‘We are. What floor?’ Eduardo asked. He wondered if she was a new owner. A close neighbour perhaps. He didn’t want her introducing herself as an owner and asking was he one and ruining his surprise.
‘Second floor please,’ she said coolly, in excellent English. She looked Scandinavian, Eduardo mused as she stared straight ahead, her eyes hidden behind her large designer sunglasses. He pressed the requisite buttons and silence reigned as the lift glided silently upwards. The woman gave a slight nod of her head as she left the lift; the door closed on her retreating back and his secret was safe.
‘Here we are, ladies,’ Eduardo said heartily when they reached the next floor. He placed his key into the lock of the door on the right.
‘But it’s empty,’ Beatriz declared, being the first to enter.
‘That’s because we have to furnish it,’ Eduardo explained, smiling at his wife.
‘Furnish it? I don’t understand. Do you mean . . .?’ Comprehension dawned. ‘Is it ours?’ Consuela exclaimed, gazing around in astonishment.
‘Yes mi querida, this is our new holiday apartment. Happy anniversary, mi amada esposa.’
‘Tsk Eduardo, that romantic talk doesn’t suit you,’ Beatriz reproved. Beloved wife indeed. She might as well not be standing there the way they were gazing at each other. She couldn’t help the jealousy that flared inside. How she’d longed to be a beloved wife to a man who loved her, but it had never happened. Her nephew should keep his starry-eyed talk for when he was alone with Consuela and not be rubbing her nose in it she thought crossly, stalking out to the balcony in high dudgeon.
Eduardo’s face darkened with temper. Trust his aunt to ruin his grand moment. Surely she could have praised him for his achievement and offered him congratulations instead of mean-spirited reprimands.
Consuela, seeing his disappointment, placed a hand on his arm. ‘It’s wonderful. I can’t believe it,’ she exclaimed. ‘Our own place by the sea! And what magnificent views, Eduardo. We’ll be very happy here,’ she said, reaching up to kiss his cheek.
‘I hope so, Consuelo, I hope so,’ he said, squeezing her hand tightly and wishing heartily that his aunt Beatriz was ensconced in her apartment in Madrid and he could enjoy these once-in-a-lifetime moments alone with his wife.
Beatriz stared out towards the Rock of Gibraltar before turning towards Estepona and the coastline beyond. What a beautiful place. What an outstanding view. Eduardo had done very well for himself. But a deep dread lodged in her stomach. He would want to spend a lot of time down here with Consuela and they wouldn’t want to be bringing her all the time. She would get her summer holiday and then be abandoned in Madrid, she thought with rising panic. Christmas, Easter, alone, she could see it now. What she’d always dreaded was coming to pass. Tears brimmed in her eyes and she shook her head impatiently. They must not see her cry. She had her pride. She took several deep breaths and composed herself.
She could see other owners walking around their balconies, pointing, gesticulating, and laughing. Did they realize how blessed they were? How lucky they were? Beatriz thought enviously. What a delight it would be to spend the summer months in this idyllic place, listening to the sea and watching the light change over the Rock and the High Sierras behind them. She would have to take the crumbs that were offered to her and pretend to be grateful. It was the way of the elderly, she thought gloomily.
‘Isn’t it a beautiful view, Tía?’ Consuela laid a gentle hand on her arm.
Beatriz’s heart softened. Consuela was a great blessing in her life. She could not have asked for a kinder, more considerate and soft-hearted person to be Eduardo’s wife. She knew that she was fortunate.
‘Yes, Consuela, it is quite stunning,’ Beatriz agreed.
‘What colours would you like in your bedroom, Tía? Something pastel and summery?’ Consuela suggested lightly.
‘I’m very fond of pale green,’ Beatriz admitted, hiding her pleasure. No one else but Consuela would even consider asking her what colours she would like.
‘We will decorate your room together, so that you will feel at home in it,’ Consuela said thoughtfully, although Beatriz noted that Eduardo remained tight lipped and stern looking. She should not have rebuked him as she had.
‘You have done well, Eduardo. This is a fine achievement,’ Beatriz placated. ‘And perhaps one day you might be able to afford to buy a penthouse like those people over there,’ she added, just to let him know that he should never rest on his laurels. There was always something more to aspire to in this life and as she’d often told him, second best was never good enough.
Eduardo seethed silently as he watched his wife pander to the woman who had reared him longer than his own mother had. The woman whom, this very minute, he detested. His aunt did it every time. Ruined his happy moments, his moments of achievement and made him feel less than nothing.
No accomplishment was ever good enough for Beatriz. Second best was never to be tolerated in her eyes. But, thought Eduardo bitterly, all through his life, that’s what he’d been, second best. And nothing was going to change that.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SALLY-ANN / CAL / LENORA
How she wished the evening was over. She wasn’t in the mood for polite social chitchat. The German woman, Jutta, was hard going, Sally-Ann thought glumly, longing to glug her glass of red. Instead she sipped it genteelly and touched her napkin to the side of her mouth. The steak had been quite delicious but her appetite was poor tonight.
Felipe, the husband, Cal’s new partner, was chatty, charming, all out to impress, a real salesman. Sally-Ann had met many of his ilk over the years. Felipe and Cal were discussing the property market in the UAE, and Sally-Ann listened to their discussions hoping that Cal wouldn’t head out to the Persian Gulf, considering the decline in the market in the US. If Cal started going further afield he could spread himself too thin, something she’d be advising him against later on in their post-dinner discussions.
‘You know Fahd used to bring a massive entourage over from Saudi. Three jumbos on the tarmac at the airport . . .’
Fahd! You’d think Felipe knew the Saudi king personally, Sally-Ann thought derisively.
‘. . . The yacht was so big it had to refuel in Malaga because Marbella was too small. What a beauty, especially when the sails were up. It cost a hundred million green ones and had a hospital on board. One floor of the hospital was kept open especially for him, too,’ Felipe said chattily between mouthfuls of his rare steak.
‘He’s not coming this year. He’s in hospital in Riyadh,’ Jutta interjected. ‘His visits are worth millions to the local economy. El Cortes Ingles closes to the public when he and the wives and entourage go shopping, and the florists make a fortune because whether anyone is staying in his palace or in the villas that they rent out, or not, the flowers get changed every day—’
‘I think that’s absolutely immoral. They’re such hypocrites too, expecting their people to abide by strict Islamic codes while they break every religious law they’re supposed to live by,’ Sally-Ann scoffed, surprised that her husband’s colleague seemed so impressed by the Saudi royal family’s excesses.
‘And they certainly know how to break those laws,’ Felipe laughed. ‘They spend millions gambling in the casinos in Monte Carlo and London—’
‘So much of that country’s wealth is squandered on such dissolute behaviour; and the Emirates are the same. So many people working there are treated appallingly . . . I’m talking about the foreign construction workers, the maids and the like. How can they square treating folk like that, with their appalling lifestyle, and their religious beliefs?’ Sally-Ann mused.
‘What about the Mexicans and people of colour in America who are on very low wages?’ Jutta interjected coolly. ‘Who cleans your pool and minds your kids?’
‘I take your point, Jutta. Although let me say that our nanny is from Brazil, and gets well paid with lots of perks, and while we do have a Mexican lady who deputizes when our nanny is on vacation, she can,
like all American and western women, vote, drive in public and observe freely whatever religious practice, if any, that she so chooses. As well as dressing whatever way she wants to. Our culture, in theory at least, maintains that women and men are equal. Their treatment of women is beyond belief: veils, long black cover-up garments. Public stonings for so-called adultery, while the man gets away with it. Jailed if they’re raped! How appalling is that? And our governments continue to do business with them, and accommodate their excesses . . . sickening! Oh,’ she added, eyeballing Jutta, whom she decided that she did not care for, ‘our pool cleaners are two young gay guys from Lake Jackson who have set up a pool maintenance business in Houston, where we live, and are working their delightful little buns off so they can retire to Acapulco . . . in Mexico.’ Sally-Ann smiled sweetly, ignoring Cal’s glare.
‘And do you work?’ Jutta changed the subject, raising her glass to her lips and studying Sally-Ann dispassionately.
‘Well of course I do. This is a working visit to Spain for Cal and me.’ She flashed a glance at her husband who raised an eyebrow and frowned at her. She ignored his irritation, glad she’d made her point. A little passive-aggressively to be sure, and she wasn’t a fan of passive-aggressive behaviour, preferring to shoot from the hip. ‘I own a company that creates and maintains travel websites for developers selling or letting deluxe properties – I designed Cal’s company’s website, actually. One of the reasons I came on this trip is to get background material and to organize videos and a photography shoot of La Joya, and our other units up the coast. I’ve already done the same for the apartments in Biarritz, Antibes, Cap-Ferrat, and Menton.’ Sally-Ann enjoyed the look of surprise that crossed the younger woman’s face. Jutta had clearly taken her for a pampered socialite who spent her time getting her nails and hair done and lunching with the girls, when she wasn’t enjoying trips to foreign countries with her husband.
‘We should get you to look at ours. It could do with a revamp. So could yours, Jutta,’ Felipe exclaimed expansively.
‘Anytime,’ Sally-Ann said politely. ‘Y’all just let me know what y’all need doin’.’
‘Did Cal tell you we’ve discussed expanding our business to Morocco? Luxury villas.’ Felipe gazed at her with his melting brown eyes. George Clooney has nothing on this guy, Sally-Ann thought. The Spaniard was too smooth and smarmy for her liking.
‘We haven’t had that conversation yet.’ Cal motioned the wine waiter, to order another bottle of the full-bodied Rioja they were drinking.
‘So many conversations we have to have, sweetie,’ Sally-Ann said lightly to her husband, but her eyes were cold.
‘So I believe you wish to have an input in the décor at La Joya, Sally-Ann?’ Jutta got down to business.
‘Indeed. I don’t usually get involved in any aspect of the actual letting business, but I really like this area of Spain and I hope to spend a couple of weeks a year here, so I want to put my own stamp on this particular one,’ Sally-Ann said firmly.
‘I have you scheduled in for the day after tomorrow,’ Jutta said crisply.
‘Fine, I’ve already seen some furniture and fixtures and fittings that I like.’ Sally-Ann took another sip of wine.
‘Oh!’ Jutta looked a tad discommoded. ‘Where, may I ask?’
‘Loft and Roomers.’
‘I see.’ The German woman was not best pleased.
Sally-Ann smiled. Jutta had her own stores to shop at, where, no doubt, she was well rewarded. But Sally-Ann knew her own mind and knew what she wanted, and if Jutta Sauer didn’t like it she could lump it.
‘Heck, Sally-Ann, did you have to be so argumentative tonight?’ Cal demanded, as they rode the elevator to their floor having said their goodbyes to the other couple.
‘Oh for goodness sakes, Cal, he was way over the top and she sat there looking down her bony nose at us hick Texans. She was like so bloody superior. And I’d watch him; he’s operating way too fast. And I’d steer clear of villas in Morocco too. Yanks aren’t flavour of the month in that neck of the woods, and if there are any terrorist upheavals they won’t travel to North Africa to rent luxury villas. I’m not sayin’ he’s gonna go on the lam or anything but I bet he’s wanting you to bankroll him. Don’t! If you want my advice.’ Sally-Ann yawned.
‘I hear what you’re saying and I’m not a complete idiot. I see his game,’ her husband retorted. ‘Look, forget that. I’m not rushing into anything more with Felipe Perez. We need to talk,’ Cal said brusquely, swiping his card in the lock and opening the door to their two-bedroomed suite before stepping back to let her go ahead of him.
‘Cal, I’m tired. Do we have to talk tonight? It’s been a very long day. I’ve had too much to drink and I just want to fall into bed,’ Sally-Ann groaned, kicking her Louboutins off and dropping her lilac pashmina on the back of a chair.
‘Lenora is pregnant.’
Sally-Ann wasn’t quite sure what she’d heard. ‘Excuse me?’ She turned to face her husband who was standing in the lobby, arms folded, looking grim and weary.
‘Lenora, the girl I’ve been seeing, is almost three months pregnant. I want you to hear it from me before anyone else blabs to you.’
Sally-Ann stared at him. ‘You got a girl pregnant?’
‘Yup. Look I—’
‘What age is she?’
‘Eh . . . twenty-four—’
‘Oh for God’s sake, what on earth have you got in common with a chick of that age? You’re nearly twice her age, how clichéd is that!’ she derided, shocked at how much his announcement actually hurt. Cal couldn’t look her in the eye as he moved past her to stare out the window.
‘She’s not a ditz, she’s actually very intelligent,’ he snapped defensively. ‘She graduated summa cum laude—’
‘Oh yeah in how to wiggle her pert little tush?’ Sally-Ann jeered. ‘I don’t care what she graduated in, Cal. We agreed. NO BABIES,’ she yelled. ‘You’ve changed our family dynamic without a thought for me or the girls—’
‘Listen to me. It changes nothing.’ Cal jammed his thumbs in his waistband and stared at her. ‘It’s not as though we’re the couple of the year, here. And we haven’t been for quite some time. You can still see whom you want to see, I see who I want to see. You’re still my wife, the mother of my kids—’
‘Row back there, buster, we see other people because you started messing around after I lost our baby and the girls were little. At least that’s the first time I knew you were fucking other women. So that changed everything. But now you’ve moved the goalposts yet again and you’ve got a kid coming along. A stepbrother or sister for our daughters. That changes a hell of a lot, mister,’ Sally-Ann exploded. ‘We had an agreement, Cal. Shame on YOU!’
‘Calm down, y’all.’ Cal held up his hands as though to ward off her onslaught. ‘It wasn’t planned.’
‘Not by you, you jackass, but I bet this Lenora chick knew exactly what she was doin’,’ she fumed, hands on her hips. ‘I suppose we better get a divorce. Well it’s gonna cost ya.’ Sally-Ann wanted to rake her nails down his tanned handsome face and kick him so hard in the cojones, he’d never recover.
‘Hell no!’ Cal looked horrified. ‘I’m not telling you this to look for a divorce. Look, I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention to have a child out of our marriage. I’ll set Lenora and the kid up in an apartment in Galveston. I’ll make sure she’s well out of your hair—’
‘Oh sweet for her! Galveston by the sea! And what happens if Lenora has a son? You always wanted a son to leave the business to, just like your daddy left the business to you. Are the girls gonna be forgotten about?’ Sally-Ann poked him hard in the chest.
‘Don’t do that!’ he warned, swatting her hand away.
‘You sicken me, Cal Cooper. I’ve put up with a lot from you but this is beyond!’ She turned away and walked to the bedroom.
‘Listen, Sally-Ann. I’m not gonna divorce you. I don’t want that and I know you don’t. The girls are my priority. Life will
just go on as before. You can have what you want and do what you want as always . . . within reason of course,’ he added hastily.
‘Is that so, mister? How magnanimous of you,’ she scoffed. ‘You might not be gonna divorce me, but I’m gonna divorce you!’
‘No, no, let’s talk,’ he urged, placing a hand on her arm.
She smacked it away. ‘There’s nothing to talk about. So where is the little momma-to-be right now?’
‘Paris,’ he muttered.
‘Paris!’
‘She’s not been too well so she didn’t want to be too far away from me,’ Cal sighed, loosening his tie.
‘So that’s why you flew in there? And the business in Paris y’all are heading for tomorrow is a cover for a rendezvous with your little puta,’ she sneered. ‘I knew somethin’ was up this trip.’
‘Don’t call her that,’ Cal growled.
‘Do what ya like, Cal. I couldn’t care less anymore. And from now on take your business trips alone. I won’t be entertaining any more of your smarmy business partners this side of the pond or at home. I’m done. Have fun in gay Paree! No need to say goodbye before ya go.’ She closed the bedroom door and leaned against it, drained.
She heard him move around and then the door to the other bedroom closed. At least she wouldn’t have to see him again until they were both home in Texas.
She undressed, sat at the mirror in the sumptuous bathroom and cold-creamed her face. Her stomach was in knots, and she felt like weeping. The one thing she’d been adamant about: no children with other partners while they were still married. He couldn’t even abide by that for her. And he didn’t want a divorce. He’d been resolute about that. It seemed that poor Lenora was going to be a single mother and not the second trophy wife of a successful, wealthy Texan businessman as she no doubt aspired to be.
And she, Sally-Ann Connolly Cooper would remain the envied wife of the much-admired Callahan Cooper. Lucky, lucky, her. Sally-Ann, staring at her reflection in the mirror, seeing the deadness in her eyes and the cobweb of fine lines that spun out from around them, and the droop of her pale lips, shook her head. I’m a middle-aged mother of two; an ageing mare compared to the fresh little filly my darlin’ husband is steppin’ out with. Maybe I should be thankful he doesn’t want a divorce, she reflected, trying to get her head around the bombshell Cal had just dropped on her.
Orange Blossom Days Page 6
