Under the Spanish Stars

by Alli Sinclair

  ‘Do not bother, it is rusted into the place.’

  Sticking the key in the ignition, Charlotte shuffled forward, not comfortable but a little more at ease than if Mateo was driving with his bung nose and eye. She drove at a snail’s pace but still managed to find every pothole in the paddock.

  ‘Sorry!’ Bump. Dip. ‘Sorry!’ She gritted her teeth and clung to the wheel. Dip. Bump. ‘Sorry!’

  ‘It is okay, you did not put the holes in the ground, no?’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘So do not worry.’ He closed his eyes and she didn’t know if it was because he had faith they’d get back to Granada in one piece or if the pain was too much. Turning onto the main road she picked up speed, gaining more confidence in her driving ability as she clocked up the miles.

  Changing gears, she was thankful her father had taken the time to teach her how to drive a manual. Her father … she’d barely given him a thought over the past several days. In fact, she hadn’t heard from him. No frantic messages or admonishing emails. Maybe she wasn’t as essential at work like her father made her believe. Would the company really fall apart if she left and pursued her dream of becoming a professional artist? Images of the last painting she’d attempted flashed before her and she gripped the steering wheel, jolting the vehicle as she did so.

  ‘¿Que?’ Mateo opened his eyes wide, woken from his slumber.

  ‘Sorry. Rabbit on the road.’ The lie fell easily from her lips and she had no idea why she felt the need to cover up her thoughts. Maybe it was because Mateo had reneged on being an open book by not discussing the tense relationship with his brother. It hurt that he didn’t want to talk, especially as they’d grown so close, but maybe his open book contained a sealed section available to a select few and not some foreigner who swanned in and out of Granada on family missions.

  Mateo closed his eyes again and rested his head against the seat while Charlotte concentrated on the road ahead. She wove through the streets, taking the same route that Mateo always did. They finally reached the car park near his apartment building and Charlotte navigated the vehicle into the only spot available—a very tight one.

  ‘Wakey, wakey, sleepyhead,’ she said, her annoyance with him having dissipated. Mateo had his reasons for doing and not doing things, just like she did, and she had to trust he would share when he was ready. Looking over at him sleeping peacefully, she smiled, realising how much she had missed him. Sucking in her breath, she spoke a little louder. ‘Wake up. We need to get you checked out.’

  Mateo’s head lay heavily on the seat, his eyes firmly closed.

  ‘Mateo!’ She shook his shoulders, her rising panic about to overflow.

  He let out a large snore, then sputtered. ‘¿Que?’

  ‘You might have concussion. You need to see someone.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘It has been a long day, that is all. I do not have the concussion but I am happy for you to be my nurse.’ His lips twitched into a lopsided smile.

  ‘Is this a ploy to get me to stay with you?’

  ‘I could just ask you to stay without getting my brother to punch me in the nose for your sympathy, yes?’

  ‘Good point.’ She hoped the dark hid the hot blush that crept up her neck and across her face. She exited the car, locked the door and studied Mateo standing on the footpath, a slight sway to his stance. ‘Are you sure you’re up for the walk? That’s a steep hill. And I believe the medical centre is thataway.’ She pointed to the short trek into the valley.

  ‘I am fine. All I have is a sore nose and eyes, not legs. Come.’ He held her hand and they set off up the road, passing restaurants, houses and flamenco dance studios along the way. Glancing at her watch, she noted it was close to two a.m. No wonder the street remained quiet, yet in her mind she could hear flamenco music, clapping hands and stomping feet on hardwood floors.

  ‘I really missed Granada and being surrounded by flamenco music while I was gone,’ she said, needing to break the silence.

  ‘Ah, it has got under your skin already. Sometimes flamenco makes very fast work of converting the people.’ They turned left and made their way up the cobblestoned street where Cristina had caused a fight. The bar had closed and the street was devoid of people, except for a few tourists straggling downhill. They entered the building. Mateo turned on the light and they slowly climbed the stairs to his apartment. He jiggled the keys in the lock, sputtered a few well-aimed curses at the offending lock, then it clicked open and he stepped into the foyer and flicked on the light.

  Charlotte made her way to the refrigerator to grab ice and a nearby tea towel. While she busied herself, her stomach flipped as nerves settled in about being alone in the apartment with him. She’d been here before, so why did it feel different this time, surely it couldn’t be jetlag? Gathering her wits, she gestured towards the couch and said to him, ‘Sit.’

  ‘Sí, señorita.’ Mateo sat heavily then kicked off his shoes and lay back against the overstuffed cushions.

  Wrapping the ice in the cloth and placing it gently on his eyes and nose, she said, ‘You really should get some medical help.’

  ‘You really should stop the worrying and fussing thing. Does it drive your abuela crazy?’

  She smiled. ‘Maybe that’s why she sent me back here.’

  ‘I would say yes, this is the main reason.’ Mateo grinned, then adjusted the position of the ice pack, wincing as he hit a sore spot. ‘Perhaps she only gave you this letter so it would keep you busy and not worry about her.’

  ‘Maybe, although it won’t work. I’m pretty good at this worrying business.’ Charlotte cast her mind back to the ancient hurt that flashed in Abuela’s eyes when she asked her to deliver the letter to the gravesite. ‘On second thoughts, I think this letter is way more important than her wanting me to stop worrying about her. I think she’s got to that point in life where she realises she has only one chance at this gig and that she shouldn’t squander opportunities to make things right. She doesn’t want to dwell on past regrets.’

  ‘She is a smart lady.’

  ‘It’s the what-ifs that mess everyone up, right? What if I find this gravesite for Abuela? What if it brings up so many painful memories and it affects her delicate health and she dies? What if I convince someone in the Giménez clan to do a DNA test to prove one way or the other whether Abuela is Syeria’s daughter?’ That brainwave had occurred to her somewhere over the Indian Ocean.

  ‘What?’ Mateo sat up so quickly he swayed for a moment then held his head gingerly. ‘This is why you have made the return to Granada?’

  She drummed fingers on her thighs. ‘There’re lots of reasons. Abuela wants me to deliver the letter to the gravesite of this person she cares for. Also, after showing her the photograph we found, she’s convinced Syeria is her birth mother and …’ Her words trailed off, too shy to speak of Abuela’s wish for Charlotte to seize the opportunity with Mateo.

  ‘And?’

  ‘And that’s it for now.’

  ‘The answer is no to helping with the DNA.’

  ‘But you know the clan and they love you. Can’t you convince someone to help?’

  ‘No.’ He crossed his arms and studied the wall of flamenco guitars.

  She hated pressing him but she couldn’t return to her grandmother without confirmation about her heritage. ‘Would Leila help?’

  ‘You cannot ask her to do this.’

  ‘You’re right. I’m sorry.’ She pursed her lips, willing her brain to come up with another way that would make everyone happy. ‘But Leila did get excited at the prospect of us being cousins.’

  ‘Have you forgotten gitanos do not like to remember the past?’

  ‘Of course I remember but Leila’s not like the others.’

  ‘Leila is the only one born into the Giménez clan who wishes to have a foot in both worlds. You are asking her to go against her people and that is not fair.’

  ‘But she does genealogy—’


  ‘That is her choice.’

  ‘True.’ Her thoughts ran around her head then settled. ‘She’s too far removed anyway. I need Syeria’s brother or sister or offspring, if they’re still alive, to do a DNA test and that would give us the answer we need.’

  Mateo twisted his lips in a strange way and he refused to look directly at her.

  ‘You know something, don’t you?’

  ‘It is not for you to know.’

  ‘What happened to the open book business? First, you won’t tell me about what happened with Jax and now you’re holding back information that could help me. You speak a load of shit, Mateo Vives. Your book is as closed as it gets.’

  ‘That is not true.’

  ‘I understand you want to look out for your people but guess what? I’m doing the same with Abuela. I don’t want the Giménez clan to compromise their beliefs. I always try to be respectful of other cultures and their wishes but I’m trying to help one very special elderly lady discover the mystery behind her roots before she …’ Charlotte couldn’t bear to finish the sentence.

  Mateo’s lips remained closed as he stared off into a dark corner of the room.

  She reached for his hand, but he pulled it away. Charlotte knew she should leave the topic alone but a need to protect Abuela drove her forward. ‘Wouldn’t the Giménez clan want to find out if they have other living relatives? Especially one who’s had a lifelong connection with flamenco?’

  ‘It is a fact La Flama left my country and refused to speak of her life as a flamenco dancer or about Spain. How can you say she has a lifelong connection with flamenco?’

  ‘When I was little and she looked after me while my parents worked, I often found Abuela in the kitchen or down by the back shed practising dance moves. I’m sure she misses her old life.’

  ‘It is hard living in the present and wishing for a past that can no longer be.’ His eyes grew dark. ‘Why did she leave Spain?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘She will not tell you?’

  ‘No. Whatever the reason is, the memories cause her immense pain.’ Just like Mateo, Abuela was a closed book.

  Mateo tapped his fingers on the armrest. ‘I will help you find this gravesite for your abuela but that is all. What is the name of this dead person you seek?’

  Charlotte reached for her handbag and dug out the ziplock bag with the envelope. Curiosity had gnawed at her from the moment she’d left the hospital, but she’d resisted opening the contents as per Abuela’s request. Now safely in Granada, she hesitated for only a moment. Holding her breath, she unfolded the paper and tried to decipher the spidery writing.

  CHAPTER

  23

  1944—Katarina

  Katarina rushed towards her apartment, painting in hand. Her heart hurt with the knowledge Federico had been keeping notes on them, and anxiety pressed in on her, knowing the danger that would arise if Federico’s books got into the wrong hands. Raul, Salvador and Katarina had to work on the assumption that every single move they made was being monitored. As much as she hated the thought, she had to accept it—for now.

  Despite her protests, Raul had gone back to see Federico to surreptitiously find out what the books were to be used for and where his political loyalties lay. Even Raul had no idea how he would achieve this, but he had to try. She couldn’t imagine the hurt Raul would suffer when he faced Federico—the man who he’d considered as a close friend and who now had the potential to ruin lives. She also worried about what could happen should Raul overstep the mark. However, she had faith he’d play this right. They needed to find out the depth of Federico’s involvement with the Lobo Brothers and how far it carried over to Franco and his people. She also wondered if Federico had any inkling of their collusion with the Maquis. Surely he wouldn’t turn against one of his oldest friends in a manner that was so … deceitful. But her country had been a political hotbed for years and no one could be trusted—not even an old friend.

  Rounding the corner, she caught sight of a dark vehicle pulling up outside her apartment. Two men in suits and hats got out, slammed the doors, marched up the steps and bashed on her door. The way they acted and judging by the car they drove, she had no doubt Franco’s secret police had just, literally, landed on her doorstep.

  Ducking between two parked cars, she willed her shaking hands to stop and for her mind to kick into action. Had the events with Salvador and her run-in with Federico spurred this visit from the police? Or had this already been planned and only executed now? She squeezed her eyes shut. Raul was with Federico—had he walked into a trap?

  She swallowed hard, aware the only control she had right now was to make sure the thugs on the street didn’t see her. The tall one stood outside her front door while the short one smashed the handle and entered her apartment. Terror ripped through her in case the tall one glanced around and spotted her. While he looked the other way, she hastily emerged from between the cars, stepped onto the footpath with her back to the men, and forced herself to casually stroll towards the corner.

  ‘Katarina!’ shouted Camila, as she came around the corner, juggling two baskets of food. ‘I haven’t seen you for so long! Tell me, how is the opera flamenca going? I have heard wonderful things.’

  Katarina forced a smile, petrified her neighbour’s loud voice would carry to the men. They would have found photographs of her and Raul and Salvador in the apartment, and no doubt they knew the name of the person they were looking for, so her neighbour broadcasting Katarina’s presence on the street put her at risk. Possibly Camila, too, an innocent bystander.

  ‘I’m sorry, Camila, I’m late for rehearsal,’ she said, trying to remain calm on the outside. Inside, her stomach churned and her legs desperately wanted to sprint.

  ‘No time for a coffee and chat?’ her friend asked. She lost her grip and the basket with bags of sugar and flour fell to the ground, spilling the precious contents across the pavement. Camila let out a shriek and Katarina quickly looked over to see the tall man staring directly at her. The short one walked out clutching a picture frame. Even from this distance she recognised the long-haired man with the untrusting eyes who’d sat in the front row on the first night she danced code. Had Franco’s men known even then? And if so, how?

  ‘Sorry, I’ve got to go.’ Katarina bolted around the corner and dodged traffic as she crossed the road and ran down an alley. Grateful for having lived in the same barrio for so many years, she wove in and out of streets and alleys, avoiding the ones that led to a dead end. As her feet pounded the pavement and her lungs burned from the physical stress, she tried to figure out a way to get hold of Raul in case he walked into danger. With people now looking for her, she couldn’t go to the theatre. And if they were searching for her they could possibly be looking for … Salvador.

  Dear Lord, Claudia!

  Katarina pushed her long legs hard, thankful that the years of training as a dancer meant she could outrun most people, including secret police in suits. Entering the local market, she dashed between the stalls, praying none of the shoppers or shopkeepers paid attention or recognised her. Breaking free, she took a sharp left into the side street that led to Salvador’s. Taking the steps two at a time, she bashed on the door.

  ‘Claudia!’ she yelled, thankful the thugs hadn’t made it there yet. Or had they? What was taking Claudia so long? Smashing her fist against the door again she shouted, ‘Claudia! Open up! It’s Katarina!’

  A baby cried and a moment later Salvador’s wife opened the door, panic flashing in her eyes. ‘Did you find him?’

  Katarina glanced up and down the street, but it remained deserted, except for a couple of young kids playing with sticks and a wooden hoop. She pushed past Claudia and slammed the door behind them.

  ‘You need to get out of here.’ Katarina could barely catch breath. ‘I found Salvador and he’s safe.’ For now. ‘But you might get some visitors.’

  ‘Who?’ Claudia held Paulito tight against her chest.
r />   ‘The secret police.’ Katarina rushed to the crib and started stuffing clothes for the baby and other necessary items into a calico bag.

  ‘What?’ Claudia shrieked, her eyes wide with alarm. ‘How did they find out?’ She slapped her hand against her mouth, her eyes welling with tears.

  Katarina stopped what she was doing and stared at her friend. ‘Find out what?’

  Claudia shook her head and held Paulito tighter. ‘Nothing. Nothing. Sorry, this is all very confusing.’

  Katarina eyed Claudia, aware she’d just spun a lie, but there was no time to demand the truth. Flee now, questions later.

  ‘Take two bags only,’ Katarina said. ‘Bare essentials. Hopefully this is a false alarm, but if it isn’t we need to get out of here. Now.’

  Rushing over to the phone she dialled Raul’s apartment but it rang out. She tried a few more times then set her sights on getting hold of him at the theatre. That call remained unanswered too, and she tried twice more before a staff member from the booking office finally picked up the phone.

  ‘Good afternoon.’ Katarina forced her lips into a smile, hoping it would carry through to her voice. ‘I’m with El Tiempo newspaper and I am wishing to arrange a time to interview Raul Sierra Abano for a story on rising stars of flamenco. May I please speak with him?’

  ‘Just one moment.’ A solid bang sounded as the phone was placed on the desk and footsteps echoed in the distance. After what seemed like forever, the voice on the other end of the line said, ‘I am very sorry … what is your name?’

  ‘Romina Ramirez Palomo,’ Katarina lied, disgusted but also relieved that it had been so easy to do. Claudia looked over at her and frowned.

  ‘Señora Ramirez Palomo, I am afraid he has not been in today. I spoke with the manager of the theatre, Federico Basa Trujillo, but he has not seen him. He did mention Señor Raul was ill and may not perform for a while. Can I leave a message?’

  ‘No, that is fine. I will call next week, thank you.’ Katarina slammed down the phone, her stomach churning. Federico had lied about not seeing Raul. And why would he say that Raul was ill and not performing for a while?