He would have to apologize to his wife for his bad behaviour, he supposed; that was another irritant to add to the many that were besetting him today.
‘I am ready now,’ Señora Torres broke in on his musings and he stood up to follow her as she led the way at a brisk pace to his apartment block. In silence they walked into the foyer and she reached out to press the lift button. Eduardo inhaled a deep breath. Now she would understand his worry, he thought self-righteously, although he heard no sounds from above. The door slid open.
‘Oh!’ he exclaimed, peeved that his complaint seemed unjustified.
‘Nothing to worry about I see. Buen dìa, Señor,’ the community manager said snippily before turning on her heel to walk to the entrance door.
The day would come when that woman would no longer be a part of the complex. Once the builders handed over to the new management committee she would be, thankfully, gone. Eduardo glared at her retreating back. He would make sure he was on that committee, and once he was, rules would be obeyed and La Joya de Andalucía would most certainly not become a common or garden holiday resort like so many others along the coast. Standards would be maintained to the highest order, and he, Eduardo, would make certain sure of that!
Consuela tried to relax and read her thriller but she simply could not concentrate. It was very breezy, and the pages of her book flapped irritatingly, adding to her annoyance. It also didn’t help that she felt she was getting a period. She had the cramps and the bloat, but nothing was happening. A rock of grief lay heavy in her chest. She was in her menopausia and knew that the chances of her having a child were nearly gone. A Niagara of tears slid down her cheeks beneath her sunglasses and Consuela grieved for the passing of her youth and reproached herself for a life timidly lived. But most of all she wept knowing that now, she would never be a mother. How she’d longed for a baby all her married life. Having a child of her own would have fulfilled her like nothing else.
Sometimes she felt Eduardo was just as glad not to have become a parent. He liked that he was the centre of her attention always. He would not go and be tested to see why she could not conceive. He would not allow her to be tested either. ‘It is the will of God if we have a child or not, Consuela, and all the tests in the world won’t change that.’
‘Well then, could we not adopt?’ she’d asked him once.
‘No, not now. Not ever. I would always be reminded of the fact that my parents left me to be reared by my aunt, every time I looked at the child. That I do not wish.’ He’d been so emphatic she’d never brought up the subject again.
She’d always subjugated her wishes to those of her husband, dampening down the resentment, knowing that he loved her because she was gentle and kind, the complete antithesis to Beatriz.
But this past year in particular, Consuela had felt herself being submerged in waves of fury, resentment and bitter self-recrimination. Why had she taken the path of least resistance? Why had she put Eduardo’s feelings and desires before hers? Always! Was this how her life would forever be? Why was she so unable to speak her truth about what she wanted? Her husband did not see her as an equal in their marriage; he never had. Her role in the tapestry of her husband’s life was to support, cherish and nourish him at all times, and though he could not be kinder to her, it wasn’t enough now.
When she’d turned fifty, three years ago, she’d suggested that they have a different type of holiday. Just the two of them. A river cruise, she’d proposed. The Rhine, the Douro, the Canal du Midi, anywhere just for a change. She’d been holidaying in the south since she was a child. There was nothing new for her there. It would be a nice birthday treat.
He’d thrown up many excuses – what if they didn’t like the people they were sharing the cruise with? It would be a chore having to dine with strangers at every meal and make polite conversation. If the weather was bad they would be trapped on board the vessel and it could be very boring. What if Tía Beatriz took ill when they were out of the country? – despite the fact that his aunt had the constitution of an ox then. Consuela had given up.
It was after that rejection of her wishes – which coincided with the beginning of her menopause – that all the emotional moods and sensations began to overwhelm her.
Consuela took some deep breaths, relieved that she was far enough away from other holidaymakers that they could not hear her smothered sobs. She’d read a magazine article recently which had said that if issues were not dealt with they would rise up and manifest until notice was taken of them and they were faced. Often it was in menopause these unresolved issues came up, the article explained. She’d hoped that her issues were minor, if any. But Consuela knew she was fooling herself and wished she hadn’t picked up that magazine to read disturbing material which shone a harsh spotlight on her failings.
Today, as well as sadness, she was furious. A white-hot anger that she’d only once before experienced when her younger brother had broken the little ballerina on a cherished jewellery box her grandmother had given her for Christmas. It was an accident, her mother said, trying to soothe her heartbroken wails, but Consuela knew it was no accident. Juan Luis was jealous because she was their grandmother’s favourite, and had twisted the little dancer hard to stop her dancing, a look of triumph on his face as he held the box away from her.
Never again until now had she felt such scorching anger. Eduardo had declared authoritatively that she should have sought his permission first, before asking Beatriz what colour she would like her bedroom painted. He’d called it his apartment. She’d only been trying to pacify his bloody aunt, and make his life less stressful, as she always did, Consuela raged silently. And that was the thanks she got.
When he came back from whatever he was doing in the new apartment he’d be cold and unapproachable and she’d have to ingratiate herself back into his good books because she’d thrown a strop and called him on his offensive behaviour. There would be frosty silence on his part until he was ready to thaw. Well she wasn’t having the last few days of her holiday ruined, Consuela decided with uncharacteristic determination. It was time she started making her own tapestry and doing what she wanted to do, for a change. She lifted up her phone from her beach bag and dialled a number and held a short conversation with the woman at the other end. Five minutes later she gathered her book, bag and sunglasses and sunscreen and hurried up to their room. Quickly, neatly, she packed her case, wrote a short note to her husband, freshened up her make-up and closed the door behind her. Her heart was racing while she waited for the taxi the concierge had ordered for her, to arrive.
Eduardo would be astonished, Consuela acknowledged, when she saw the taxi pull up. Her actions were unprecedented in their marriage. Let him be astonished, let him be furious; for once in her life she was putting herself first, and if her husband wasn’t careful she would go on a holiday cruise by herself next year, she decided recklessly, settling into the car and giving the driver the address of her destination. It had taken fifty-three years of giving and doing for others. Not anymore, Consuela thought as rebellion burned within her.
She settled back in her seat, watching the urbanizations along the coast flash by, interspersed with glimpses of shimmering blue sea and thickets of emerald forestry. A time for me, she reflected with a rueful smile, wondering how long she would be able to keep up her unexpected mutiny.
Eduardo was weary when he arrived back at the Don Carlos. When the painter had left he had washed all the floors and the tiles in the bathrooms and then swept and washed the terracotta tiles on the balcony. He’d rather enjoyed the uncommon physical labour, gaining a pleasing sense of satisfaction when he’d seen the gleaming surfaces and inhaled the mixture of scents – fresh paint and Don Limpio cleaning sprays – redolent of newness, cleanliness and the promise of days of brandy and roses to come. The furniture was scheduled to arrive the following day. Perhaps they might even spend the night there, Eduardo thought, taking a bottle of cold Perrier from the minibar. He would have a short siesta on the
bed and then go and look for his wife who was, no doubt, lying under a palm tree, immersed in one of the gory thrillers she so favoured.
He hoped her uncharacteristic huff had waned and that she was sorry for her ungracious behaviour. He would forgive her, magnanimously, after her apology and then they would enjoy the last few days of their holiday before returning to the scorching heat of Madrid and the pressure of their day-to-day life. He drank thirstily and lay down on the bed, feeling the tiredness ebb from his body.
Eduardo awoke, unsure of where he was, then, remembering, glanced at the clock on his bedside locker. It was almost five-thirty and the afternoon was drifting into evening. He’d shower and change and go in search of Consuela, he decided, his gaze alighting on a white envelope propped up against the mirror. His name was written on it, in his wife’s elegant cursive.
A feeling of unease overcame him as he stiffly rose off the bed. Why would Consuela be writing him a note? Had she gone somewhere, with a friend perhaps, made an arrangement out of the blue? Why hadn’t she phoned him? Or had she come into the room and not wanted to waken him? That was it, Eduardo decided. That was exactly it. Consuela was nothing if not thoughtful and always ever considerate of his needs. He yawned as he opened the envelope and removed the note written on the hotel’s headed notepaper. He read it, and reread it, brow furrowed, a look of dismay and incomprehension crossing his sallow features.
Eduardo, today you went too far. I am hurt and offended by your behaviour. I wish to have these last few days of holidays in peace without having to endure any of your moods. I’ll meet you at María Zambrano station for our return to Madrid. Enjoy your apartment.
Consuela.
‘Oh Madre de Dios!’ Eduardo threw his eyes heavenward towards the Holy Mother he’d just invoked. What was going on with his wife? Just when he needed her support and assistance. She was hurt, offended by his behaviour! Just because he’d called it his apartment instead of theirs. How childish was it to get into a mood over a silly remark like that. He picked up his mobile phone and dialled her number. This was nonsense and she knew it. It rang out and the message minder came on. He took a deep breath. ‘Consuela, ring me please. This is silliness. I am sorry if you are offended. The furniture is coming tomorrow and I need you here with me to arrange it and make up the beds. I shall book dinner for eight p.m. this evening.’ He hung up, unable to think of anything else to say.
He waited, with mounting impatience for his wife to call him back. But the call never came.
He rang her cousin and best friend, Catalina, but the call rang out.
He rang Consuela again and this time a text came.
Never call me silly again, Eduardo. I need some peace for a few days. I’ll meet you at the station. I’ll be keeping my phone off. C.
Eduardo read and reread her message. What was wrong with his wife? Was she ill? A brain tumour perhaps, or the beginning of dementia? There was no logical reason for her to behave like this. True, she was a little more impatient, and sometimes edgy, these days but that was that menopause event women went through, he presumed. It was something he didn’t care to discuss with her. That was women’s stuff. And besides, Consuela was not in the habit of discussing such matters with anyone.
Unable to face dinner alone in the restaurant he called up a room service meal and picked at his pan-fried bream, with lacklustre appetite. In these last couple of days the purchase of the apartment, that had given him such immense pleasure to buy, was causing nothing but stress, he thought woefully. And all because of women. Ungracious women – his aunt; bossy women – Constanza Torres; and now an irrational woman, his wife – the one woman who had always been a comfort and joy to him.
Was the moon full? he wondered with dry humour, trying Consuela’s number again.
‘My heart is very heavy, Consuela. I bought the apartment as a surprise for you and this is how you reward me,’ he said. ‘Please call me in the morning. I am very worried about you. This is not normal behaviour for you.’
He undressed and got into bed. But sleep would not come and he tossed and turned until dawn kissed the night sky in the east and the sun rose splendidly on the horizon.
Consuela slept soundly in the double bed in her cousin’s guest room in La Cala. The room in which she’d spent many nights on holidays as a child. The old familiar scents of lavender and wax furniture polish brought her instantly back to those happy days. A miraculous peace seemed to have descended on her as soon as she arrived to Catalina’s warm embrace. Catalina, as close as a sister. They had no secrets from each other.
‘Stay as long as you like; rest, relax, enjoy,’ the other woman invited kindly, offering her a dry sherry. Catalina didn’t pry into the reasons Consuela had come to stay. She knew she would be told in good time.
Sitting in the shaded, high-walled courtyard, trailing bougainvillea and orange blossom in a glorious profusion of colour, with the breeze blowing her hair away from her face and the soothing trickle of the water fountain, a comforting and familiar backdrop, Consuela felt the tension seep out of her body and knew she had, for the first time she could remember, made a wise decision to put herself and her needs first.
So it finally happened. She’s had enough of Eduardo and his controlling ways, thought Catalina, busying herself preparing a tapas supper. I never expected it would take so long. She turned her phone to silent, knowing that, undoubtedly, Eduardo would ring her once he’d discovered Consuela’s departure. It was one phone call that she would not be taking. Catalina smiled, and chopped and diced and drizzled olive oil on her ingredients while her dear cousin sipped her pre-supper sherry, enjoying her unaccustomed solitude.
CHAPTER TWEVE
CONSTANZA
Constanza Torres closed down her computer, arranged her papers neatly and placed a thank-you card and a box of chocolates in her large shoulder bag. A grateful owner had left them for her and the kind gesture cheered her up enormously.
She was tired. It had been a long and eventful week. It was always the same when a new complex opened. Exhilarating and exhausting in equal measure.
Constanza picked up the letter that had been addressed to her and read it again although she already knew it off by heart. The builders’ representative had spoken to an ad hoc committee of the new owners and it seemed as though they were very interested in asking her to take up the position as concierge.
She folded the letter neatly, replaced it in the envelope and placed it in her bag. She turned off the lights, and locked the office door. It was late, after ten p.m. She’d come back to La Joya to deliver an oven rack she’d purchased for one of the owners, who had found theirs to be missing. Above and beyond the call of duty she knew, but she took a pride in her job, and was excellent at it. This was not conceit on Constanza’s part. She’d worked on many new complexes on the Costa. She had a great reputation. Builders and developers vied for her services and expertise.
But she was somewhat weary of it now. Acting as a concierge would be a wind-down from the stress of new builds. She walked slowly around the gardens, enjoying the peace with only the crickets chirruping and the gentle hush of the sea. The gardens and pools illuminated with soft tinted lights looked magical in the velvet darkness and the reflection of the full moon shimmied gold and silver on the gently rippling sea. This was one of the nicest apartment complexes she’d ever worked in. It was small compared to most. Exclusive. She’d loved it from the moment she’d first set foot in it.
Most of the owners were very pleasant, apart from one or two. But that was always the way. Constanza smiled to herself, remembering that she’d wondered if Eduardo De La Fuente was buying his apartment as a love nest. Who would have an affair with him? He was most officious, and prim. It was a wonder he even had a wife! He would be a troublemaker, and the Belgian woman too. But she could deal with them. She had years of experience of dealing with the likes of them.
The idea of being in the one place, not having to move from new build to new build, was very a
ttractive. If a formal offer of a position were made she would take it, Constanza decided, looking out over the lights of Gibraltar and Africa.
Under her steady and experienced management the complex would indeed be La Joya de Andalucía. Constanza let herself out through the narrow gate that led to the beach. A glass of fruity red wine and a tapas supper awaited her in the beachside restaurant. And much deserved it was too, Constanza approved proudly, extremely pleased that the first week was, at last, over and the new owners were settling in.
PART TWO
TIME FOR CHANGE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
November
SALLY-ANN / CAL / LENORA
‘So, what did she have?’
‘A boy, eight pounds eight ounces.’ Cal’s voice held a note of pride that cut her to the quick.
‘Well, ya always wanted a son and now y’all got one! Congratulations.’ Sally-Ann was pleased with how measured she sounded, when all she wanted to do was cuss her husband and his trashy girlfriend, and their new baby, the hell out of Texas.
‘Thanks,’ he said awkwardly.
‘Now Cal, it’s like this, you asked me to give y’all time to get things sorted with Lenora, and to wait until the baby was born before telling the girls and your parents that we’re divorcin’. I’m giving you two more weeks and then you and I are gonna sit down with the girls and have the “talk”. And while I’m at it you can tell that sneaky little asshole lawyer to have the good manners to respond promptly to my lawyer’s requests. Yours might be a blow-in from New York, but manners maketh the man, and he should learn some good ol’ Southern etiquette.’
‘Anything else?’ her husband enquired sarcastically.
‘Yes, actually. I plan on heading over to Europe in early summer next year and I want to book a week in La Joya as well, so get your PA to email me a list of your planned out-of-town dates, ’cos you’re gonna be minding the girls. You can introduce them to their new brother. And we need to talk about Thanksgiving and Christmas. I don’t think I could fake another happy family occasion, so perhaps you and Lenora might step in and I’ll take myself off somewhere sunny and quiet and pretend it’s not happening.’
Orange Blossom Days Page 10
