‘Don’t worry, I’m getting used to the Spanish clock. Beer?’
Mateo nodded and Pedro opened two bottles. Placing the glasses on the counter he poured the cold amber liquid then came back a moment later with fried chunky potatoes with spicy tomato sauce.
‘Hmm … patatas bravas,’ Mateo said, using a toothpick to pick up one of the steaming chunks and pop it in his mouth.
‘I still can’t get my head around this food that comes out with drinks. Who needs to go to a restaurant to eat?’ She stabbed a potato cube and chewed on it, enjoying the spicy deliciousness.
Mateo looked out at the bright sunny day. ‘It appears to be earlier than nine o’clock. Is there an emergency?’
‘Not an emergency as such.’ She’d been so intent on escaping the emotions tormenting her in the hotel room she hadn’t given any thought as to what she’d do or say when she tracked down Mateo, who now possessed a foamy white beer moustache. She reached across with a fresh serviette and wiped it off, then realised she was being a tad too familiar. As if registering her embarrassment, he gently wrapped his fingers around her wrist and rubbed her skin with his thumb. ‘Do not be scared.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Do not be. We are friends, yes? I would hope my friend would stop me from looking like un idiota if I had this on my mouth.’ He pointed at the beer froth in his glass.
‘Friends?’
‘Yes.’
‘Friends,’ she said again, letting the word sit nicely in her mouth. ‘Well, as one friend to another, I thank you for taking me under your wing and helping me.’
‘That is what friends do.’ He sipped the beer again and looked down his nose as if attempting to check whether he had another moustache.
‘You’re safe,’ she laughed. She liked that he didn’t think of her as a charity case or annoyance, but Charlotte wasn’t ecstatic about being called a friend either. Well, her practical side was, but the emotional side wished he thought of her as something more. Although it would be fruitless because she needed to get home to Abuela and work as soon as she could. Spending time with Mateo made her realise how lonely she’d been since breaking up with her ex. Perhaps a little Spanish fling … stop it, Charlotte!
‘This not-emergency-as-such … what is it then?’
‘I …’ Where to start? ‘Dancing flamenco last night did something to me and I’m not really sure how to explain it.’ He nodded for her to continue and she appreciated his silence because if he interrupted now, she’d chicken out. ‘You’re right about the art supplies. Even though I haven’t painted in years I felt an urge to buy them and so I started one of my paintings. I normally paint seascapes—oceans, birds, trees, beaches—but when I began it was …’ She took a deep breath. ‘It was as if I was possessed. I found myself mixing reds, oranges and yellows and the smooth brushstrokes I’ve perfected over the years were jagged and thick.’
She chose not to mention the images that flashed before her when she held Syeria’s painting because she needed to keep something to herself.
‘You have a flamenco soul.’ Mateo said it with such certainty she almost believed him.
‘But I know nothing about flamenco.’
‘Your abuela, she danced flamenco, yes? It is in your genes. You danced very well last night, not like una guiri. And after a small exposure to flamenco it has affected the way you paint. There are many secrets in your soul, Charlotte Kavanagh. What else is waiting to be discovered?’
‘But I didn’t know I had secrets!’ She tried to keep her voice steady, but failed.
Mateo tilted his head to the side and gave a small smile. ‘It appears you have many secrets and I would like to be the one who helps you reveal them.’
CHAPTER
10
1944—Katarina
Adjusting her dress for the fiftieth time, Katarina nodded towards Raul and Salvador who were already on stage, waiting for Federico to give them the signal to start. She couldn’t stop looking at Raul, who’d just proven duende could come from a single kiss.
With no time to find out what was behind Raul’s actions and intent, Katarina turned her attention to the current crisis. She hoped they were right in going with tango gitanos as the African-and Caribbean-influenced music had always been a hit with the public. Traditionally danced at fiestas, performing it in the theatre was a risk, but Katarina felt it was the only way they could save what had so far been an unsuccessful theatre debut.
Letting out a long breath, she took her place beside Raul and waited for the curtain to rise. When it did, the stony-faced audience did nothing to quell her reservations. But she held her head high, straightened her back so it had the curve expected of a flamenca and waited for Raul to start with the guitar falseta. Katarina made her llamada to signal Salvador to start in with the letra.
Using the stage to her advantage, she swung her hips and clapped on the counter-beat. Raul played magnificently and when she made another llamada, Salvador’s captivating tone floated through the theatre. She didn’t dare look at the audience’s faces in case she lost momentum, then it occurred to her the only ones who could decide if they were happy were the audience. She had no control over how they reacted. With that in mind, she relaxed her body and when the time came for her to move on to the escobilla, the elaborate footwork, she let the memory of Raul’s kiss wash over her. Closing her eyes, she transported herself to the moment their lips touched, his tender embrace and the sensation of his fingers resting on her lower back, gently stroking her spine. Passion and desire surged within as her body took flight, her moves more dramatic, her concentration intense. When the time came for the llamada she stamped her foot so hard it hurt. Pain shot up her leg, but she revelled in the feeling, alive in every molecule of her being. Holding her arms above her head, her pose perfectly still aside from her heaving chest, she waited for Salvador and Raul to take their cues and finish the palo with a flourish.
For an agonisingly long moment the theatre remained silent, then came a deafening round of applause accompanied by shouts of ¡ole! Something landed lightly on her foot and she looked down to see a red carnation. Picking it up, she brought it to her nose and inhaled the sweet fragrance. More carnations landed on the stage as the audience stood, clapping and cheering. With wide eyes she caught the attention of Raul and Salvador, who returned her look of surprise as they gathered the dozens of carnations now littering the floorboards. Salvador gave Raul his bunch of flowers and he bundled them together and presented them to Katarina.
Leaning in, he said, ‘Duende, my dear Katarina.’
Raul kissed her on the cheek and the theatre erupted with more shouts and whistles.
Raul and Salvador stood on either side of her and they each wrapped an arm around her waist as they bowed their heads in thanks for the tumultuous applause. Sneaking a sideways glance, Katarina caught Federico grinning like he’d just won a million pesos.
A moment later the curtains closed and the trio left the stage, bathing in the delight of the audience.
‘Did you hear that?’ She jumped up and down. ‘They loved it!’
‘That they did,’ said Federico. ‘I have to hand it to you. The gitanos tangos saved the evening. Perhaps the whole season. Well done, La Flama.’ He kissed her lightly on the cheek then walked towards the rest of the company who had gathered at the side of the stage. In a loud voice, he addressed the others. ‘See? That is what we need with every performance on every night. The bar has been raised, so you better reach it tomorrow and each night after that! We shall celebrate at Bar Noche!’
Federico strode away while the rest of the company gathered their things, mumbling to each other and surreptitiously casting glances in her direction. In the low lighting Katarina had a distinct feeling they were being glared at. Had she, Salvador and Raul just made a rod for their back? The cast disappeared out the stage door and Katarina ventured to her dressing room, keen to get changed and wipe off the stage makeup. As she transformed herself from flamenco d
ancer to the girl next door, she savoured the applause and reminisced over the last few moments on stage. She’d felt it. The audience had felt it. And she was sure Raul and Salvador had felt it as well. Duende. Once again only achieved with Raul’s presence. How did that happen and why had it only been twice when they’d been rehearsing for weeks?
It’s not up to us to decide. We can’t force it. All we can do is be open to the possibility. Raul’s recent words sank in and she resigned herself to the fact he was right. Duende could not be forced, much like an audience can’t be forced to love a performance and she couldn’t force Raul to divulge his past. Everything had to unfold naturally.
Raul knocked on the door, then entered. ‘You look like you are up with the stars.’
‘I guess I am.’ She hoped the bright light cancelled out the heat rushing across her neck and face. She sat on the chair while Raul leant against the wall, hands in pockets. An uncomfortable silence shrouded them as Raul’s gaze travelled the room, finally resting on the painting of the woman in the red dress leaping above the fire. ‘It is a beautiful painting.’
‘Thank you.’ She bent over and adjusted her stockings for a moment, not sure if she was embarrassed or flattered he noticed the artwork. She only left it out as a reminder of her father’s love and the good luck it always brought whenever it was near.
‘Who is the artist?’
‘There’s no signature so no one knows for sure. I don’t mind not knowing, anyway. It’s nice to have some mystery behind a piece, don’t you think?’
‘I agree.’ Raul stretched his neck and rubbed the back of it. ‘The evening has been long.’
‘I’m still on a high.’ Katarina slipped on her new shoes and buttoned the delicate straps. Her feet still couldn’t get used to being enclosed with no air leaking through unwanted holes.
As Raul continued to rub his neck the top button of his shirt popped open, revealing a beautiful silver medallion. He appeared none the wiser. Katarina could make out the distinctive image of Federico García Lorca, the Spanish poet born a few miles from Granada.
The simple medallion screamed Raul’s political leanings and with shaking hands, she smoothed down her hair. Lorca’s poems had inspired flamenco singers and musicians over the years, but because of Lorca’s homosexuality, Franco had chastised and humiliated him publicly. Lorca’s image had been banned and anyone caught reading his poems or openly agreeing with Lorca’s ideals were likely to end up in exactly the same predicament as the poet—dead.
Raul didn’t appear to know she could see his medallion and she didn’t want to bring up the subject. Politics, whether on the same side or not, was always fraught with danger.
She felt Raul’s eyes on her.
‘Katarina, about the kiss before—’
‘It was just a moment in time. I understand.’ Although she didn’t really.
‘It is a moment I would like to relive again, if I may.’ He stepped closer, then stopped, silently asking her permission to advance.
‘Raul …’ She didn’t make an effort to squirm away when he folded her into his arms and placed his lips on hers once more. This time, without the pressure of having to rush on stage, Katarina gave in fully. Uninhibited, she pressed against him, their hands getting reacquainted with the curves and lines from eight years before. This time, though, their bodies were a little fuller, more mature. His gangly physique more muscular, his shoulders broader. She ran her thumb along his stomach, the muscles strong, his skin smooth. Lust bubbled and threatened to explode within her.
Pulling back, she said, ‘This is confusing …’
‘Katarina.’ Raul pulled her towards him. Nuzzling her neck, he whispered, ‘Watching you dance makes me crazy. It’s impossible to contain my feelings.’
‘I …’ Her mouth dried up and she swallowed hard. ‘But you said it’s not a good idea—’
He ran his tongue along her neck. She let her head fall back, exposing more skin.
‘I was wrong.’
A rush of heat set her body on fire. ‘I have to be sure you won’t change your mind again.’
‘I can’t resist any more, Katarina.’ He nibbled her ear and her knees gave way. Pulling her tighter against him, Raul whispered, ‘Are you ready for a journey into the unknown?’
A small moan escaped her lips and he had her answer.
* * *
‘You are worried.’ Raul nudged her foot with his big toe as they sat on the small sofa in his sparse apartment. Their incredible escapade in the dressing room a few hours before had taken her by surprise and left her shaking, inside and out. It had been so easy to fall into his arms again. Up until this evening his inconsistent behaviour had baffled her, but now, in the afterglow of lovemaking, she realised his reluctance to get involved again had nothing to do with her. Raul had yet to divulge his troubles but she suspected that would happen—sooner rather than later.
He pushed the plate of olives, cheese and bread towards her. ‘So tell me, why are you worried?’
‘Not worried, just a little sad.’
‘About?’
‘All those years we could have had together.’
‘I’ve thought about that often since I saw you dancing in the café cantante.’
Katarina picked up a grape and placed it in her mouth. The sour juice squirted as she chewed on it thoughtfully. ‘I can’t help but look back on decisions I’ve made and wonder how differently life could have turned out. If I’d stood up to my family … If I’d had the chance to go with you to Seville … If my father hadn’t …’ She cut herself off, wishing she’d shut her mouth a few seconds earlier.
Raul wrapped his fingers around her cold hand. ‘Salvador mentioned your father had died but he said nothing else. If you don’t want to talk about it, I understand.’
Why couldn’t Salvador leave well enough alone? If she’d wanted to divulge anything about her painful past it was up to her. Although Salvador knew her enough to understand her feelings would remain buried deep. Of course, Katarina could see the irony of her refusal to speak about her past when all she wanted was for Raul to open up about his.
Raul’s empathy made her want to open her mouth and let it all tumble out. All the hurt, loneliness, doubts, anger … everything she’d bottled up over the years. But she had to be careful. Her affinity with Raul might be real, but she had no idea what he’d done when he’d gone to Seville. Sure, he played flamenco but he could also have been involved with the army or fighting with the rebels. When they’d made love he’d taken off his shirt without any concern that the Lorca medallion was on display. She took this as a sign of his trust and she’d willingly given into the moment without a single regret.
They sat in silence, echoes from the dripping tap in the basin filling the room.
An urge to tell the truth overcame her. ‘My father was the only person who understood me and after he died I realised I couldn’t live my life pretending to be someone I wasn’t.’
‘So you returned to flamenco.’
Nodding, she said, ‘Yes.’
‘Do you regret your decision?’
‘Some days I wonder what life would have been like had I stayed with my family. Then again, money isn’t everything. And I’m so much richer for doing what is right for me.’
‘It must have taken a lot of strength to leave.’
‘Not really. My mother made my life hell after father died. I still don’t know what turned her, but when she started ignoring me and doting on my younger brothers the decision to leave was a lot easier.’ Sighing, she said, ‘I do miss my siblings, though.’
‘So no contact at all?’
‘No.’ She paused, wondering why her words flowed so easily with Raul.
‘Katarina?’
‘Yes?’ She blinked. ‘Sorry, what was I saying?’
‘You haven’t had contact with your family since you left.’
‘Oh, right.’ She smoothed down her skirt. ‘A while ago they fled the country. Last I heard they
were in the Spanish Protectorate in Morocco.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be, it’s not your fault.’ She took a sip of wine, basking in the sweet, red liquid, and summoning the courage to tell the secret she’d only revealed once before, and that was to Salvador. ‘My father died in the Guernica bombings.’
Now that she’d said it, she wished she’d kept her trap shut. People rarely talked about the 1937 bombings in the old Basque capital because it was still a political landmine. But being beside Raul, in a cocoon of comfort, she felt … needed … to tell him how that fateful day had changed her life forever.
Raul’s grip around her hand tightened. ‘Were you there?’
‘No. Mother was worried about visiting Guernica because Franco had never forgiven the Basques for resisting his advances during the Civil War. I begged to go, but she refused, so I had to stay in Granada while my father went to visit his cousins. He loved cooking and he had convinced one of the kitchen staff to let him accompany them to the local market so he could try the local produce.’ Katarina closed her eyes briefly, wishing she could dispel the grief and guilt that had plagued her since that fateful day. If she’d been there, maybe she might have seen the planes first, warned her father and they could have escaped. Or maybe she’d have perished alongside him and not had to endure the intense, highly conflicted emotions whenever she thought of him. But in the small moments of happiness in her life, Katarina was thankful her mother had stopped her going to Guernica. ‘How could anyone have known Franco would turn against his countrymen and allow Hitler to test bombs on them?’
‘I don’t think anyone will ever understand why.’ Raul placed his hand on the back of her neck and stroked it gently.
‘Those poor people were guinea pigs for Hitler’s experiment. If he’d failed or hadn’t had a chance to try out his weapons, then maybe the London bombings wouldn’t have taken place, either.’
‘He would have found a way to test those bombs. Unfortunately, it just happened to be on innocent people.’
‘Franco didn’t view them as innocent.’ She placed the wineglass on the table and crossed her arms. ‘Though my father was innocent. Those mothers and babies and farmers were innocent. Franco is just as bad as Hitler.’ Katarina closed her mouth quickly, shocked at finally airing her deepest thoughts.
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