Legacy

by Hannah Fielding

  Luna sent a brief reply to her aunt. With it, the reason for her being in Spain returned, bringing back a wave of sadness about Angelina that heightened her pensive mood. Her cousin had been in Barcelona when she was first diagnosed with cancer. Luna could almost picture her now, walking briskly – almost dancing – along the Spanish streets, copper hair swinging in tune with the lilt of her hips. Always laughing, always joking – never really serious about anything, not even her illness at the beginning. To Luna, it had felt as if a light had been extinguished with Angelina’s passing and, since then, she had found the world a darker place.

  Sighing, she closed her eyes briefly and took a deep breath. Enough of these maudlin thoughts … Thinking constantly about the darling cousin who was lost to her, and the gypsy she’d never have, was not going to do her any good. She needed to forget any might-have-beens and start adopting the right mindset for the job that awaited her in Cádiz.

  She glanced at her diary. At three in the afternoon she was due to attend the conference at the hotel on orthodox and alternative pain management. Professor Arthur Goldsmith, one of the speakers, was a visiting American from Johns Hopkins University and hailed worldwide as an authority on the subject. Hopefully, it would offer some useful background information before she started at the clinic. In the evening, after the conference, she planned to go to the reception and book signing.

  She would be leaving Barcelona the next day.

  Her mind flitted back to the bar and the gypsy singer. A surge of regret washed over her again but she steadfastly ignored it.

  Finally sleepy, she closed her laptop and turned off the lights. She hoped that tonight she would not dream.

  * * *

  Luna woke at noon, relieved to have slept deeply. The flamenco singer was still at the forefront of her mind like the lingering refrains of the music she could not forget either.

  Rising from her bed, she went to the French windows, full of midday sun, and opened them. The warm rays of spring sunshine poured pleasantly into the room and she stepped out on to the balcony, fascinated by the panoramic view that extended to the horizon like a hazy coloured postcard. The hotel was on the edge of Eixample, a residential part of the city surrounded by magnificent villas and, from her vantage point, she could see their riotous gardens, tall cypresses needling into the blue sky. There were palms along the promenades and, in the side street immediately below, jacaranda trees spread their beautiful branches, laden with purple flowers.

  It had not yet been twenty-four hours since she’d arrived in Spain and already she was surprised by how much this country was getting under her skin.

  Luna asked room service to bring up some coffee and a bowl of fruit. She had a few hours before the conference started so she sat in an armchair next to the window, savouring a bunch of juicy grapes and drinking her double espresso, flicking through her notes as she did so.

  She was looking forward to Goldsmith’s talk. It had meant a detour before flying to Jerez, the closest airport to Cádiz, but she felt it would be worth it. The man was one of the few proponents of alternative medicine that she had any time for, and she had read his book on hypnosis in pain management and thought his arguments persuasive. Coming to Barcelona for the talk had another benefit too: hypnosis, she knew from her folder of notes, was one of the interests of the man she was about to secretly profile.

  She flicked through her file on Dr Rodrigo Rueda de Calderón.

  Since she had accepted Ted Vandenberg’s assignment, Luna had researched her subject. She had learnt what she could about Dr Rueda de Calderón from the internet. He too had written about hypnotism – mostly in press features and online articles – and it formed part of his programme of alternative cancer therapies. Although she didn’t agree with many of his theories and had thought the tone of his articles arrogant, his arguments were intriguing and persuasive. In fact, his entire résumé was intriguing, she had to admit.

  Dr Rueda de Calderón’s reputation was built upon his work as a brilliant, but somewhat renegade, oncologist. His medical career had begun with the conventional treatment of cancer with chemo- and radiotherapy; but then his work had very quickly diversified, before he became almost wholly taken up with his own herbal treatments, the majority of which, Luna presumed, hadn’t been near proper trials. Of course, it made sense that in the fight against cancer you have to build the body’s natural defences but, when it came to peddling hope in some arcane Amazonian jungle root or gypsy herbs straight out of folklore, Luna believed that a very firm line should be drawn.

  Psychological support and healthy foods alongside conventional treatments were all well and good, she thought, but some of his wayward treatments could be a one-way trip to disaster for a cancer sufferer, especially if they were led to believe that they offered an actual cure, thereby encouraging the patient to ignore traditional medical treatments. The man was passionate in advocating his programme’s potential, but such passion could be dangerous. It was unclear whether he was in it for the money, but no doubt that would become apparent once she started digging.

  Luna closed the file and rested it on her lap. She looked forward to challenging him on some of his more dubious practices.

  Discreetly, of course: she was supposed to be at Rueda de Calderón’s clinic as a researcher and, though privately she might regard his theories as pure quackery, it wouldn’t do to let her real opinions slip out in an unguarded moment. Opinions she must try not to cloud with emotion.

  No, Luna assured herself, Angelina’s death had not made her any more biased. As a true disciple of evidence-based medicine, she had long held strong views on alternative therapies.

  * * *

  Luna took her time to shower and dress. She loved clothes and refused to compromise her femininity where they were concerned, even if she attracted unwanted male attention as a result. She chose a pure silk, crepe-de-Chine suit in light pistachio. The design was classic, feminine and chic, with pointed lapels and gold buttons. She put her hair up in an elegantly simple ballerina chignon and kept her make-up to a minimum. With jewellery, likewise, Luna’s motto was ‘less is more’, so she wore a pair of classic button-style earrings in twenty-four-carat gold with a subtle web pattern, which were discreet without being apologetic. A wide gold bangle adorned her slender wrist, giving the finishing touch to a very slick outfit.

  Glancing in the mirror before leaving the room, she ran her hands over the matt silken surface of her suit and slipped on a matching pair of Charles Jourdan signature high-heeled pistachio pumps. Her reflection was professional and elegant – exactly the image she wanted to portray. She lingered for a few more minutes, giving her notes a final look, before finding her way to the conference hall on the first floor of the hotel.

  The noise of the hall enfolded Luna as she paused momentarily in the doorway to gaze across the wide, crowded room. With its tall, broadly arched windows, a characteristic of the whole hotel, the interior was bright and sunny with interesting paintings on the wall and a ceiling whose shape gently undulated like a wave. Her eyes flicked around, searching for a seat at the front. There were a couple of empty places on either side of the central aisle in the first row. She walked purposefully to the front of the room. ‘Es este asiento reservado? Is this chair reserved?’ she enquired of the greyhaired gentleman who was sitting next to one of the empty seats.

  He looked up at her amiably and shook his head. ‘No, estado esperando por ti, no, it has been waiting for you,’ he gallantly told her. She smiled back at him in appreciation. Very nicely put. Spanish men were so courteous, she thought, as she sat down and took out her notebook.

  There was a stir in the room and the noisy chattering whittled down to a gentle murmur as Professor Goldsmith took his place on the platform. He smiled and nodded to the crowd, tapped the microphone and cleared his throat.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for inviting me to speak today …’

  Still absorbed in her notes as Goldsmith began his talk, Luna
felt a rush of air brush past her as a latecomer took the empty seat on the other side of the aisle.

  ‘So, how does hypnosis work to tackle the pain and sideeffects of cancer treatment?’ Goldsmith continued. ‘To put it at its simplest, imagine a patient believing they can see, feel and taste the cool refreshment of a mint leaf whenever they are beginning to experience the unpleasant feeling of nausea and that new sensation simply replaces the unwanted sensation. Or, how visualizing their favourite cottage by a lake might take away the pain of the needle biopsy in their physical body because a pleasant detachment has taken place …’

  But Luna did not hear the rest of the professor’s remark, which disappeared in the haze of her confused mind as she lifted her head. She froze, startled, then embarrassed. For a second, imagining her eyes were deceiving her, her thoughts swam in her head, a strange and disconcerting mixture of dream and reality.

  She stared in disbelief at the man who had taken the seat a few feet away from her and was now pulling a pen and notebook out of a leather briefcase: the man who, only hours ago, had sent her pulses racing. All sound in the room had faded abruptly, replaced by the heavy beat of her heart resounding loudly in her ears.

  He had swapped his clingy jeans and discoloured T-shirt for a superbly tailored beige suit, crisp white shirt that emphasized his deep tan and a maroon Jacquard silk tie. The impression was casual, laid-back elegance. His glossy dark hair seemed slightly shorter, neatly combed back behind his ears, its wavy inclination kept in check. There were no unruly tendrils over his forehead today, she noted, but the aura – the powerful sexual charisma that transcended ordinary good looks – was still there.

  Her brain tried to grapple with what she was seeing. The gypsy singer was here – but why?

  Now, as he propped one ankle on the opposite knee and leaned back in his chair, his eyes, darkly blue as the Aegean Sea, swept around the audience and fell on Luna’s face. They flashed with surprise and then deepened to curiosity. Time stood still as she felt herself the captive of their shimmering azure depths. Her facial muscles tightened and she caught her lower lip between her teeth as her heart melted in her chest. Still, she held his gaze almost defiantly. Pride would not allow her to betray how flustered she was feeling.

  He raised an eyebrow, those sculpted lips curving into a slow smile. His dark head gave her a nod of acknowledgement. With enormous difficulty, she managed to drag her gaze from his, focusing on her notes, her heart thumping.

  From then on, Luna spent most of the lecture in total turmoil, from time to time casting furtive sideways glances at him through her lashes, her scrambled brain unable to concentrate on what Professor Goldsmith was saying. Each time she looked over at the dark-haired stranger, she noticed a shadow of a smile pass briefly over his features as if sensing he was being watched.

  She was impatient for this agony to end and at last Goldsmith reached his conclusion. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, speaking as both clinician and open-minded researcher, I hope I’ve been able to shed some light on the complex issues surrounding hypnosis and visualization used in the palliative care of cancer patients.’

  Applause broke out and the professor gestured his thanks as the clapping calmed down. Meanwhile Luna sat rigid in her seat, furious with herself for having managed to take in almost nothing of his lecture.

  ‘And now for any questions,’ he said, looking around the room expectantly. ‘Ah, my esteemed colleague! I thought we might hear from you.’ Goldsmith smiled and leaned forward on his lectern.

  Luna turned her head to see that the professor’s ‘esteemed colleague’ was her gypsy-turned-gentleman.

  She had the perfect excuse to look at him now. If he had been exceedingly handsome in her memory of him at the tavern the previous night, today he was impossibly so. In fact, ‘handsome’ came nowhere near describing him. Just looking at him again, seated with languid ease, his ruggedly perfect features in profile, made her stomach execute another alarming somersault. She wanted to look away but couldn’t, every nerve ending crackling in anticipation of hearing him speak.

  The dark-haired stranger grinned and nodded courteously. ‘Professor Goldsmith, your arguments are fascinating, of course. I would be interested to know where you stand on those cases where hypnosis is used as a frontline defence in itself, helping to instigate the necessary battle against cancer cells when chemotherapy isn’t used at all? Mind over matter, if you like.’

  His voice was warm and compelling. It filled Luna’s head like the slow, deep resonance of a bass string.

  She looked away, glancing around the room. The audience seemed to hang on to his every word. He had a dominating presence, not merely because of the confidence of his statements, but from the sheer strength of his personality.

  Goldsmith nodded. ‘It’s true to say that mainstream medical researchers have never gone far enough, perhaps, in their assertions.’

  ‘Yes, Professor. And isn’t that because it’s simply not in the pharmaceutical companies’ interest for the relevant trials to be held?’ replied the stranger, without missing a beat. ‘I’m not sure whether anyone else in the audience has an opinion,’ he added.

  He looked around and sought Luna’s eyes, then stared at her thoughtfully.

  Luna tried to steady herself. Her head was starting to ache as if it were stuffed with cotton wool, making it impossible for her to think straight. The stranger’s eyes were piercing and intense. He really did have the most sensual lips. Moments passed which seemed like years – precious seconds filled with vain longing, during which Luna sent up a silent prayer for help. All the questions and answers she would normally have fired back at such remarks had gone out of her head. She felt her face burn as a light flush crept up her cheeks.

  And now his stare slid away from her and more members of the audience were taking up his question. Luna wryly noted almost all the remarks came from females. Women were flocking to him in the same way they had in the tavern. Oh yes, women clearly liked him … loved him passionately was more like it. She had no doubt more than one heart had been lost to his dazzling magnetism.

  Rebellion stirred. She was not going to be one of the pack; she had seen how some of her girlfriends’ relationships had ended when they had been blinded by good looks and charisma. Whether this man was a gypsy or a scholar, she would not sit here stupefied, losing all sense of pride and letting her dignity melt in a puddle on the ground.

  Luna waited for a female member of the audience to finish her breathily earnest agreement with the gypsy-scholar and then cleared her throat.

  ‘But surely our knowledgeable speaker here admits that hypnotherapy has drawn its fair share of critics over the years for good reason,’ she ventured in as strong a voice as she could muster. ‘Without rigorous trials to assure the public it is safe to use in the field of cancer, who knows what side effects might present themselves. Besides there may be a danger of masking the actual symptoms of pathology.’

  The gypsy-scholar had turned his gaze on her. That faint shadow of a smile returned to his lips and Luna fancied she saw a gleam of gratification in his eyes.

  ‘All very good points, señorita.’

  At the sound of his addressing her directly, Luna swallowed.

  He was agreeing with her?

  ‘But where is the funding?’ he enquired drily. ‘Rigorous trials are exactly what we need to show how successful the practice has been and to convince the medical establishment, but they can’t be done without money.’

  ‘But something that depends on the suggestibility of the subject is hardly going to be taken seriously enough to warrant funding, surely?’ interjected Luna, holding his gaze.

  He shook his head. ‘Hypnosis is not simply a matter of suggestibility. The theory behind medical hypnosis is that the body’s brain and nervous system cannot always distinguish between an imagined situation and a real one.’

  At this Luna felt herself falling into an hypnotic state, mesmerized by his ruggedly chiselled jaw.


  Stay focused, an alarmed voice warned inwardly. His gaze seemed to concentrate on her even more intently, as if he knew what she was thinking and was challenging her not to look away.

  ‘For example, as Professor Goldsmith has already described, a hypnotherapist may ask a patient to change their perception of pain. So a burning sensation on your skin feels instead like cool water.’

  His gaze dipped momentarily down to her bare arm then back to her face. Her skin instantly tingled in response. This infuriating insurrection by her own body caused Luna to tilt her chin up defiantly.

  ‘So why isn’t it used more?’

  She gave herself a mental kick – a stupid question.

  Again, his expression was unreadable. ‘Because people are nervous of it and the hardest part is getting other doctors to accept it, not just a sceptical public.’

  ‘No wonder they’re sceptical,’ Luna shot back. ‘There have been studies that show that hypnosis rarely eliminates chronic pain and only provides short-term relief that lasts for a few hours, let alone being a frontline defence, as you call it.’

  His eyes sparkled with challenge. ‘You are welcome to your views, señorita.’

  At this he became more animated and shifted in his chair, turning his body towards her. He lifted a perfectly muscled leg to rest on his other thigh; in so doing making his trousers stretch tightly across it in a way that made Luna will herself not to look.

  ‘But I have conducted my own trials and have encountered some truly remarkable effects, ones that repeat themselves in patient after patient.’ His lips twitched almost imperceptibly. ‘You seem to need convincing, and I’d be very happy to show you results of our findings myself.’

  Luna’s eyes widened slightly at this veiled provocation. He was clearly enjoying himself at her expense and she found herself scrambling around for a suitable response, annoyed that he was besting her. However, just at that moment, Goldsmith intervened to wrap up the lecture.