‘Eduardo, there’s a shuttle, let’s take it and you can listen to what I have to say, then we will go home to Consuela,’ his mother said firmly. ‘I do need to talk to you. This is the hotel.’ She showed him the name on her phone.
‘I know it,’ he said. ‘Can we not talk in one of the lounges here?’
‘No, it has to be a private place. Please humour me. You’ll understand shortly.’
‘Very well,’ he agreed, somewhat unnerved at his mother’s strange request, reversing his direction to head to the shuttle buses. ‘Is something wrong? Are you not well?’ he asked, concerned at this turn of events.
‘I’m fine,’ she said firmly.
‘And the family, your husband?’
‘All well. Now tell me: how are Beatriz and Consuela and what are you up to? Do you like the apartment in Andalucía?’ she asked gaily, but he knew she was putting on a façade. A knot of anxiety twisted in his gut. Had Isabella got some terminal illness or some such? He sincerely hoped not. The hotel was a couple of kilometres from the airport and he sat beside his mother unsure of whether to talk or to leave her to look out the window at the tree-lined street that led to the hotel. ‘It’s nice to be home,’ she murmured. ‘Tell me, how is Beatriz?’
‘Indomitable.’ Eduardo permitted himself a smile.
‘She always was,’ Isabella laughed as the bus pulled up outside the hotel.
‘Shall I order coffee?’ Eduardo asked, when Isabella had checked in.
‘A drink for me, I think. A gin and tonic, and please, Eduardo, it would be good if you joined me seeing as you aren’t driving.’
‘Very well. I’ll tell them to send the drinks to the room.’ He was becoming more rattled by the minute, despite his outward composure.
The room was clean, white, and soulless and he sat in the white, faux-leather bucket chair gazing unseeingly out the window at the pine trees opposite, while his mother freshened up in the bathroom. A knock at the door announced the arrival of their drinks and he tipped the room service boy and carried them to the table.
Isabella slipped off her jacket and sank gratefully into the chair opposite Eduardo’s. ‘Cheers, mi querido.’ She raised her glass to him and took a swig of the sparkling white drink. ‘That’s so good,’ she sighed. He could see the weariness in her eyes, and her hand that held the glass shook slightly.
He took a sip of his dry sherry. ‘What is it you have to tell me so privately, Madre?’ he asked bluntly.
‘Eduardo, when I see Beatriz she will beg me to promise not to say anything. It’s always the same when we are all together. But I can no longer live this lie. It’s unfair to me and to you, and it always has been, but she has been adamant that I say nothing. Now, she and I are old and . . . shall we say . . . in the departure lounge to the life beyond. I . . . I . . .’
‘What? What is it? Tell me, for the love of Dios,’ he tried to keep the impatience out of his voice.
‘Eduardo, I am not your mother. Beatriz is,’ Isabella said flatly before taking another sip of her drink.
Eduardo stared at her, uncomprehending. Had Isabella just said that Beatriz was his mother?
‘Beatriz is my mother?’ he repeated frowning.
‘Yes, querido,’ Isabella said gently. ‘Soon after Santiago and I married, Beatriz became pregnant by a young man, and of course at the time it was a scandalous thing, so she was sent to a convent that took care of unmarried mothers. When you were born she came with you to live with us in Valencia where Santiago was doing an internship. When Santiago transferred back to Madrid, she and our parents begged us to pretend that you were our child. You were still only a baby, ten months old. They couldn’t bear the shame, the disgrace of having an unmarried daughter with a baby. We agreed.’
Eduardo swallowed hard. ‘Who was my father?’
‘He was the son of a lawyer, an ambitious, impatient young man, but very handsome and charming. Your . . . Beatriz adored him and was broken-hearted when he abandoned her. She never got over it, really. She never allowed herself to fall in love again, and she punished herself so harshly, becoming rigid and cold and embittered. It must have been a dagger
to the heart every time you called me Mama.’ Isabella had tears in her eyes.
‘This is outrageous!’ Eduardo stood up and clenched his fists in fury. ‘Why wasn’t I told this before now? Why have I been kept in the dark about a truth that is rightfully mine to know—’
‘Beatriz didn’t want—’
‘I had a right to know,’ he roared. ‘I had a right to know who was my mother and who was my father instead of living this . . . this charade . . . this unholy lie!’
‘Eduardo, please, be calm,’ urged Isabella, weeping quietly.
‘Don’t you dare tell me to be calm. Have you any idea how I suffered? Have you any idea how unloved I felt when you went to America and left me behind with her! And then you had Victoria and I felt so abandoned, so utterly and completely abandoned.’ To his horror, tears filled his eyes and a strangled sob erupted from him.
‘Oh Eduardo, Eduardo.’ Isabella jumped to her feet and went to embrace him but he brushed her roughly aside and went to stand with his back to her, staring out the window.
‘I hate the two of you. Between you you’ve made my life a misery. I was a lost, lonely, isolated little boy always trying to fit in, and all you and the rest of my godforsaken family cared about was what people would think. Did no one ever stop to think about me and how I would feel?’ He turned around and glared at her, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.
‘I wanted so badly to bring you to America. It was a great opportunity for Santiago and I had to get away from my parents, from Beatriz, who was always trying to control everything. Please understand, Eduardo. I loved you. From the minute I held you in my arms I adored you. You were the most beautiful baby, and a gorgeous little boy. You had the biggest eyes and the longest blackest lashes. People were always stopping us in the street to admire you. Eduardo, it broke my heart that Beatriz wouldn’t allow you to stay with us. I understood, of course. She loved you too. You were her child, her son. How could she let you go? You were her life. Her reason for living. It is such a tragedy that you felt unloved for you truly were a most loved child.’ She rummaged in her bag for a tissue to wipe her eyes. ‘I knew you resented me, hated me even, because you thought I had abandoned you.
‘Eduardo, leaving you here in Madrid was the hardest thing I have ever done in my life, and enduring your bitterness down the years, which of course I understand, has been a heavy cross to bear. I wanted you to know that I didn’t abandon you. I wanted you to know that I loved you very much, and I still do. To me, you are my son as much as you are hers. It would probably be best if I stay in a hotel while I’m here. I’m sure you cannot bear to have me in your home after this. Now you can see why I wanted us to be somewhere private.’ She took another sip of her drink and slumped back down in her chair.
He saw how pale she’d become, how weary, and his anger drained away and he composed himself.
‘I’m sorry I shouted, Isabella,’ he said stiffly. ‘It was the shock.’
‘The only one who heard was me, better than in an airport lounge, yes?’ She managed a faint smile.
‘Yes, you were thoughtful in your choice of location for the grand reveal. What was my father’s name?’ He sat back down opposite her and finished his sherry in one gulp.
‘Rafael Navarro,’ Isabella sighed.
‘It should be easy enough to find out more about him,’ Eduardo said grimly.
‘Don’t bother, querido, I can tell you what you need to know. As I said to you, Rafael was wealthy, ambitious, impatient, and to be honest with you, he was a spoilt young man. He drove a very fast sports car, and he was partying in Seville a few years after you were born and you know how narrow the streets are in Seville? He crashed his car. He was in a coma for seven months before he passed away.’
‘Did he know about me?’ Eduardo loosened his tie and ran his fingers
through his hair.
‘Yes, he did. He paid Beatriz a lump sum if she undertook never to name him as the father. She used every cent of that money to raise and educate you. Try not to think too harshly of her, no matter what you think of me.’
‘I don’t think harshly of you,’ he muttered. ‘I just have to adjust to all of this. It’s like the rug has been pulled from underneath me, and all I thought I was is just a chimera.’
‘You are who you are, a very fine, good and successful man. That comes from within, Eduardo. Not from Beatriz or Rafael. It is who you are. You should be proud of yourself.’
‘Shall we have another drink?’ he asked quietly. ‘There is much I would like to know.’
‘Why not? But perhaps you could tell Consuela a little fib and text her and say my flight was delayed. We don’t want to be rude and leave her wondering where we are.’
‘Of course. I’ll do it straight away. Just one drink and then I’ll take you home. I’m sure you’re exhausted.’
‘Yes I am,’ she admitted, ‘but very relieved, Eduardo, that finally you know the truth, and will come to realize how greatly loved you were, and still are.’
‘Thank you,’ said Eduardo bleakly. ‘I hope that you’re right.’
‘Mi Isabella.’ Beatriz held out her arms to embrace the sister she loved with all her heart.
‘Beatriz, querida.’ Isabella hugged her back. ‘It’s so good to see you. So good to see everyone, Eduardo, Consuela. They’ve made me feel so welcome.’
‘I would expect no less,’ Beatriz said firmly. ‘Consuela, por favor, bring in the iced tea and sandwiches. Eduardo, lower the awning, we shall take lunch on the balcony.’ Beatriz issued her orders.
‘Sí, Tía Beatriz,’ he said automatically and caught Isabella’s knowing gaze. Yes, he remembered how she’d called her sister controlling. She issued her orders and they all jumped to obey. Everything was as it always was, but nothing was the same. He hadn’t promised Isabella that he wouldn’t confront Beatriz. That was a prerogative he would retain, but finally he knew the truth about his past. It was a secret no longer.
‘Is anything wrong, Eduardo? Do you have any concerns about purchasing the penthouse?’ Jutta asked, perturbed by the Spaniard’s sombre mien. He’d been uncharacteristically subdued while they inspected the penthouse that would soon be his. Dusk had fallen, and the lights of Ceuta and Morocco twinkled across the Strait of Gibraltar. They had decided that this was the best time for him to view the property. Eduardo was well known in the community. He didn’t want anyone to know that he was the potential purchaser.
‘Forgive me. I’ve had a very tough week, Jutta,’ Eduardo confided, opening kitchen presses to inspect the contents.
‘I know the feeling,’ Jutta sighed. ‘I felt I was being picked upon personally by whatever deity is supposedly up there.’
Eduardo laughed mirthlessly. ‘Try finding out that the woman you thought was your aunt was really your mother and the woman you thought was your mother was really your aunt.’
‘Guter Gott!’ she exclaimed, so shocked at his news – and that he would reveal it to her – that she spoke in her native tongue.
‘Good God, indeed,’ Eduardo repeated. He opened the last press and saw a selection of wine and spirits on the bottom shelf.
‘Would you like a drink, Jutta?’ he asked impulsively. ‘I can offer you . . . eh . . . let’s see, whisky, gin, rum, red wine. The parrot’s owner keeps quite a bar.’
‘Well, why not? I could do with a drink. Felipe, my husband, informed me he has laid off four people who worked for him. My daughter has a fractured wrist. My au pair is handing in a month’s notice. I’ll have a drink with you for sure. Red wine for me, por favor.’
‘Excelente. We will share our sad stories.’ He waved the bottle of wine at her. After all, he was the son of a reckless man, so he would behave in a reckless fashion, he decided bitterly. Eduardo poured a velvety ruby Faustino into two balloon glasses, which he first wiped with kitchen roll, and handed one to her.
‘Let’s open the balcony doors to air the place and sit in the lounge,’ Jutta suggested, leading the way into the huge room with the panaromic vista. A soft cream leather couch faced out to sea and she opened the doors and felt the cooling evening breeze whisper in. Three round candles sat on a silver platter and impulsively she lit them. ‘Isn’t it pretty?’ she said, admiring the flickering flame that threw the faintest of glows around them.
‘Could you imagine if Lord Muck from Essex knew I was sitting in his penthouse drinking his wine, how he would react?’ Eduardo laughed derisively.
‘Wait until he finds out you’ve bought the apartment.’
‘He was such a snob, you know? He wanted separate outdoor lavatories down in the bar, for the penthouse owners,’ Eduardo sneered, taking a long draught of the fruity red. ‘I couldn’t understand how he’d own such a common bird as a parrot, especially a parrot who used such vulgar language. But then again his language was most crude. He was nouveau riche, I think. They’re always the worst, in any society.’
‘Really? He must be in a bad way financially in that case; he keeps pushing to have the sale completed.’ Jutta took a glug of wine.
‘A lot of the British have had to leave the Costa now that there’s almost parity between the euro and sterling. Did we ever think we’d see the day?’ Eduardo commented.
‘No harm to see some of them go,’ Jutta remarked, not having much time for the old enemy.
‘Were you loved as a child?’ Eduardo asked abruptly, taking another swig of his drink.
‘Um . . . well, I was the youngest. My siblings would say I was the pet of the family. I might disagree.’ She made a face. ‘I know I’m my father’s favourite now, though.’
‘I thought I was the son of a successful, divorced, retired New York cardiologist. It seems I am the scion of some reckless-type playboy who crashed his sports car into a church wall and died young,’ Eduardo declared bitterly. ‘I’m not allowed to tell my wife. I’m not allowed to confront my aunt, who is really my mother. What kind of a life is that for a successful man in his fifties? These women have me trussed up and trapped and I’m sick of it, Jutta. Do you understand that?’ he asked with a wild glint in his eyes as the alcohol took hold.
‘That’s terrible; to think your past and who you are was authentic, and then to find out it was all a lie must be very difficult indeed, Eduardo.’
‘It is, Jutta. Very hard. I feel bereft. I feel alone. I feel unsure of who I am. What if I’ve inherited my real father’s characteristics?’ He turned to her and stared at her.
‘I would imagine,’ she said carefully, ‘that they might have revealed themselves to you before now. To me you are a most conscientious, high-achieving, ethical person. That doesn’t sound like someone who’s reckless to me.’
‘You are kind,’ he sighed, pouring more wine into their glasses. ‘I rarely drink wine,’ he confessed. ‘It must be my father’s traits emerging.’ He gave a bitter little laugh.
‘Don’t say that,’ Jutta said, impulsively reaching out to take his hand. Their eyes met.
‘I’d like to kiss you,’ he murmured, his eyes slightly glazed.
‘I’d like you to kiss me.’ Jutta stared back at him. In the candlelight, with his tie loosened and his hair faintly dishevelled, he looked almost rakishly swarthy, reminding her of Felipe when she’d known him first.
‘Will we be reckless for just this once?’ he smiled, his eyes, heavy-lidded, glittering with desire and she felt a welcome moist heat between her legs. He had strong white even teeth, she thought; would his tongue be firm and probing? Closing her eyes, Jutta leaned over and her lips met Eduardo’s.
It was as though she’d released a passion in him that he’d kept suppressed for years. Their sex was hungry, animalistic almost, as he stripped her naked while she did the same to him, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his trousers to release him to her. He pulled her astride him on the sofa and groaned with pent
-up desire as he thrust hard into her.
‘Oh yes! Yes, Eduardo, don’t stop!’ Jutta gripped his shoulders, grinding into him as they writhed in unison, their moans and grunts of pleasure adding to their uninhibited coupling. They came in a frenzied, urgent wave of pleasure that left them limp and spent, covered in a sweaty sheen.
‘Eduardo,’ she murmured as he buried his face in her neck. She felt dampness and his tears trickled down to her breast.
‘Why do you cry?’ she asked, smugly pleased that her lovemaking had brought this proud man to tears of joy.
He raised his face to hers and she saw the sadness in his bleary, reddened eyes.
‘I cry because I have betrayed my wife,’ Eduardo said, ‘and because now I truly am my father’s son.’
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
ANNA / SALLY-ANN / JUTTA / EDUARDO
‘Anna, meet me in your lobby in ten minutes with the girls. Have I got news for y’all!’
‘OK, is it good or bad?’ Anna asked warily.
‘Mind blowing,’ teased Sally-Ann.
‘Ah, tell me,’ Anna was intrigued.
‘Nope, get the girls together and order a big pot of coffee, and I’ll have one of those almond croissants. I’ll be over to you in ten. Byeeee.’
Anna smiled at her American friend’s exuberance. She was very pleased that Sally-Ann was buying the penthouse and that it wasn’t going to a stranger. Today was closing day, and she’d flown to Spain for a long weekend with her beloved girlfriends. They were staying in a smart boutique hotel, in the old part of San Antonio del Mar, less than ten minutes from La Joya. Anna had not been able to bring herself to visit the penthouse for the last time.
She’d driven them along the motorway, eyes straight ahead, trying hard not to remember how excited she and Austen used to get as they whizzed past Fuengirola, La Cala, Calahonda, the Don Carlos, bypassing Marbella and Puerto Banus, and taking the slip road off the A-7, with the sea glittering below them, until the elegant whitewashed sign and the granite block, flecked with white and veined with yellow marble, with the name San Antonio del Mar etched on it in gold, appeared just beyond a curve on the road.
Orange Blossom Days Page 36
