In the distance she could see the Moorish minarets of La Joya and she’d gasped involuntarily, caught by the now familiar physical ache of grief.
‘You OK?’ Mary asked supportively, knowing how difficult the whole journey was for her friend.
‘Painful,’ Anna confessed, switching on her sat nav and calling out the name of the street they were heading for.
‘Please repeat,’ said the irritating saccharine voice.
‘Calle friggin’ San José,’ she said irately. Mary patted her on the shoulder.
‘Stay calm, dear. It’s not St Joseph’s fault. It’s the first turn on the right.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Remember that little square we had coffee in? Calle San José is on the far side of it. I remember because of the beautiful church of St Joseph where I lit a few candles.’
‘A few,’ scoffed Yvonne from the back seat. ‘I’d call it a conflagration. I thought that we were going to have to call the fire brigade.’
‘Ha ha, spell that, you, with your big words,’ retorted Mary, pointing out the turn to Anna.
‘Oh yeah, I know where we are now, well remembered, Mary.’ Anna swung the hire car into the square.
‘Well I am the youngest and my marbles are still intact. I’ll say no more,’ Mary said smugly.
Having her friends with her made everything that little bit easier. She could laugh with them and not feel guilty, and she could withdraw and be silent when she needed to be, knowing they were a hugely comforting presence and all they wanted was to help her in any way they could. She’d even laughed out loud a few times – a first. It was strange how guilty it had made her feel. How could she possibly laugh when Austen was so tragically deceased? She’d actually mentally apologized to him once and then called herself the biggest eejit going.
The hotel had been a good choice, perched on a steep cliffside overlooking a cove with its own private beach, reached by steps at the end of the flower-filled terrace. It was small but luxurious and her room overlooked the sea. Cypress trees lent an Italian air, and because she’d never been here with Austen, there were no memories. That helped enormously.
Sally-Ann completely understood that she didn’t want to be anywhere near La Joya, and she’d joined Anna and the girls for dinner on the night of their arrival and regaled them with tales of the new baby and the divorce, and Lenora’s abysmal efforts at motherhood. ‘I’m not bein’ superior, y’all but when Cal told me she arrived with a Lego duplo Batman set for Jake, who puts everything he possibly can into his mouth, I thought, you need to think things out, gal.’
‘Charlotte is still doing that,’ Anna said, and the discussion had turned to babies and her grandchildren, and how much she loved and resented them at the same time.
‘I feel so guilty that I didn’t listen to what Austen wanted. I was too wrapped up in the grandkids,’ she’d admitted to Yvonne one day at the start of the summer when they were having coffee after a walk around the Botanic Gardens.
‘Don’t do that to yourself, Anna. You did what you had to do, and stop beating yourself up. Austen wouldn’t want you to,’ her friend remonstrated. ‘And if it was the other way around, you wouldn’t want Austen making himself miserable, would you?’
‘No, thank you, you’re absolutely right.’ Anna had decided there and then to try and fight her way through the dark miasma she was trapped in. Impulsively she’d invited her friends to join her for a long weekend in Spain instead of the overnighter she’d planned for the closing of the sale. They’d agreed with alacrity.
It was a start, Anna thought ruefully, ringing their rooms to tell them to meet up in the foyer.
‘And Sally-Ann didn’t say anything other than that she’d news?’ Breda sank into one of the squishy sofas in the bright, airy lobby overlooking the sea.
‘Except that it was mind-boggling and to order a big pot of coffee and almond croissants,’ Anna replied sitting on a sofa opposite her.
‘I think I’d fancy one of them, even though it’s only two hours since we ate breakfast.’
‘It’s the sea air,’ Mary declared as Anna ordered the pot of coffee and a plate full of the sinful croissants.
‘I suppose it’s a bit early for Prosecco?’ Breda asked hopefully.
‘You suppose correct.’ Yvonne grinned at her friend. ‘Anyway here’s Sally-Ann, let’s get the goss,’ she said as the American ran up the steps to the entrance and hurried across to join them. ‘Well, what’s going on? Spill,’ she demanded and Sally-Ann laughed.
‘Let me get a coffee into me first,’ she begged. ‘But it’s goooood,’ she teased.
When the coffee had been poured and they were feasting on the almond croissants, and after Sally-Ann had taken a couple of hits of her coffee, her four companions stared at her expectantly.
‘You’ll never, evah in a million years guess who I saw – what’s the way you put it, Anna?’ She glanced over at Anna and grinned. ‘Having a rugged ride?’
‘Riding someone ragged,’ Anna corrected her, laughing.
‘Oh, yeah. Guess who I saw riding each other ragged?’ She sat up straight, eyes shining with mischief.
‘Who?’ came four voices in unison.
‘Guess?’
‘Who? Stop teasing us,’ groaned Yvonne.
‘Facundo Gonzales and Constanza,’ Mary ventured.
‘No,’ scorned Sally-Ann, ‘they hate each other.’
‘Love can be akin to hate,’ Anna pointed out. ‘Bert Dwight and that little plump tarty blonde in the first block, who prances around in her thong?’
‘Eeewwww,’ Sally-Ann made a face. ‘Listen up, y’all, this isn’t a word of a lie. I saw Jutta riding the ass off El Presidente—’
‘What!’
‘No way, you must be mistaken!’
‘Are you kidding?’
‘OMG!’
The four women stared at Sally-Ann, gobsmacked.
‘I swear to God,’ Sally-Ann declared, eyes dancing. ‘They were butt naked together! I know what I saw.’
‘Where?’
‘How?’
‘Are you sure you don’t need to go to Specsavers?’ joked Yvonne.
Sally-Ann took another drink of coffee. ‘It was around sunset, I was out on my rooftop terrace, and you know that big penthouse owned by that English guy who fancies himself as Brad Pitt, well they were in the lounge and the door was open and candles were lit and the drapes weren’t pulled. I could see the reflection in the big plate glass door, because they had it open and the angle it was at, whatever way it was I could see them because that building is at right angles to ours. They were sitting on the sofa tearing the clothes off each other and she was on top, starkers, flinging her blonde hair around and, as Anna would put it, riding Eduardo De La Fuente ragged.’ Sally-Ann regaled them with her astounding news.
‘Well the little divil, I didn’t think he had it in him,’ Yvonne observed humorously and they all fell about laughing, chortling until tears ran down their faces.
‘Oh God, she’s going to be at the notary’s with us this afternoon, Sally-Ann.’ Anna wiped her eyes with her napkin.
‘I know. I won’t know where to look.’
‘Don’t forget to ask her was El Presidente a good ride,’ Yvonne grinned.
‘Poor Consuela,’ Anna said. ‘I wonder who seduced whom? I always got the impression he was so prissy and chaste, banning topless sunbathing and the like.’
‘And Jutta’s always so superior and self-righteous and so disparaging about the Spanish, even though she’s married to a Spaniard,’ Sally-Ann remarked. ‘I remember when Cal and I had dinner with her and her husband when we bought our penthouse, she was quite scathing about their business practices.’
‘She’s very chic,’ Breda added her tuppenceworth.
‘Yeah, she’s got a lot of style,’ Anna agreed. ‘And she’s extremely efficient, isn’t she, Sally-Ann? The sale couldn’t have gone more smoothly.’
‘She is, although
for all her talk about the way business is conducted down south, she still went for cash over tax declaration,’ Sally-Ann pointed out.
‘Really?’ exclaimed Mary. ‘I would have expected more from her.’
‘As we speak, I have eleven thousand euros cash in my handbag to pay the various agencies, and Jutta. I had to collect it from my bank this morning. None of them will be paying tax. No wonder the country is in the state it’s in. The cash will all be dished out in brown envelopes by our German seductress.’
‘Cripes, don’t get mugged.’ Mary made a face. ‘I’d be petrified carrying that amount of money around.’
‘I know, but that’s what Jutta ordered me to do,’ Anna said. ‘I think it’s because her husband’s business is in trouble. Perhaps Eduardo likes that cool, bossy German superciliousness, him being a bit cool and bossy himself.’
‘There was nothing cool about what I saw. I thought I was watching a porn movie.’ Sally Ann tucked into a croissant.
‘Was he . . . er . . . how shall I put it . . . impressive?’ Yvonne cocked her head.
‘Yvonne!’ snorted Anna.
‘Just curious,’ said her irrepressible friend.
‘I couldn’t really see if he was well hung or not. I mean it was only a reflection I saw in the window, but she was bouncin’ up and down on him for sure and he was grabbing on to her booty for all he was worth,’ Sally-Ann grinned.
‘OMG, I hope I don’t bump into him,’ Anna exclaimed, wishing with all her heart she could share this juicy piece of gossip with Austen.
‘I’ll burst out laughing if I do.’ Yvonne licked the sugar from her fingers, eyes creased in mirth.
‘I hope I’m not with you.’ Mary stood up. ‘Now I don’t know about you lot, but there’s a lounger out on the terrace, by the pool, with my name on it, let’s continue with this riveting discussion outside.’
‘Yes, riveting, that’s what it is. Jutta and El Presidente, who would have thought? It’s better than the soaps at home,’ Sally-Ann declared, delighted with the effect of her bombshell.
Several hours later, Sally-Ann and Anna sat together in the cool marble foyer of a notary’s office in Marbella. It was a busy, bustling place with clients standing or sitting in little groups until they were called to one of the ante-rooms where the notary joined them for whatever business he was called upon to do.
With one minute to spare, Jutta marched in, back straight as a poker, blonde hair swept up in a chignon, wearing one of her tailored trouser suits, looking the very epitome of the successful businesswoman. There was nothing about her to suggest she’d had a night of raw passion with a married man. She was as cool, calm and collected as ever. She was accompanied by her accountant and tax expert, who had run all the checks, made sure all Anna’s utility bills and taxes were paid up to date, and had chased the documentation necessary for the legal process to proceed. He would also be the recipient of a brown envelope full of euros.
They made small talk, but Anna’s mind was elsewhere, remembering the day she and Austen had signed for their penthouse with such carefree optimism.
‘You OK, sweetie? It will be over soon, or do you want to change your mind? If y’all do it’s no problem,’ her American friend said earnestly.
‘No Sally-Ann, I’m doing the right thing; I don’t want to keep it. I’m glad you’re buying it for the family. You’ll have very happy days in it.’
‘Well if you’re sure. I don’t want you to feel railroaded,’ Sally-Ann murmured as they were ushered into a room with a large, burnished mahogany table. Anticipation heightened as they awaited the notary, who arrived moments later. An expectant hush fell among the gathering as he laid his files on the table in a slow deliberate manner before lowering his bifocals and looking out over the tops of them to welcome them.
‘I don’t feel at all railroaded, honest,’ Anna whispered to Sally-Ann. ‘It’s time for me to say goodbye to La Joya de Andalucía.’
She couldn’t be more pleased with the way the MacDonald apartment had sold. Swiftly, efficiently, with not even a minor hiccup, as was seldom the case in property sales. Jutta stood in the queue in the bank, waiting to lodge the firm, crisp pile of fifty-euro notes in her handbag. She’d opened a separate account from the one she shared with her husband a couple of years ago, where all her earnings from work now went. It gave her great comfort knowing that it was there. Right now she could foresee a time when Felipe would drive her to the edge of splitting with him, with one of his schemes for a get rich quick project, which were now very thin on the ground.
He’d decided on the spur of the moment to fly out to Northern Cyprus. A friend of his had told him there were good business opportunities to be had and that tourism was booming.
His timing for leaving her had been most inconvenient as always, and resentment towards her husband had played a big part in what had happened the previous evening with Eduardo. Jutta gave a deep sigh. It had been a satisfying interlude for her both physically and emotionally, until he had raised his tearstained face to hers and ruined the moment with his uncalled-for declarations of guilt.
It was unfortunate. She’d enjoyed the physical experience very much. She would have liked to continue their intrigue at least until she’d secured the penthouse for him. Now she would have to be brisk and businesslike with him and pretend that it had never happened. That annoyed her. She didn’t feel one bit guilty. Felipe was no longer satisfying her sexually. He was completely obsessed with his business problems. If he couldn’t see that he was driving her into the arms of another man, he wasn’t worth being married to, Jutta thought crossly as a bank teller became free.
Perhaps it was time to step away from her marriage for a while. It was certainly time to take stock, and that was what Jutta intended to do, she decided, lodging a satisfyingly large amount of euros into her secret German bank account.
Eduardo still had a pounding headache, thanks to the amount of red wine he’d quaffed the previous evening. What had possessed him, he wondered, lying sprawled on his sofa with a cold facecloth on his forehead. He couldn’t deny that he’d enjoyed the physical experience enormously. Jutta’s ardour, her sexual hunger, had been a revelation to him, and extremely arousing. It had added enormously to his pleasure to know that he was giving her as much satisfaction as he himself was experiencing. But when it was over he’d been overwhelmed with guilt and feelings of self-disgust. He who had always prided himself on his self-control had exhibited none, just when he needed it most.
They might have their difficulties but Consuela had been a true and loyal wife and this was how he’d repaid her. He was sick to his stomach with remorse and self-hatred.
Now he had to go back to Madrid and pretend that everything was normal, as well as to cope with his bitter rage at the revelations about his birth mother. That wine had tasted good last night; he was tempted to go and buy another bottle. Eduardo grimaced as the pain behind his eyes deepened. He would have to be reserved and distant with Jutta for the remainder of their dealings with each other.
Once the penthouse was his he would end contact, he decided. He wondered if he should apologize to her for the previous evening. After all she was a married woman and he’d made the first move, saying in a most juvenile fashion that he would like to kiss her. Eduardo blushed with shame at his gaucheness.
‘Oh what a mess,’ he groaned, dipping the facecloth into iced water and replacing it on his throbbing forehead.
‘What a delightful afternoon it’s been, Beatriz. I enjoyed it. Gracias.’
‘As did I, mi querida.’ Beatriz smiled at her sister companionably. They had spent the early evening, after siesta, sitting in the shaded courtyard of Beatriz’s apartment block sipping iced tea and looking through old photos.
‘It seems like a dream sometimes that I ever lived in Spain.’ Isabella tidied up a selection of faded sepia photos of their parents and grandparents. ‘Oh look,’ she exclaimed at a photo that fell out of one of the albums. ‘Wasn’t he an adorable
child?’ They gazed at the image of a very young Eduardo. His raven black hair, curly then, framing his square face, with the straight nose and determined chin. Two enormous brown eyes fringed by silky black lashes stared out from the photo, a hint of a smile curving around his mouth.
‘He was beautiful,’ sighed Beatriz.
Isabella took her hand. ‘Mi querida, we are both getting on in years now,’ she said gently. ‘I in my seventies, you in your eighties. Did you ever think we would be this elderly?’
‘Never,’ said her sister emphatically.
‘Do you think it’s time perhaps to tell Eduardo the truth about who his mother is?’ Isabella probed.
Beatriz held up her hands, palm out. ‘No, not now, not ever. Even when I’m gone. Promise me you will never tell Eduardo, when I pass away.’
‘I promise,’ Isabella made the promise, assuaging her conscience that it was not a lie. She could not tell Eduardo something he already knew. ‘May I ask why, Beatriz? Wouldn’t you like him to know you are his Madre?’
Beatriz’s lower lip trembled. ‘Of course I would, more than anything, but if I told him now it would be such a waste and he would want to know why I had kept it from him for so long,’ she said brokenly.
‘But why did you?’ Isabella handed her a tissue.
‘Because I did not want him to be ashamed of me,’ she cried. ‘I did not want him to think that I was an easy girl and he was un bastardo!’
‘But people don’t think like that now, Beatriz. Nowadays they have the babies first and the wedding afterwards,’ Isabella said with an attempt at humour.
‘It wasn’t like that then and all my life I have been ashamed. I won’t have him feel shamed,’ Beatriz said firmly. ‘So not a word!’
‘OK,’ agreed her sister as a wave of guilt enveloped her. Perhaps she should have said nothing, let sleeping dogs lie. Now it was too late. Eduardo knew the truth; Isabella could only hope that he would never confront his real mother with it.
Sally-Ann walked into her new penthouse. She’d been in it any time her holidays coincided with Anna’s so she knew what it was like. Nothing personal remained of Anna’s and Austen’s. Anna had treated her daughters and their families to a week’s holiday at Easter and they had packed up all the personal items that Anna had requested and brought them home.
Orange Blossom Days Page 37
