When she’d left England all those years ago, she’d never expected life to turn out as it had in Argentina. Never could she have imagined falling so deeply in love with a country and a man, and to find a family in Eduardo Canziani. A dull lump of pain caught in her throat, remembering once again that Eduardo had died with anger in his heart as a result of her selfish behaviour. Perhaps she should have stayed in Argentina and dealt with the consequences.
The baby kicked against her abdomen, a harsh reminder that she’d done the right thing. It had been hard to leave the Americas but she could never have gone to the United States because of the many stage and film people who would recognise her instantly. England was out of the question because it had been ravaged by war, so Australia appeared the best option, especially since the country had no interest in tango. That way, she could keep her history hidden deep within.
‘Tango is dead to me,’ she muttered.
‘Lines! Form lines!’ yelled a tall, thin man in a faded grey suit. ‘Women and children there! Men here! Elderly over there!’ he barked and the large group broke apart, hurrying to join the appropriate queue.
Louisa shuffled forwards, happy that no one paid attention to the lone pregnant woman in the ill-fitting floral dress. She kept her head down and concentrated on her scuffed leather shoes, a pose she’d adopted since leaving Uruguay. Gone was the confident sway of hips and head held high from when she was one of Argentina’s elite. This slower walk, hunched shoulders and shyness helped convince people she was a woman who didn’t have much in the world—a statement very close to the truth.
Men in dark blue suits sat behind makeshift tables set along the pier. The recent arrivals edged forwards and the officials seemed unperturbed by the wall of humanity approaching them.
Even now, on the verge of entering yet another new country she hoped to call home, Louisa questioned her ability to start a new life. Meeting Eduardo had been fortunate but encountering another person willing to help her now was nigh on impossible. The money Héctor had shoved into her hands in Argentina was almost gone. She had no idea what the future held but she couldn’t give up, not now that she carried Roberto’s baby. They both deserved a chance to thrive in this new world, no matter what challenges lay ahead.
The administrator waved her on. She took a moment to steady herself, barely able to breathe, then stepped forwards. Sweat pooled in her lower back as she passed her papers to the official. His bushy eyebrows created a veranda as he frowned and studied her documents and the passenger list. Louisa didn’t move, her mouth dry and skin wet with perspiration. She desperately wanted to wipe away the moist beads on her forehead but didn’t dare for fear the official would detect something was wrong. It most certainly was but she had no intention of giving him cause for concern.
‘Your husband?’ he said, looking at her large belly.
‘He passed away. Farm accident.’ Her dry lips made it almost impossible to speak, even though she’d rehearsed this story for weeks.
‘No other family?’
‘No. My parents died in the London bombings and my only family was an uncle and aunty in Brazil. I moved there just after war broke out.’ She still hadn’t got used to hearing her voice in English after so many years speaking Spanish. During the voyage she’d practised speaking her mother tongue and had worked on ironing out the language irregularities she’d developed.
‘Why aren’t you with your relatives now, given your condition?’ The official tilted his head to the side, his tone more concerned than authoritative.
‘They have passed, too.’ Louisa bowed her head, recalling the sadness of losing her parents and hoping to pass this off in place of her fictitious Brazilian family.
‘Why Australia?’
‘My baby and I need to start fresh in a land with opportunity. Brazil holds too many sad memories for us.’
‘Hmm ...’ He returned to studying the paperwork. ‘How far along are you?’
‘Six months.’ She gripped the sides of her flimsy skirt. Even though she’d braced herself for such questions, the reality of the moment unnerved her.
He gathered her papers and stood. ‘One moment.’
The official strode off into the crowd of dishevelled immigrants, who parted like the Red Sea. As soon as he’d cut through, the crowd reformed and the heat and stench of jostling, unwashed bodies overwhelmed her. She looked around, desperate for something to sit on but there was nothing. Her breathing grew shallow and bright lights exploded in front of her eyes as she reached out for something, or someone, to help her stay balanced. Her fingers found a solid object and she gripped on for dear life.
‘Hey lady, watch it!’ a deep voice shouted and her support was tugged away.
‘She’s going to faint! Grab her!’ A woman’s thick Irish accent pierced through the crowd. The woman tried to hold her but Louisa crashed to the ground, landing heavily on her stomach. A sharp pain stabbed her abdomen and she clutched her belly.
‘No! My baby! My baby!’ she moaned, and writhed as the agony spread across her stomach and to her lower back.
‘Get a doctor! Now!’ Panic laced the Irish woman’s tone as she stroked Louisa’s forehead.
‘Move! She needs room!’ shouted a man, less gruff than the one who had rejected her desperate grab. With outstretched arms, the Australian soldier pushed the crowd apart and knelt down and patted her hand. ‘Don’t worry, love. We’ll look after you.’
His eyes travelled from her to the young woman with thick red hair.
‘She’s a friend of yours?’
‘No,’ said the Irish woman. ‘She’s alone.’
‘Alone?’ He turned to Louisa and forced a smile although deep concern clouded his blue eyes. This stranger’s presence calmed her slightly, and she tried to sit up. ‘Stay still, darlin’. You’re not alone now.’
Louisa nodded and closed her eyes. Pain came in waves as voices in various languages ricocheted around her. She lay on the hot ground with stones digging into her flesh and shivered despite the midday sun burning her pale skin.
Louisa went to speak but a scream escaped when another pain stabbed her abdomen and a warm, sticky wetness oozed between her legs.
‘No!’ She pressed her arm against the hard bone of her forehead. ‘No! I can’t lose my baby!’
CHAPTER
28
Stifling heat surrounded Dani as she moved out from behind the bushes at the side of the highway. Carlos waited for her in the car they’d hired in Fortaleza, his arm resting casually on the back of her seat, a smirk gracing his lips.
‘Better?’
‘Yes,’ she hissed, avoiding his eyes. ‘Too much coffee, methinks.’
‘Do not mind, it is nature, yes?’
‘Hmm.’ Oh, but she minded very much, especially since her relationship with Carlos was still on rocky ground. Since they’d met up again in Buenos Aires there hadn’t been any hand holding or kissing, not even an accidental shoulder graze on the plane. Peeing behind a bush didn’t add to the romance factor, either.
Dani got in and clicked the seatbelt in place and Carlos took off at full speed, cutting in front of a car and missing it by a fraction. She did wonder how he couldn’t have caused the motorbike accident but with the current tension between them, asking was a sure way to piss him off. With all the other stuff going on, his driving was the least of her concerns—unless they crashed.
They sped inland, away from pristine beaches and into the rural highlands. She bit her lip and gazed at the blurred palm trees.
‘Two hours and we should arrive, yes?’ Carlos’s smooth voice intruded on her downhearted state.
‘Why did you volunteer to come on this trip?’ she asked then wished she could take it back.
‘You needed a person who speaks Portuguese, yes?’
‘And?’
‘Iris does not speak Portuguese. It is best if she stays in Buenos Aires and deals with Diego. You need to know if he has done anything with the information he stole, yes
?’
‘I worry about her safety.’
‘Iris is resourceful; she will be fine.’
Knowing she had a captive, albeit possibly reluctant, audience, Dani said, ‘I’m a little confused, because you’ve been telling me you wanted someone—anyone—to be held responsible for Canziani’s death. Now my grandma’s landed in your lap as one of two suspects. And—’ She cut herself off, too scared to finish the sentence.
Carlos’s white-knuckled hands gripped the steering wheel. ‘You want to know what I will do with this information?’ he asked in an even tone.
‘Yes.’ She hated questioning his intentions but in her excitement and haste upon hearing Stella’s confession, Dani hadn’t thought about the consequences of telling Carlos. All she’d cared about was being honest. But now she wished she’d been more careful, although it was a little like shutting the gate after the llamas had escaped.
‘If you say she didn’t do it then I must take this into my account, yes?’
‘My grandma may have been many things but a murderer she is not.’ Dani drew her lips together.
‘And Roberto?’
‘I have no idea but I can’t believe Stella would ever be in a relationship with a man capable of killing someone.’
‘People do many things we don’t expect. Life is unpredictable. People are unpredictable. Tango—’
‘Is unpredictable. You do like your life and tango references, don’t you?’ She shifted in her seat and faced him. Butterflies crashed against her belly as she took in his tanned skin, dark hair and perfectly straight nose. Stupid bloody laws of attraction.
‘Daniela, maybe now you know your heritage, you might believe me when I refer to this life and tango business. The beauty of the tango is that it is unpredictable. There are no two dances the same, just like there are no two lives the same. Different dance partners, music, dance halls ... they all combine to make the tango experience unique for every person. And it all starts with the tiniest dance step. One little move can change the entire direction of the dance and create an experience we never imagined. Just like life. Ah!’ He raised his finger in the air. ‘Your raw talent, I was right! Look at your genes!’
‘Fat lot of good that’s done. And anyway, we don’t know if Roberto is my grandfather.’
‘You do not know for sure?’
‘Nope. My head was spinning with everything Stella had told me and I completely forgot to ask. How stupid is that? One of the most important questions in my life and I failed to ask it. So much for being a journalist.’
He smiled for a millisecond. ‘You can ask when you call her, yes? Or you could ask Roberto.’
‘Ask him if he slept with my grandma?’
‘Surely a woman of words like you can find a more delicate way of asking this but you do not need to make the decision now. If Roberto is your grandfather you can embrace your true heritage and it will help you understand who you are.’
‘I am who I am because I am me. Like you said, my experiences shape my life. My steps. My choices. My dances. It has nothing to do with who I’m related to.’
‘It is your heritage. You, my dear Daniela, are showing a sense of family even if you deny it. You are looking after your own, which is what we do for family. I now understand why you lied. I am not happy about it but I appreciate your actions. You were, and are, protecting your family, yes?’
‘I am, aren’t I?’ Surprised by his observation, Dani turned her attention to the farmlands outside the window and mulled over his words. For the first time in her life, Dani felt part of a family, even though it was more fractured than the leg she’d broken skateboarding when she was twelve.
‘So is this the reason you wanted to help?’
‘Yes.’ His smile melted the ice wall between them.
* * *
The car’s air-conditioning blew Dani’s hair across her face as they zoomed to their destination. Carlos drove in his usual Fangio style and surprisingly, she’d grown used to it.
‘I have a question.’
‘Shall we stop so you can learn a dance step first?’ A mischievous glint shone in his eyes.
‘You can’t be serious.’
‘I will let it pass today. Please, ask your question.’
‘Is another reason you’re helping me because Argentine blood might be running through my veins?’ This revelation could explain why it felt like returning home when she first arrived in Buenos Aires.
‘You ask this because of my feelings about foreigners and the Canziani case?’
‘Yes.’ She bit her lip.
‘This is a very good question. You are lucky we are not doing the questions for dance steps because I would make you learn something very difficult.’ Sniffing, he said, ‘It does help, yes. You may think my patriotism is extreme but maybe one day you will understand.’
‘Maybe.’
They travelled for another twenty minutes and arrived at Rancho do Sonho. Carlos reduced speed and they turned off the main road while Dani tapped her fingers on the armrest as the tyres crunched along gravel. They arrived at a picture-perfect whitewashed house with a veranda and bright red shutters and doors. A fountain out front featured a stone carving of three angels surrounding a small lamb. The angels’ outstretched arms formed a protective circle around the young animal and water spilled from the holes near their feet.
Dani and Carlos got out of the car and shut the doors. Carlos placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and her tension dissipated. Now he wanted to get touchy-feely?
The house looked deserted so they made their way over and into the sprawling tin shed that was hotter than the midday sun, the scent of cashews and damp soil filling the air. A group of workers in various states of dishevelment gathered at large tables, sorting nuts by size and throwing them in canvas sacks. They joked as they worked, the lines on their face deepening as they laughed. Each had sun-stained skin that made them look older than their years.
One man, more ancient than the rest, coughed and spluttered into a handkerchief. Even though he was at the back of the shed, his wheeze was audible. He caught Dani staring and offered a friendly smile. Her heart went out to him.
She nudged Carlos so hard he almost lost balance. ‘It’s him.’
‘Where?’
‘There!’ She pointed at the old man, unable to break her stare.
Forcing her arm down, Carlos said, ‘What makes you say this?’
‘A feeling.’ Now, more than ever, she hoped her intuition was spot on.
‘I do not know about trusting this feeling business but I will go ask just for you.’
‘No. I need to do this,’ she said.
‘But—’
‘I need to embrace my heritage, right?’
He gave her a lopsided smile. ‘I cannot argue with my own argument.’
‘Wish me luck.’ Dani puffed out her cheeks and took a tentative step forwards. As she moved through the shed, the men gave cursory glances but none were so rude as to stare at her outright. The old man continued sorting, oblivious to the fact that his life was about to change.
Drawing up beside him, she studied his cracked fingers deftly sorting the nuts. Glancing up, he smiled then continued with his work. Dani leant in close so no one could hear and in Spanish she said, ‘You’re Roberto Vega, aren’t you?’
‘Não, não. Eu só falo português’ he said, concentrating on the nuts.
‘I know who you are and you speak more than Portuguese,’ she continued in Spanish. Her heart raced with her daring assumption but the pull towards this man was impossible to ignore.
‘You sent Louisa Gilchrist a letter. I’m her granddaughter and she sent me to find you.’
‘Não, não.’ He cracked the shells with more power and the veins around his temple throbbed.
‘You’re Roberto Vega,’ she whispered, leaning in further. ‘Don’t lie.’
‘Não, não!’ he yelled, throwing down his hammer. He stepped away and his wide eyes searched the room for
help.
‘You called her Lunita. You—’ Fingers wrapped around Dani’s arm, pressed into her bare skin and hauled her away, through the shed and towards the car.
‘Ow! Let me go!’ The more she struggled, the harder his fingers dug in.
‘Can you not see you were scaring him?’ Annoyance creased Carlos’s brow.
‘He’s scared because I’ve found him!’ She wiggled her body until she broke free. ‘It’s him. I know it.’
‘Daniela, please.’ Carlos gently placed his hands on her shoulders and looked deep into her eyes. ‘Did you mention the letter?’
She nodded.
‘Then if it was him, he would have no reason to deny his identity. Maybe one of the other men is Roberto.’
‘But I felt a connection with him, like you’re supposed to with a family member.’
He pulled her close and he muttered into her hair, ‘I love that you are now understanding this importance of family.’
She stood back, wiping her eyes. ‘I looked at every other man in there and not one of them drew me in like he did.’
‘You are desperate for an answer and maybe you are seeing and feeling things you crave. Perhaps Roberto is not here today.’
‘But ...’ Her voice trailed away as the lanky foreman blew a whistle. The men downed tools and dipped cups into large buckets of water. They guzzled the liquid and chatted then someone shouted at the man she thought was Roberto. He nodded, glanced in her direction and shuffled to the corner of the shed. A moment later he returned with a chair and bandoneón case.
‘It’s him,’ she said between clenched teeth.
‘There are many people who play the bandoneón. You know this, yes?’ Carlos cautioned.
The old man dipped his chin and his weathered hands caressed the battered instrument. The workers formed a semicircle and chomped on sandwiches while they waited for their coworker to play. The old man pressed a few notes on the bandoneón and the foreman broke into song. He sang in Spanish, his raspy voice enthralling the small audience while the bandeneón player stared at the ground and played the notes with ease.
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