Under the Spanish Stars

by Alli Sinclair

  ‘Mateo?’ Charlotte put her arm around his shoulders and they shook under her light touch.

  ‘Maybe I was not ready to talk about it,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Perhaps not but you’ve done it now.’

  His body slumped against hers and he laid his head on her shoulder. Charlotte gently ran her fingers through his thick hair, tuning in to his sorrow. The tap dripped in the bathroom, a slow, gentle rhythm, reminding her of one of the palos she’d heard Mateo play. What was it? Siguiriyas? A palo about tragedy and desolation?

  Jolting upright, he said, ‘I need to go.’

  ‘Uh … okay.’ She withdrew her hand. Did she push too far with the consoling?

  Mateo bent over and gave her a peck on the cheek. He grabbed his jacket, opened the door and made a swift exit.

  Charlotte sat on the bed, blinking. What had just happened? Had going into counselling mode scared him off? Or did he just need space to clear his head? After all, Mateo had just offloaded four years worth of grief.

  Getting up and walking to the window, she opened the curtains and searched the empty street below. Mateo was long gone and with him, any chance of finding answers tonight.

  CHAPTER

  16

  1944—Katarina

  Federico strode into the dressing room, only stopping to kick the door closed behind him. He sat on the chair, picked up the perfume on the table, opened the lid, sniffed it then put it down. ‘Were you told about the change of order in the program?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ Her voice held more confidence than she felt. After receiving the letter from her fictional flamenco teacher in France, she and Raul had studied the codes and planned ways for them to be incorporated into the choreography. The steps were simple and to the unsuspecting eye, they appeared to be moves any flamenco dancer of her calibre would perform, but it was the combination that created the message.

  She waited for him to say more, but he sat in silence, watching her apply stage makeup. Katarina didn’t feel unnerved by his presence but it concerned her the way Federico had been so preoccupied recently. Originally she’d put his erratic mood swings down to financial pressures because the elusive Lobo Brothers had lowered the cost of tickets to get people through the door. This must have pained Federico. But now the company performed to a packed house every night, yet he remained cranky and everyone suffered for it. However, there was something else about him that made her uneasy. She wished she could put her finger on it, but reading Federico was like trying to decipher braille. Then again, chances were she was just projecting her own nervousness.

  Federico adjusted his position in the chair, leant forward then shifted back. A small notebook fell onto the floor and she picked it up, but he snatched it out of her hands and quickly shoved it back in his jacket pocket.

  ‘Can’t lose my accounting now, can I?’ His smile seemed forced.

  ‘No, I guess not.’ She feigned indifference, but wondered why he would constantly carry his accounts around in a small book. Stop being paranoid, no one could possibly know what you’re doing.

  ‘Right.’ Federico stood and adjusted his tie. ‘You’re on in an hour.’

  Katarina nodded and turned to the mirror, using the reflection to watch him leave. No sooner had the door closed than it opened and in walked Raul, sporting the same apprehensive expression he’d worn for the past three days.

  She applied lipstick with a shaky hand. Glancing at his reflection in the mirror, she asked, ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m …’ He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the ground.

  She placed the lipstick on the table then turned around and rested her buttocks against the edge. ‘Are you having second thoughts?’

  ‘What we plan to do is a massive risk.’ He didn’t lift his gaze from the floor. ‘I worry about you. About us.’

  ‘But we’re doing it for the greater good. Nothing worth doing is without risk.’

  ‘That’s not true.’ His eyes met hers. ‘Loving you is without risk.’

  ‘That’s also with risk, Raul. I could be hit by a truck tomorrow or fall and hit my head and not know who you are or—’

  He held up his hand, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. ‘I get the picture.’ Wrapping his fingers around hers, he held on tight. ‘This mission is fraught with danger.’

  ‘And yet you spent so much time reassuring me it wasn’t.’ She tilted her head to the side. ‘What do you know that I don’t?’

  ‘There’s trouble near the French border.’ He lowered his voice and moved closer, his freshly showered body oh-so-near hers.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Her pulse raced and the doubt he’d expressed now washed over her.

  ‘Our people near the Aran Valley have been making plans to clear a pathway for the Maquis to enter from France but Franco’s men are suspicious. There’ve been arrests and …’ Raul’s voice trailed off and he looked at the wall. ‘You do not want to know.’

  ‘So it’s even more vital for us to get this code out, right?’

  Raul nodded. ‘I just … I should be doing this alone. It was crazy getting you involved. I should have stuck by the promise to myself to keep you removed from all this.’

  ‘So that’s why you tried to push me away after we met at the theatre? You wanted to shelter me from your past that is still very much your present?’

  He nodded and it all made sense. She admired his desire to protect her but events in her own past had hardened her to the realities of the world. Katarina wasn’t a privileged unassuming young woman any more, she had strength and experience. She needed a companion who understood and believed in the same causes—and she had that in Raul.

  She ran her hand down the side of Raul’s face and looked into his beautiful eyes. ‘We are in this together, no matter what.’

  Glancing over at the guitar case in the corner of the room she decided now was as good a time as any. She reached for it and handed the instrument to Raul. ‘For you.’

  Placing the case on the chair, he gently opened the latches and took out the rosewood masterpiece that she’d ordered from his favourite craftsmen. ‘This is magnificent. Where did you … how could you afford—’

  ‘Just know that this is given to you out of love.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say …’ Raul caressed the guitar then placed it on his knees, strumming the finely tuned strings.

  ‘You don’t need to say anything. In fact, that is why I chose to give you this. I can’t put into words how I feel so I chose a gift that reflects my sentiments.’

  ‘It will always stay with me as will your love. Thank you, fuego de mi alma, fire of my soul.’

  Smiling, she said, ‘Now, we must get ready.’

  Raul placed the guitar in the case then wrapped his arm around her waist, nuzzling her neck. ‘You have stolen my heart.’

  ‘And you’ve stolen mine.’ She used her hip to push him away. ‘Now go!’

  She turned around to reapply lipstick even though she didn’t need to. Through hot tears she used the mirror to watch him exit as the door closed quietly behind him. Tonight could change their lives forever and the magnitude weighed heavily. So much could go right. So much could go wrong.

  Sitting on the chair, she stared at the painting her father had given her. Speaking to the woman leaping over the flames, she asked, ‘Am I doing the right thing?’

  * * *

  Federico strode onto the stage, parted the curtains and disappeared. With his usual salesman-like charm he announced La Flama, Raul and Salvador. Elena, the new palmista, nervously opened and closed her hands in readiness to accompany the group with her rhythmic clapping.

  ‘What is with you tonight?’ Salvador sidled up to Katarina.

  ‘Nothing. Why?’ She should have known Salvador would pick up on her energy.

  ‘You seem on edge. Are you right to dance?’

  ‘Of course I am.’ She faked a cough. ‘My throat feels a little scratchy. Maybe I’m coming down with an
illness.’

  ‘You need something to drink.’ Salvador walked over to where the small table held water jugs and glasses. Filling one, he walked back and handed it to Katarina, who took it with thanks. Guilt tugged at her for her not being truthful with her best friend.

  ‘You’ve been working too hard,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll be fine. It’s just a seasonal bug, that’s all.’ She took another sip and forced a smile.

  ‘As long as you promise to rest afterwards.’ He squeezed her arm and he sauntered over to talk to Elena. Charlotte’s chest felt hollow. She hated keeping things from him.

  Moving over to the table she put down the empty glass.

  Raul sidled up, his dark eyes brooding. ‘What did you say to Salvador?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘It didn’t look like nothing.’

  She subtly stepped away, annoyed with the insinuation that she was lying. ‘He is none the wiser, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

  ‘Good. We can’t risk anything going wrong.’ Raul’s eyes searched hers, his expression softening.

  She kept her voice low and glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot. ‘Raul, I—’

  Federico rushed past them as the curtain opened. ‘Go!’

  ‘You what?’ Raul whispered hoarsely.

  ‘Get out there! Do it!’ Federico flicked his hand towards the stage and Raul gave her a look that said they’d continue this conversation later.

  Raul strode onto the stage with Salvador following and Elena trailing behind. Thankful she and Raul had decided to do the palo with the codes first, she breathed in through her nose, held her breath and exhaled slowly. She repeated this a few more times while Raul set the tempo and key for the tientos, his fingers magically working the guitar. Salvador started in with the estribillos, his deep voice rising to high notes, full of lament that appeared to belong to a man forty years his senior.

  Katarina puffed out her cheeks and balled her hands on hips then stepped onto the stage—her life, and countless others, about to change forever.

  She made the llamada and Raul moved into double-time while she began the footwork, dancing in a way that reflected the solemnity of the tientos. She and Raul had decided this was the perfect palo to deliver messages as it represented the serious state of the world and people dealing with losses in life, including love and longing for freedom.

  Salvador sang the letra and after the first line he took a respira, a break, while Katarina concentrated on turning, arching her back, and slowly waving her arms. She glimpsed Federico standing on the side of the stage, his arms crossed, his brow furrowed.

  Used to eyes following her every move on stage, she worked her body hard, but something felt different. Felt off. Pushing down the paranoia she continued dancing until the sight of the man with the long, dark curly hair sitting in the front row made her falter.

  His eyes.

  Those small, dark, untrusting eyes stared at her with an intensity that unnerved her. Whenever Katarina danced her senses heightened, her emotions exploded and her ability to read people increased.

  This man scared her.

  Of course she could just be paranoid and he could be from the Maquis.

  Or he could one of Franco’s cronies.

  She chastised herself for being so fearful—she’d come too far to back out. In honour of her father, in honour of the thousands of innocent souls brutally murdered in the name of Franco, she held her head high and wove her left hand towards the heavens.

  She could not mess this up.

  CHAPTER

  17

  Charlotte had endured a restless night, one filled with worry about Abuela and sadness for the strange parting she’d had with Mateo. Her mother had texted earlier saying Abuela had stabilised and that eased Charlotte’s mind—a little. A sense of urgency still drove her to getting to the bottom of Abuela’s story as soon as possible.

  Pushing out a sigh, her thoughts returned to Mateo. She had no idea if he would show up and go through the house with her but if he didn’t, well, she’d be okay with it. What a load of shit! Absolutely no way would she be all right with Mateo not appearing. He had, after all, become a partner in this mission for Abuela.

  Someone banged heavily on her hotel room door.

  ‘Just a minute!’ she yelled, throwing the sheets back and jumping out of bed. Quickly stripping off her nightgown and throwing on jeans and a shirt, she padded over to the door and peered through the peephole. The second she saw his dark eyes under a veranda of black lashes, her heart melted.

  ‘Buenos días.’ His voice was muffled by the door.

  ‘Buenos días,’ she replied, clutching her hands in front of her chest.

  ‘Could you let me in, por favor?’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course.’ Unlatching the chain and twisting the lock, she held the door open as Mateo walked in, hands in pockets. When he turned to face her, she noticed the dark circles under his eyes.

  ‘Have you slept at all?’ she asked, concern flooding through her. His actions last night hadn’t left her angry; she understood that unbottling years-old emotions could cause varied reactions and escaping into the night just happened to be Mateo’s.

  ‘I am sorry.’ His voice was low, heavy with sadness.

  ‘You don’t need to be. You had a lot going on.’ She glanced at his hand, wanting to place hers in his and give it a reassuring squeeze.

  ‘I needed the space. I needed …’ Mateo frowned, as if trying to line up his thoughts. Finally focussing on her, he said, ‘It was wrong of me to leave when you were caring and understanding.’

  ‘Mateo …’ She stepped forward and reached for his hand, no longer afraid.

  ‘There is something else you need to know.’

  ‘Okay.’ She moved back so she could see his face fully.

  ‘I have not been with any women since Alicia. I have not been interested. Then I met you.’ His lips slowly turned into a smile that gave her goosebumps. ‘I do not know what it is, Charlotte Kavanagh, but your presence makes me very happy.’

  She stared up at his dark eyes.

  ‘Really?’ Her voice raised an octave.

  ‘You find this hard to believe?’ Mateo knitted his eyebrows.

  ‘Why wouldn’t I? Look at you.’ She waved her hand over his body in the manner of a game show hostess. ‘You’re handsome, charming, play guitar with incredible zeal … what female would not want to be with you?’

  Mateo coughed and a red rash raced up his neck and across his face. ‘I do not have a shortage of women who would like to date me, this is true, and I have tried dating, but no one has made me feel like you do.’

  ‘I …’ What? What should she say? ‘Uh … thank you?’

  What the hell? A gorgeous man says she’s the first woman to make him gaga in years and she says, Thank you? Jesus Christ, Kavanagh!

  Mateo scratched his head and looked away. A horrible, sinking feeling grew in her stomach.

  ‘Mateo …’

  ‘I must have misread—’

  ‘You haven’t misread anything.’ She placed her hands on either side of his face and stood on tiptoes, pressing her lips against his. His body relaxed under her touch and he pulled her against him, his warm, muscular frame making her knees weak, her heart pound. Pushing her gently against the wall, Mateo nuzzled her neck and she savoured each hot, blissful kiss. He gently unbuttoned her shirt, slowly running his fingers over her collarbone. Trailing his hand down her body, he reached behind and undid her bra strap at the back with ease. As he slid it off she let out a low moan.

  They should stop.

  This was pointless.

  She was probably going all the way back to Australia in the next day or two.

  ‘Mateo …’ She breathed heavily.

  ‘¿Sí?’

  ‘I …’ Words escaped her as she slid her hand under his shirt, her fingers dancing across his smooth, warm skin, revelling in every curve.

  Mateo wedged
his fingers between her belly and the top button of her jeans. With one deft movement it came undone, just like her willpower.

  * * *

  Charlotte stood on the doorstep of the Sanchez property, key clutched in her sweaty hand. Staring at the stone step, she wondered how many times her ancestors—great-uncles, great-grandmother, great-grandfather and Abuela—had crossed this threshold. What emotions had echoed down these halls? Had it only been anger? Surely there must have been love. At least between father and daughter. What about her great-grandmother? Did she ever show love for Abuela?

  Resting her hand flat against the faded red paint on the door, Charlotte tried to imagine how the conversation unfolded when Abuela had revealed her love for flamenco. Had any of her brothers tried to support her? Or were they too afraid of their mother? What would have happened had Abuela’s father been alive? Why did Abuela’s mother—biological or not—think it was okay to kick out a family member then leave the country with no chance of being found? What kind of family did that?

  My family.

  Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t possibly imagine the social and political pressures people had to endure, but throwing out a daughter? That was wrong on so many levels. Even though Charlotte’s father could be overbearing and demanding, she doubted he would kick her out of the family. For that, she was grateful, even if it made family gatherings uncomfortable at times.

  ‘Are you ready?’ Mateo’s warm breath grazed her neck and instantly gave her flashes of his naked body against hers. As ground-shakingly fabulous as their lovemaking had been, she had to wipe that from her mind for the time being. The solemnity of entering her ancestral home outweighed everything else—for now, at least. Although with Mateo hovering so close, with his freshly showered body and tantalisingly deep voice, she found it hard to concentrate.

  ‘Charlotte?’

  She bit her lip and studied the windows covered with moth-eaten curtains.

  ‘Charlotte?’

  ‘Sorry. What did you say?’

  He rested a hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘Not really.’ The sun shone on the key as she willed her mind to get over itself and just open the damned door.