But he doted on you. People change when they fall in love. With a dog, with a cause, with a person, no matter. So either law is proving the love of your life or you’ve met someone. I suspect the latter.”
“You can’t tell anyone. Especially not Papí.”
Marisol checked her rear-view mirror, her smile fading. “You’d be surprised, my little Luz, how much your father cares for your happiness. I think he’d be happy to hear you had someone special in your life.”
Luz turned to look out of the window. It was a lie. Her father would only accept one of his own choices. Even if Luz had met a good Catholic boy, whose father was well connected, whose honour was beyond reproach and who loved her like Romeo, he would never pass. Luz had seen the list of her possible future partners. She despised every last one.
“He wouldn’t, Mama. Even if I told him that there’s no future for this relationship, he’d still disapprove.”
Marisol slowed the car and glanced at her.
“Why
? What kind of man is he?”
Luz laughed at the suspicion in her voice. “He’s the most honourable, devout and loving man I know, and I’m not good enough for him.”
“Is he married?”
“No. Don’t worry, I’m not that stupid.”
They drove on in silence until Luz blurted it out.
“His name is Tunçay. He’s a Turkish waiter and a Muslim.”
As the road straightened, opening up the landscape, they both instinctively looked up to see the first view of the Castelo. On so many occasions, the sight had filled Luz with pride, anticipation, impatience and even reluctance, but today was the first time she experienced dread.
Her mother began talking, facing directly ahead. “One thing you will learn from studying a subject such as law is the art of compromise. You are still young, and you should enjoy this time while you have no responsibilities. Celebrate your time with your waiter, making sure to live every moment to its fullest. Later, when you have to face the reality of adulthood, when you must use your head over your heart, when your decisions are practical rather than romantic, you will have some beautiful memories to sustain you.”
Luz watched her mother’s face, which seemed to shift between soft comprehension and hard certainty. “Do you have some beautiful memories?”
Marisol smiled without taking her eyes from the road. “Yes. And some of them after I married your father.” She indicated left, into the driveway of the Castelo.
Luz gazed over the estate and spotted her father leading a group of tourists into the visitors’ centre.
Marisol frowned. “What the hell is he doing? He’s not supposed to do tours today because we’ve got enough to do! It’s Claudia’s job to look after visitors.”
“Mama? You won’t tell him, will you?”
“No, I don’t think that would be wise. And you must give nothing away either. Be the good girl you always have been, give him no reason to suspect. You still have time, Luz. Don’t waste it by challenging your father. Now, I’ll take your shopping upstairs while you check the bathrooms in the visitors’ centre. Toilet paper, air freshener, you know what to do. Then tell your father to come up to the house.”
