‘But I can’t do that to him. What do I say to him? He’ll think I abandoned him,’ Isabella exclaimed.
‘No, no, I’ll explain to him that you are doing this in his best interests. Try it for six months. Go see if you like America. If you think you will settle. Then we’ll talk and make a decision,’ Beatriz advised.
‘Oh, Beatriz, I just want to do the best for us all,’ his mother groaned.
‘As do I, querida. As do I,’ his aunt affirmed.
Eduardo had hastened away, heart thumping. His parents were going to America and thinking of leaving him with his aunt. Tía Beatriz, who lived with them, was quite strict and not as affectionate as his mother who gave very nice cuddles.
Eduardo was torn. He liked his home in Madrid, and he liked his school. He would be going to a strange country, with a strange language. That he would not like.
His mother had found him hiding in his fort, in his bedroom. He loved his fort made of two plaid rugs laid over the back of a chair and his brass bedstead.
‘Querido,’ she said softly, crawling under his blankets and putting her arm around him, ‘I have something to tell you. Papa and I have to go away on a plane. Papa is going to work in a big hospital and get more training. You are going to stay here with Tía Beatriz and when we are settled and if we like it, we will come back for you.’
‘And will I go on a plane?’
‘You will,’ she promised, squeezing him tight until he laughed.
He’d gone on a plane to visit his parents, six months later. His mother’s belly was round and hard. She had a baby in it, she told him. A brother or sister for him. Tía Beatriz had cried a lot. She didn’t like Chicago, Eduardo heard her tell Isabella. It was too cold and much too windy. ‘And not a good place for Eduardo,’ she’d said emphatically. ‘Especially now that you are pregnant. This isn’t the time for him to stay. Have your baby first and get over the birth and then see.’
His mother hadn’t argued. She was tired, and sick a lot of the time. Too tired and sick to find a new school for him and do all the things a mother had to do. Eduardo had returned to Madrid with his aunt, with promises that when he had finished his year in school he would come to live in America.
His father, Santiago, an ambitious workaholic determined to climb the ladder of his cardiology career, had moved to New York, less than a year after moving to Chicago. Their baby daughter, Eduardo’s new sister Victoria, was six months old when he met her. Isabella and Santiago had flown home to Madrid for Christmas and it had been a joyful reunion for the entire extended family who were entranced with the new arrival.
Mostly what he remembered about that Christmas was his excitement on Epiphany Eve, leaving three glasses of Cognac, with satsumas and walnuts, for the three Kings, Melchior, Balthazar, and Gaspar. Putting his shoes under the Christmas tree to be filled with presents before going to bed, hoping against hope that he’d been good enough to get a gift and not some pieces of coal.
It was the happiest time of his life, Eduardo sighed, still remembering as though it were yesterday his utter joy on discovering the biggest train set he’d ever seen, waiting for him under the tree. A Hornby train set with a steam engine. His mother had been as excited as he was. ‘Do you like it, querido, isn’t it amazing?’ she exclaimed, offering him a big slice of cream-filled roscón.
A train set, and cake for breakfast, what could be better than that?
He’d never gone to live in America. Santiago had moved the family yet again, to the west coast, first to Seattle, then to LA and it seemed easier for Eduardo to stay in Madrid with Beatriz where at least there was continuity and stability of sorts in his life.
Santiago had ended up having an affair with the widow of one of his patients, and Isabella, distraught at her husband’s betrayal had secured herself a hefty settlement and divorced him. After the divorce, Eduardo never heard from his father again. Had Santiago been a presence in his life it would have been devastating; as it was it didn’t impact him unduly until he was older and his father’s rejection of him intensified his feelings of unworthiness.
Isabella had remarried, a Professor of Law at Boston University, and bearing him a son and a daughter, had finally settled down to the stable family life that had always eluded her. By then Eduardo was focused on his own studies and career advancement and his future was very firmly in the city of his birth.
A sharp nudge in his ribs drew Eduardo from his reverie. ‘The announcement of the result is being made,’ murmured his aunt, noticing that he was distracted.
The secretary took to the podium, having added the votes of the absent owners. He glanced in Eduardo’s direction. ‘Damas y caballeros. Ladies and gentlemen, our vote for the position is now concluded, and I am pleased to announce that Señor Eduardo De La Fuente will be our next president, winning by a margin of three votes. Thank you to the other candidates. We will now move on to the election of the governing board, and administrator.’
A polite smattering of applause greeted his announcement, although Eduardo thought he heard a groan coming from the far right of the audience. Beatriz was beaming at him proudly.
‘Bien hecho, mi hijo,’ she patted his hand. ‘Well done, my boy’ was the highest praise his aunt ever gave him, and he smiled at her warmly, pleased that she felt this achievement warranted such commendation.
‘Gracias querida tía,’ he replied, the smile softening his stern features. ‘I’ve done it; at last I’ve done it. Now I will make La Joya the most desirable urbanization on the south coast.’ His mind began to race, making plans, before he stilled it, and brought his focus back to his governing board. He needed board members he could mould to his way of thinking, preferably men, not strong-willed argumentative women like that Irish woman, Anna MacDonald, who’d been the secretary the first year. She’d been rather dismissive of him as the year wore on and had been extremely slow answering his emails. He didn’t see her at the meeting, although her husband was in the middle row. The husband had voted for Moralez, he noted sourly. It didn’t matter; Eduardo dismissed the thought. He was now El Presidente, and things were going to change.
Impulsively he took his phone out of his pocket to call his wife and tell her his great news. And then he remembered her immense disloyalty and thought, No! She doesn’t deserve to know. Let her stew.
‘Although the decline of Mary of Magdala’s reputation as an apostle and leader began after her death, it was Pope Gregory the First, or Saint Gregory the Great, as he is now known, while preaching in Rome in 1591 who completed her transformation to penitent prostitute, which subsequently has been reinforced in art and literature—’
‘Excuse me,’ a woman in the row in front of Consuela raised her hand. ‘Is that the Pope Gregory who was in the Heiros Gamos, or Sacred Union, with Mathilda of Tuscany?’
‘No, that was Pope Gregory the Seventh.’ The petite, ash blonde woman who was giving the lecture smiled. ‘I think Mathilda might have given him a good telling off if he’d called the Magdalene a prostitute.’
‘I don’t think you or I are in a Heiros Gamos relationship, tragically,’ whispered Catalina to Consuela, and Consuela giggled. She’d read about the Hieros Gamos where two equals – twin souls – reunite through the Sacred Marriage, which was often not a marriage in the conventional sense but one of sacred partners who became as one, and were transformed, esoterically.
What she had with Eduardo was not a marriage of twin souls, for sure. From the journey of self-discovery she’d undertaken, and with the mind-expanding knowledge she’d gained, she now knew that they had met and married to learn from each other. It was even possible they had covenanted to undertake this journey together before they had come back to earth, if some of the metaphysical books she read were to be believed. Whether they would stay married, she wasn’t sure, Consuela thought ruefully.
Eduardo had been angry and put out when she told him that she wouldn’t be at his side for this year’s AGM. It coincided with a talk about the re-emergenc
e of the Magdalene Divine Feminine energy that she very much wanted to attend. It was being held in Girona, and Catalina had suggested they spend a second day exploring the northern city, before taking the AVE back down to Malaga via Madrid, where they would overnight.
Consuela had impulsively agreed, not realizing that it clashed with La Joya’s AGM.
‘But you always come to the AGM with me. I’m much more optimistic about winning the election this year,’ Eduardo exclaimed when she told him she wouldn’t be attending with him. ‘You’ll just have to cancel.’
The way he went on about winning that position you would think he was running for The White House, Consuela thought irritably but she maintained her equanimity in the face of his wrathful disappointment.
‘I’m sorry, Eduardo. This talk is something I very much wish to hear. I’ll be gone for three days. Catalina and I are going to Girona for two days and spending a night—’
‘Three days! Three days!’ he interjected in disbelief. ‘I’m sorry. You simply cannot, Consuela! What about Beatriz? She’ll be in La Joya with us that week.’ He shook his head vigorously to emphasize his point. ‘You’ll have to tell Catalina that you can’t go and that’s just all there is to it,’ he ordered, his face resolute as he stared at her across the breakfast table a month before they were due to take their August break.
‘I’m afraid, Eduardo, I’ll do no such thing,’ Consuela said quietly.
‘You’re being most unreasonable, Consuela,’ Eduardo argued.
‘I think not. It is you who are the unreasonable one. I have new interests in my life. I want to be able to enjoy them,’ she pointed out firmly before eating some toast.
‘That’s fine, enjoy your new interests, but it’s most inconsiderate of you to book to do things during the holidays,’ he complained. His black eyes were flashing anger, and his mouth thinned as she calmly raised her cup to her lips and took a sip of coffee before answering him.
‘I thought it most considerate of me, actually,’ she said mildly. ‘It means I’m not staying away from home when you’re working, so that I can have your meals on the table, and run errands for your aunt if need be. Be fair.’
‘I’ll just have to tell Beatriz not to come until you are going to be there with her, then,’ Eduardo said sulkily, draining his coffee. He wiped his mouth with his linen napkin and stood up.
‘Eduardo, Beatriz has made arrangements for her cat to be looked after, as she always does when she comes down to us on the coast. Don’t go changing the dates on her. I’ll only be gone three days—’
‘Three days is just not acceptable, Consuela.’ He tried again to get her to see reason. ‘One night perhaps, but three is being utterly selfish,’ he added snidely.
‘It’s like this, Eduardo. I’m extremely fond of Beatriz, but she’s your aunt, not mine, and I have given her great care over the years. I am your wife, not your servant, your employee, nor your child. I find it unacceptable that you would tell me that going on a little trip is “unacceptable”.’ She did air quotes and glared at him.
‘What’s become of you? You’re so argumentative now. Catalina has brainwashed you with her nonsense,’ Eduardo accused furiously, before marching out into the hall to grab his briefcase, and giving the door a good slam as he left.
Consuela gave a little sigh remembering that fraught exchange. She wondered if the presidential election had taken place yet. Perhaps she was a First Lady, she thought with amusement, hoping for her husband’s sake that this time he’d been elected. Perhaps she should hope for her sake too. Living with her husband for the weeks after his previous rejections had not been easy as he alternated between brooding silences and bile-filled rants about the owners who hadn’t voted for him and their ill-considered ‘lack of foresight’.
‘. . . The image of the fallen woman and repentant sinner is ingrained now in human consciousness, despite a recent change of attitude by the present-day church. Now is the time to reveal the truth of who Mary Magdalene truly was and is. That is why we are here today. It’s about taking a leap of faith,’ Consuela heard the speaker say, and guiltily focused on the discussion taking place. She’d come to learn and enjoy and not sit ruminating about her husband.
‘If I had ignored my inner voice, and . . .’ the speaker paused and smiled broadly, ‘I like to think, the voice of Mary Magdalene, I would have stayed a cloistered nun and never experienced the wondrous new journey I’m on. Bringing an awareness of the Magdalene energy has brought me all over the world,’ the ex-nun, in her elegant taupe pants suit and discreet gold jewellery, said joyfully.
‘Listen to your inner voice, your gut, whatever moves you, and act upon it. Take leaps of faith!’ she urged. ‘Otherwise you are sleepwalking through life.’
Booking her place on the lecture had been a leap of faith for her, Consuela reflected. Perhaps a small one, but a leap nevertheless.
Tomorrow she and Catalina were going to take a tour of the city’s secret and mystical past, starting in the Rambla de la Llibertat, a bustling street in the heart of the Old Town, not far from the ancient Jewish Quarter known as the Call.
She was especially looking forward to visiting the French Woman’s Garden, that still had a buttress on the stone wall of the Torre Magdala, which had inspired the strange priest, Bérenger Saunière – who was devoted to Mary Magdalene and rumoured to have found her grave – to replicate it in Rennes-le-Château in France.
Wait until Eduardo heard that she and Catalina were planning to visit France – where the Magdalene was revered – in the autumn. They were going to Cathar country, and to sites associated with her.
Her life was so much more interesting now that she had come to her senses and begun to seek self-knowledge, Consuela mused, enjoying her coffee during a break in the lecture. Thinking outside the box was stimulating mentally and spiritually.
Eduardo pooh-poohed the books she was reading, and Catalina’s ‘way out’ beliefs, as he called them. Consuela permitted herself a broad smile. If he knew that she now believed in reincarnation, and believed that she’d planned and chosen her current life path, including her marriage to him, before she had reincarnated into this life, he would think that she was completely loopers and advise her to see a psychiatrist.
Poor Eduardo, so strait-laced and trapped in his narrow, insular life and beliefs. No wonder becoming president of the management committee was so important to him. The position would give him a sense of control. To be in control of everything in his life was his way. Now, Consuela, who was practising going with the flow of all that was new in her existence, felt a freedom she’d never experienced. She would never go back to being the compliant, unthinking woman she once was.
Eduardo had always paid her an allowance along with her housekeeping money, rather than have a joint account with her. She’d prudently saved over the years, and with the small inheritance she’d received from the sale of her parents’ apartment after their deaths, she was very happy to spend it now, journeying, literally, on her new soul quest.
Eduardo wasn’t interested in travelling, especially now that he had their apartment in La Joya. That was his choice and his decision. She wasn’t prepared to be bound by her husband’s preferences anymore. She was no longer sleepwalking! With that in mind, she refrained from switching on her mobile phone to see if there was any news of the presidential election from the Costa.
Constanza Torres snapped closed her phone and took a deep breath. Her greatest fear had been realized. That bloody Madrileño had won the presidency. He was now, to all intents and purposes, her boss.
She chewed the inside of her lip, tidying some papers on her desk. Her informant, an English widow with whom she was quite friendly, had tried to reassure her by telling her that his main focus was going to be reducing the arrears debt. Perhaps so, but Constanza knew what De La Fuente was like. She’d met his ilk before. He was the type to hold a grudge, and every perceived slight over the past few years would be held against her.
&nbs
p; Although, she admitted ruefully, some of the slights had not been perceived, they’d been actual slights because he was an obnoxious, rude, pernickety man who liked nothing better than to order people around. Constanza was quite convinced that Eduardo looked down his haughty aristocratic nose at her. And not just her . . . all women . . . including his wife.
She might as well make the most of her freedom, Constanza thought disconsolately, dialling her husband’s number to tell him the news. Once El Presidente was in residence he’d be watching her like a hawk.
Beatriz was glad to sit in the shade of the awning on the balcony sipping a glass of dry sherry. No one could serve her sherry like Eduardo. He always chilled the glasses first, before putting in the ice cubes, and then added an orange twist to the amber drink.
She ate a stuffed olive and took another sip of sherry. She was peckish. Consuela and Catalina had taken the AVE from Madrid and Catalina was driving them from Malaga to La Joya. They all planned to go to a seafood restaurant in Cabopino for dinner. Tonight they would celebrate Eduardo’s achievement. Finally getting the position of El Presidente was giving him as much satisfaction as when he got his law exams, Beatriz suspected.
There would be an edge at dinner. Eduardo was blaming Catalina for influencing his wife’s new interest in, as he dramatically called it, ‘lo oculto!’ There was nothing of the occult in Consuela’s newfound interest in metaphysics, Beatriz realized. In fact she’d read some of the books the younger woman was devouring and had enjoyed them. Especially the Life After Death ones. Now that she was getting nearer to her transition she was interested to read what awaited her. Beatriz liked hearing about Consuela’s metaphysical studies and she enjoyed their chats over lunch when the other woman came to visit.
Orange Blossom Days Page 25
