The Shores of Spain

by J. Kathleen Cheney

They rowed past an ancient citadel, through the many small craft moored in Cascais Bay, and finally up to the beach, its pale sands gleaming in the sunlight. Children ran along the small stretch of shore, and adults reclined on lounges and chairs, enjoying the fresh sea air. They angled the boat toward the base of the stone pier, farther from the crowds. João shipped his oar, jumped over the side of the dory, and drew it onto the sand. Joaquim slipped off his shoes and joined the younger man. Once they’d beached the boat, Joaquim lifted Marina out and onto the shore. She waited while he carried their two bags back. Joaquim shook the younger man’s hand and left him with a wish for smooth sailing back to the Golden City.

  Marina had picked up her bag and pinned on her hat, and now stood taking in the lovely buildings that stood near the small beach. Joaquim wasn’t sure whether he was looking at very large houses or small palaces, their style quite different than the Golden City’s stern mansions, with fanciful turrets and an occasional steepled tower.

  “It’s beautiful,” Marina breathed, her eyes wide.

  “I thought your people believed that Lisboa is cursed,” he pointed out.

  She watched him as he picked up his bag and walked to her side. “I’m a Christian, Joaquim. I don’t believe in the sea gods and their curse on the city.”

  They took the steps leading up to the seawall and, at the top, a portly gentleman pointed them in the direction of the train that would take them into Lisboa proper. A few minutes later they were aboard, Marina on the outside so she could watch the scenery along the coastline. The train carried them to the Sodre Quay in Lisboa itself, and from there it was only a short walk to the Praça do Comércio.

  The plaza was part of the magnificent downtown, all built after the earthquake that destroyed much of Lisboa. A statue of the first prince of Southern Portugal mounted on a horse stood on a high pedestal in the center of the plaza. Joaquim let Marina gape at the huge square with its arcade of arches and numerous cafés and restaurants where people enjoyed leisurely afternoon repasts under the shade of large umbrellas. Then he took her hand again. “Let’s go. Duilio says if we go through the main arch and straight on, we’ll find the hotel.”

  They walked through the central archway and into the downtown area with its straight streets and elegant buildings, all very modern. Not far away they emerged into another huge square with a wide avenue down the middle. People strolled along the avenue, others drove along in open carriages, and occasionally a young man would speed past on a bicycle. The sidewalks formed mosaics in black and white that were art in themselves.

  Joaquim had seen photographs of Lisboa before, but they clearly did not do justice to the city’s beauty. I must bring Marina back here for a visit one day.

  His admiration was tinged with jealousy, though. Lisboa boasted of its beauty and modernity, the wide new streets and neoclassical buildings. The whole city had electricity now, and telephones supposedly abounded. The Golden City, stifled for two decades by Prince Fabricio’s determination not to modernize his capital, was seen as backward by comparison. The epidemic of plague in 1899 hadn’t helped the Golden City’s reputation either. Joaquim wished that he could have Lisboa’s modernity for his city, although not at the price of the earthquake and tidal wave that had swept away old Lisboa to make this new city possible.

  He sighed at such morose thinking. I can’t change what’s past.

  Looking up, he saw that they’d reached the hotel. The Hotel Avenida Palace, with its understated columns and dark roof, was indeed right next to the train station and, like everything else, was new. It was also intimidating, dressed as they were. Joaquim had pulled on a coat over his salt-laden shirt and thought he looked presentable, although not wealthy enough for this hotel. Marina had chosen the plainest of the garments purchased back on the island, with only a discreet line of embroidery about the collar of her shirtwaist. Even so, the pair of them still looked as if they had wandered in from the countryside.

  But no sooner had they walked under the rust-colored drapes adorning the hotel’s lobby door than an officious-looking clerk came bustling up to them and told a porter to take their bags. “We’ve been expecting your arrival, Inspector, Mrs. Tavares,” he said, nodding in Marina’s direction. “Your room is ready, and . . .”

  “You’ve been expecting us?” Joaquim asked.

  The clerk’s bushy eyebrows drew together. “Yes, sir. The captain came down and made all the arrangements on Lady Ferreira’s behalf. Your baggage is waiting in your room, and your tickets for Barcelona are in the hotel’s safe, along with a letter of credit to the Bank of Barcelona. And we have called ahead and booked you a room there in the new Hotel Colón on the Plaça de Catalunya.”

  Joaquim shook his head in amazement. Before he’d left the Golden City, he wouldn’t have been able to predict he was coming to Lisboa, that he would have Marina with him, or that Barcelona was their ultimate destination. But unlike him and Duilio, their cousin Rafael had full access to his seer’s gift and had been training in its use with the Jesuit Brotherhood here in Lisboa on and off for the past several months. Joaquim shot a glance at Marina. “Rafael,” he said. “Rafael must have come down to arrange this.”

  “Yes, Captain Pinheiro,” the clerk agreed. “He’s stayed with us several times before. Now, shall I have a porter show you up to your room?”

  So, despite their shabby attire, a few minutes later they were ensconced on the fourth floor with a view of the Rossio Square below. Save for the bed, the furnishings were in the rococo style. Lovely, although too elaborate for Joaquim’s tastes. Best of all, three pieces of luggage waited for them in the closet on ornate wooden stands—two bags for Marina and one for him. “There’s a note from Ana in mine,” Marina said, her eyes flitting across the slip of stationery that she held. “Captain Pinheiro came on Thursday and asked her to pack a couple of bags for me. Does he often do things like that?”

  “He’s quite astonishing,” Joaquim admitted absently. Rafael must have packed his for him, which made him question how his cousin had gotten into his flat, but he didn’t find a note from Rafael in his bag. He supposed he would have to do without Rafael’s explanation.

  Marina exclaimed over Ana’s thoughtfulness. In addition to her Portuguese passport, Ana had packed a novel for her, one that Joaquim hadn’t read yet either—The City and the Mountains. It would be nice to have something to read on the train. After perusing the clothing her friend had packed and pronouncing it more than satisfactory, Marina crossed to the windows and held back the golden drapes to gaze out over the square below. Joaquim followed, looking over her shoulder and admiring the greenery planted there, trees and spring flowers and even palms. “We need to make a list of all the things we want to see here,” he suggested, “and when we come back, we can see them all.”

  Marina smiled up at him. “We’ll see.”

  He wasn’t good at taking time away from work. He usually felt guilty if he did. Apparently she knew that. It was just one of the things that would have to change. He needed to make time for his wife and, eventually, their children. This trip was the first time he’d left his work in another officer’s hands—Gustavo Mendes, who’d once been employed in the Ferreira house as a footman. Gustavo had a sharp mind, though, and was eager to prove himself. Joaquim had faith that Gustavo could handle the work.

  “What shall we do, then?” Marina asked.

  It was still early afternoon, and Rafael’s foresight had saved them running about to secure funds and more clothing. They’d eaten lunch aboard the boat, so he wasn’t particularly hungry. “I know that you’d like to explore, but to be honest, I wouldn’t mind a nap in a bed that wasn’t moving. And a bath. And a clean change of clothes.”

  Her eyes slid toward the wide bed with its marquetry headboard and brocaded spread. “Definitely a nap first, then.”

  * * *

  ILHAS DAS SEREIAS

  Oriana fit the key into
the lock and pushed the door open. They had made better time than expected, and had reached Lady Guerra’s house in the mountains in the late afternoon. There was still light. Instead of waiting until morning, they’d chosen to venture inside to determine whether the clandestine lovers were there. Captain Vas Neves insisted on going first, her pistol drawn, while the rest of them waited outside. A few moments later the captain returned, sliding her pistol back into the red sash about her waist. “There’s no one here. Not now, at least.”

  Oriana turned her gaze on Duilio, who shook his head. “Can you tell if they were here?”

  The captain’s jaw flexed. “I believe so. I’ll show you.”

  They followed the captain inside the house. It was darker, built for withstanding the worst winters and heavy storms, so it lacked the courtyards and terraces that a beach house usually had. Heavy braided rugs lined the hallways, and dark furnishings completed the chilly feel of the place. But in the kitchens the captain showed them lamps that looked to have been lit quite recently. In one of the bedrooms, the mattress pad still lay on the floor.

  “They moved,” Duilio said quietly to Oriana. “Sometime between yesterday afternoon and this moment. My gift couldn’t predict when they would flee. That’s why I didn’t know if they would be here.”

  Oriana cast a vexed look at him. “Where are they now?”

  He just regarded her with brows raised. “Where is not one of the questions I can answer. That’s Joaquim’s purview.”

  She huffed out a breath. “How long do you think they’ve been gone?”

  “Judging by the fact that the lamps are cool, I’d say not within the last few hours. But later than this morning, because I asked myself then.”

  “Inês had to have known this would be the first place we looked. The question is, where would she go from here? Where would she take him to hide?”

  “You’re assuming that Inês is making the decisions,” Duilio felt obligated to point out. “Costa could be.”

  Oriana laid her steepled hands against her lips. “I don’t know Costa well,” she allowed after a moment, “but it’s possible. If you were in his place, where would you go?”

  “To Portugal,” he said without pause. “I would run home to Lisboa on the next ship and beg my parents to give me enough money to get to Brazil.” Brazil had no problem with sereia, and greater acceptance of mixed marriages.

  “So we’re up here in the mountains,” she snapped, “while they could be slipping away.”

  Duilio held up his hands. “When I talked to the captain of the Portuguese ships in harbor last week, I took care of that. If Costa—or Inês—tries to buy passage, they’ll refuse.”

  Oriana nodded. She blew out a vexed breath anyway. “I suppose we’ve wasted our time, then.”

  * * *

  LISBOA

  Marina found the city enchanting, what little of it they saw. They’d dined at a restaurant across from the hotel, where they sat outside to watch the traffic pass by. Then Joaquim strolled with her up and down the avenue, past numerous shops that looked enticing, but were all closed since it was late. They finally ended up back at the hotel so they could retrieve their bags and the tickets from the hotel’s safe. They walked the short distance to the train station and took a train there to the station at Santa Apolonia. There the Sud Expresso was allowing passengers to board, so after they gave the conductor their tickets, their steward directed them to their compartment.

  Both bunks had already been turned out for them, and a bottle of port and chocolates lay on the table next to the pillows of the lower one. Like the hotel, the first-class compartment was a luxury that Joaquim likely found uncomfortable. She suspected if she weren’t with him, he would have exchanged the tickets for third class and sat up all night. Once their bags were properly stowed, she sat next to him on the lower bunk and stroked that lock of hair back from his forehead. “It was kind of Lady Ferreira to pay for these tickets.”

  “She wants us to move into the house on the Street of Flowers. Duilio says the same.”

  “It makes sense,” she said, relieved that she wouldn’t have to convince him. “A house does better when someone is there to care for it. And you were raised there, weren’t you?”

  “My bedroom is exactly how it was when I moved out, as if she was waiting for me to move back in someday. I’ve liked having a place of my own.”

  “We don’t have to do it,” she said. “We can stay in your place.”

  He shook his head. “It would be foolish. There’s hardly enough room for two. What would happen when we have children?”

  She didn’t think he expected an answer. “My father wants to train me to take over his business,” she offered instead.

  That made him look up. “He does?”

  She folded her arms over her chest. “Do you not think a woman could do so?”

  His jaw clenched as if he realized he’d stepped into trouble. “Don’t forget, darling,” he said, “I was raised by a woman who was very involved in business. The reason I expressed surprise is that I can’t imagine you wanting to pursue that.”

  She let out a deep breath. “I’m not sure I want it either. Our families have expectations of us, and it’s hard to know what the right choice is.”

  “Surely it’s not something he needs you to answer now,” Joaquim said.

  “No, it’s just that he wants me to learn all the parts of his business, not just the conversion of files I’m doing currently. Learning about the investment and banking and management. That takes years. I don’t mind the work. I’m just not certain that’s what I want. I don’t know if I have any . . . passion for it.”

  “I’ve always had a passion for what I do,” he said. “Perhaps that’s because of my gift. I don’t know.”

  While she might be good with numbers, a trait inherited from both parents, that wasn’t the same as running a business. Joaquim remained silent for a while, which made her wonder where his mind had gone. Clearly away from their previous discussion. She ran her hand through his hair. It was annoyingly straight, so she couldn’t twine it about her fingers. Perhaps she could convince him to grow it longer as his brother had done.

  When Joaquim spoke, his voice came softly. “I have family in Catalonia.”

  Family? Marina sat back. “Have you ever mentioned that to me before?”

  “No,” he said. “I’ve never told anyone.”

  Her mind spun. How like Joaquim to hold in a secret like that until moments before the train began moving. But if he had a secret, she wasn’t going to get it out of him until he was ready.

  “My mother’s grandmother is still alive,” he added. “The only one left of my mother’s family.”

  Joaquim was nearly thirty. Marina didn’t know how old his mother had been when he was born, but his mother’s grandmother had to be older than her own grandmother. “How old is she?”

  “In her eighties,” Joaquim said softly.

  “Do you want to meet her?”

  “I don’t know. She’s not actually in Barcelona. She lives outside Terrassa, in the wine country. There’s a train that goes there.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I made inquiries,” he admitted, “years ago. Father doesn’t know.”

  By Father he meant the elder Joaquim Tavares, not Alexandre Ferreira. She doubted he would ever comfortably call Ferreira his father, even if he had learned to call Duilio his brother.

  “We could go there,” she said, “and meet her, once we’ve found what we’re looking for.” If he’d made inquiries, Joaquim must be curious about the old woman.

  He gazed toward the window with its drawn shade. “Thirty years ago, her granddaughter—a gentlewoman—was sold on the docks of Barcelona like a common whore. Did her grandmother do anything to prevent it? Did she ever lift a finger to help my mother?”

  The
re was no emotion in those whispered words, but she recognized the pain beneath them. His mother had died when he was eight, just as hers had. She couldn’t picture her mother’s face any longer; she didn’t know if Joaquim could recall his mother’s. That didn’t make either woman less important in their memories.

  “Surely she didn’t know,” Marina pointed out gently. Barcelona was a large city, and one young woman could easily become lost there.

  “It’s not that far,” Joaquim said flatly. “Her husband was dead, and her granddaughter was her only living relative.”

  Marina laid her hands over his. “Perhaps she didn’t know where her granddaughter was or how to find her.”

  He sighed heavily again. “Inspector Gaspar tells me that this gift always passes down through the maternal line. In other words, I had to have gotten it from my mother, who in turn got it from hers.”

  “And she from her mother,” Marina surmised. “Perhaps there was nothing she could do.”

  “She’s wealthy,” Joaquim said with a short laugh. “She has power. By all accounts she delights in trifling in every small issue in the town.”

  Had he been thinking of this since the moment he first heard their destination was Barcelona? It felt as though she never knew where his mind actually was, not like Oriana and Duilio, who seemed to think so much alike. Joaquim held things inside, hidden from everyone. If she were talking to Oriana, she would press harder, but that didn’t work with Joaquim. He would only go silent. “How do you know all this about her?”

  The train lurched and its whistle blew, a warning that they were almost under way. Joaquim glanced at her. “Do you want to go to the dining car? For a glass of wine before bedtime?”

  It was a desperate attempt to change the subject. Marina glanced at the bottle of port the steward had left for them, but Joaquim wasn’t fond of the drink. Too sweet for his taste. “I think that would be nice.”

  So they made their way down to the dining car, as finely appointed as any restaurant back home. Other passengers crowded the car, some having dessert and a drink while others were merely talking. Joaquim drew her to a table near the car’s doors, away from the chatter. Marina didn’t bring up the subject of his great-grandmother. Instead he told her what he knew of Barcelona and its troublesome politics, and once they’d had a glass of wine, they headed back toward the front of the train to their compartment.