He glanced at his watch; in another hour or so he’d be taking Isabella to Malaga airport for her flight to New York. He would have the return journey to make more calls and absorb the enormity of his loss, financial and other. His eyes darkened remembering his encounter with Jutta. Had that been a ploy to lull him into a false sense of security? Had she been that calculating? What a fool he was. An absolute and complete fool. There were probably more of his father’s genes in him than he cared to know.
‘What’s wrong with you, Eduardo?’ Isabella asked quietly, as he drove them along the motorway, east towards Malaga, two hours later.
‘Why do you ask me that?’ he answered, surprised by her perception.
‘I know when someone is putting on a front. I did it long enough when my marriage to Santiago was breaking down.’ She turned and smiled at him. ‘You’re here, physically, but mentally you’re elsewhere, and wherever you are it’s a dark place.’
‘Madre,’ – he used the word out of habit, but to his surprise he realized that despite all that had been revealed to him, he still considered Isabella to be his mother.
‘Madre,’ he repeated slowly. ‘Mama, can I tell you things that I can never tell anyone else and that I wish no one else to know?’
‘Of course, mi querido, I would be honoured to be your confidant,’ Isabella said warmly.
And so between Calahonda and Malaga airport Eduardo broke the habit of a lifetime and revealed his innermost secrets to the woman he called mother. Isabella listened quietly, interjecting a pertinent comment here and there, and when he’d finished the whole sorry saga, she said, ‘A secret shared is no longer a secret, so let it go and don’t dwell on it. Move forward and deal with your financial losses.’ She reached across and stroked his arm. ‘Tell Consuela about the penthouse,’ Isabella advised. ‘Share that with her, because she will only worry, knowing that you are worried about something. Consuela loves you, Eduardo. She’s a very special person. Share your life and your joys and your fears with her. Forget about that other woman. We all make foolish mistakes at some time in our lives. Even you,’ she teased gently and he laughed and felt unbelievably unburdened.
‘Gracias,’ he said, ‘for listening and understanding and for not judging me.’
‘That’s what mothers do, Eduardo, you will always be my beloved son. That will never change for me.’
‘Thank you, Mama,’ he said with heartfelt gratitude, as the knots of bitterness he’d carried all his life at her perceived desertion of him untangled and drifted away, leaving Eduardo experiencing an unexpected sense of liberation, feeling more loved than he’d ever felt in his entire life, despite the unholy mess he was now mired in.
EPILOGUE
Anna closed her eyes and listened to the priest perform the anniversary Mass for Austen, in the little peaceful church of San José. The scents of polish, candle wax and jasmine intermingled and the rays of the sun diffused into prisms of golds, reds, blues and greens through the stained-glass window. The day she’d dreaded for so long was finally here. Strange though it was, in the previous year she’d been able to think, Austen and I were doing such and such on this date or the other, and she would draw those memories to herself and relive them. It had been a comfort of sorts. That last link was gone now. She’d spent a year without her beloved husband. There would be no more ‘this time last year’. It was time to move on.
She glanced at her daughters beside her, each lost in their own world as they stared ahead in the dim, cool light. She would return to Ireland with them the following day and begin this new chapter of her life. And she would make sure to take time for herself and not make the mistake she’d made of giving all of herself to them, and her grandchildren, as she had in the past.
She’d been touched to see Sally-Ann and Cal in the pew behind them, and Consuela in a seat opposite and Constanza Torres behind her. People were kind, she reflected gratefully, as the priest raised his hand in a final blessing.
Sally-Ann and Cal had left after communion as Cal had a business meeting he’d had to attend in Marbella. Constanza pressed a Mass card and a candle in her hand. ‘You are in my prayers, Anna,’ she said simply and kissed her cheek.
‘Thank you, Constanza. So kind of you to come,’ Anna murmured, squeezing her hand. Several other neighbours and acquaintances came to pay their condolences and eventually they drifted away and the church grew still.
Anna sat in the peaceful silence, letting thoughts drift past as Chloe and Tara lit candles for Austen.
‘Señora MacDonald, I just wanted to wish you every blessing in your life,’ Consuela De La Fuente said softly, stepping into the pew to greet her.
‘Oh please, call me Anna,’ she urged. ‘And thank you so much for coming today, I’m very touched by your kindness.’
‘Gracias, Anna. You must call me Consuela. I just wanted you to know that I have sent you an email with the names of the hotels in France. I feel the Languedoc is a place you would find healing,’ she said earnestly.
‘Thank you, I think I’ll take your advice, Consuela. The memories in Spain are too sad now. It’s time to find somewhere new.’
‘Yes, life is a journey with many twists and turns. May your new path be peaceful, Anna. I’ll keep you in my prayers.’
That evening, after she’d dined with her daughters, Anna had gone for a walk, alone, on the beach, and sat on a wooden bench and gazed unseeingly out over the little cove, where she’d found a measure of peace in the last few weeks.
Her phone rang, breaking the silence, and she saw Sally-Ann’s name. Sally-Ann was insisting upon driving them to the airport the following morning and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Perhaps there was a problem. ‘Hi,’ she answered, walking down to the water’s edge.
‘Y’all will never guess what’s happened!’ Sally-Ann said breathlessly.
‘What?’ Anna laughed, amused at her friend’s sense of drama.
‘Jutta and the husband have ripped off a load of folk, including some of us in La Joya! And it looks like they’ve gone on the lam. She cleaned out her client account and left her staff high and dry without being paid, and he owes money all over the place. Cal’s lost about fifty thou! That’s why he had to go to the meeting today. Can y’all believe it?’ Sally-Ann was still gobsmacked.
‘You’re joking me? I don’t believe it. Jutta! Miss High and Mighty herself?’ Anna was astounded.
‘Believe it, then. All the people in La Joya, including moi, that have paid our yearly fees to her, have been dang well defrauded by Miss Holier-Than-Thou! Some folk even had their tax monies taken as well as their fees, because doing tax returns, and paying them for clients, was one of the services she provided.’
‘She is the last person in the world I would have expected to do something like that. You never know, do you!’ said Anna in disbelief.
‘Imagine if they all knew what I’d seen her up to with El Presidente,’ Sally-Ann exclaimed. ‘Behind that cool exterior there’s one wild gal!’
‘Poor Consuela. I hope she never finds out about that,’ Anna murmured.
‘Well she won’t hear it from these lips. So unless anyone else saw them, and I really wouldn’t think so, their sordid little secret is safe with me. I’ll see y’all around nine-thirty tomorrow morning.’
‘Thanks, Sally-Ann, you’re a pal,’ Anna said gratefully.
‘And so are you,’ said the Texan before hanging up.
Her friendship with Sally-Ann was one of the gifts she would take from her time in Spain, Anna thought as she packed her clothes in the big blue case she used to share with Austen. The familiar stabbing ache battered her heart but she carried on until everything was neatly stashed away, apart from her nightie, toilet bag and what she was wearing the following day.
She recalled Consuela’s words about the twists and turns on the path of life and remembered that the Spanish woman had sent her an email. She picked up her iPad and went and sat out on the deck chair on her balcony.
Sh
e read the descriptions of the hotels in Carcassonne, and Lourdes, and Montségur and the Midi that Consuela had so thoughtfully provided, and followed some of the links that gave a history of the Cathar country. It was fascinating. She would go to France, for her next holiday, Anna decided. That was where her journey would lead next.
‘I have taken the liberty of choosing a card for you, from my Mary Magdalene pack. I asked her that you be given the message you need right now and this is what came for you from the Magdalene’s own card. I hope you don’t mind,’ Consuela had added at the end of her email.
‘How thoughtful,’ Anna murmured, intrigued. What would be her message? She scrolled down along the email and read:
MAGDALENE
Go forth and be true to yourself
Dare to be different
To make mistakes
Create, for it is in creation that you exist
In a world full of dreams that stem from your heart
In oneness, love and hatred
Wonder and awe, softness and pain, joy and light.
In the stillness the unknown awaits
A void wanting to be filled
Step into it with courage and strength
Like a budding rose reaching for the light
Love will lead you to greener pastures
Keep your pockets full of dreams
For life is a test of faith.
Allow your light to shine
There is no beginning or end,
There is only love!
Tears came to Anna’s eyes and she wept for all that she’d lost. And yet she knew that Austen would never truly leave her. He was all around her in every sweet memory that she held dear in her heart. Memories she would keep as long as she lived, and for all eternity.
‘It’s nice to have the apartment to ourselves again,’ Consuela remarked, handing her husband a glass of dry sherry and settling down with her glass of red wine. They were sitting on their sofa, with the balcony doors open, listening to the rain hammer down on the ground outside. Growls of thunder rumbled out to sea and lightning zigzagged on the horizon. Consuela was grateful for the turn in the weather. The thunderstorms would cool and clear the clammy air. She was waiting for their chicken casserole to finish cooking and had suggested a pre-dinner drink.
‘It is nice, but Beatriz enjoyed herself and so did my mother,’ Eduardo said. It was a week since the AGM; he’d taken Beatriz home on the AVE and had come back to spend the final few days of his holidays with his wife.
‘That year went by very fast,’ Consuela observed, enjoying the tangy red.
‘Yes, this time two years ago we were having a tiff and you were staying with Catalina,’ he reminded her with a smile.
‘Ah yes, the start of my pause from men,’ Consuela said with a twinkle. ‘I’ve settled down more, lately, have I not?’
‘You have,’ he agreed, ‘and as always you’re very kind to me and most hospitable to my family. I very much appreciate it,’ he said gravely.
‘Eduardo, mi esposo, you are troubled these last few days, I know by you, and by the way you’re behaving,’ she said calmly. ‘Is it something that you can tell me about?’
‘Am I so easy to read?’ he asked, remembering his conversation with Isabella and how she’d known that he was preoccupied.
‘When you live with someone you get to know their humours and ways very well. I always know when you’re troubled. I’m your wife,’ she added. ‘I hear you tossing and turning at night as you’ve done all this week.’
‘You won’t like what I have to tell you,’ he said slowly. ‘I’ve been very foolish.’
‘Tell me,’ she invited, moving to sit closer to him.
He took her hand in his. ‘I wanted it to be a surprise for you and Beatriz,’ he began. ‘An even bigger surprise than this apartment was.’
‘And what happened?’ Consuela looked at him, her brown eyes shaded with concern. Eduardo took a deep breath and for the second time he told one of the women in his life of a mistake he’d made. He only told of the one; the other, the night of shame with Jutta, Consuela would never know about. He wouldn’t hurt the woman who loved him and whom he’d taken so much for granted.
‘Dios,’ Consuela exclaimed, stunned. She stared at her husband, wondering how he, of all people could have behaved so recklessly. So much of their savings lost, and a mortgage to pay at this stage of their lives.
‘Lo siento,’ he muttered, turning away from his wife, who stood up, aghast, trying to absorb what he’d just told her.
Sorry, thought Consuela furiously. Was that the best he could do? What good was ‘sorry’?
‘Why?’ she demanded, bewildered. ‘Why?’
‘I wanted to surprise you,’ he said simply.
‘Oh you have, Eduardo,’ she retorted bitterly. ‘A great surprise. I need to be by myself for a while.’ She walked out of the lounge to Beatriz’s bedroom and sat on the bed. Why was this happening? She shook her head. Of course she knew. She hadn’t spent the past two years delving deep into metaphysics not to know that this was a life lesson, a spiritual growth opportunity for her husband and herself.
Why did his lessons have to impact so greatly on her? she thought petulantly, listening to the great roars of thunder rending the skies. Couldn’t he have his own ‘growth’ opportunities and leave her out of them? She’d enough of her own to cope with.
Consuela gave a wry smile. It didn’t work like that, she knew. She was being disingenuous. It was now, in this time of upheaval, that her greatest test would be. Had she absorbed any of the knowledge she’d learned? Now was the time to truly put it into practice. She could sink into old ways and old patterns of thought and behaviour, or not. The choice was hers.
But all that hard-earned money, scammed, because Eduardo wanted to surprise her! Consuela knew better than that. Eduardo hadn’t been completely honest. She knew her husband well. He’d wanted to own a penthouse so he could lord it around La Joya, and quietly boast about it in Madrid. And he wanted to impress Beatriz. It was all about his complicated relationship with his aunt. Who was the teacher and who was the pupil, in their complex waltz?
Consuela took a deep breath and stood up. Eduardo was where she’d left him, slumped despondently on the sofa, his face grey, and creased with anxiety.
‘You know,’ she said, sitting down beside him, ‘I have learned much on this journey of discovery that I’ve begun, and one of the things I’ve come to know is that experiences, such as this, happen for a reason. There are lessons we’ve come back to learn and sometimes what can seem the worst thing to happen to us can actually turn out to be the best. This is a turning point for you, Eduardo. You’ve been brought to your knees because the Universe is trying to get your attention. Listen to what life is telling you.’
‘That I’m a fool and I don’t deserve a wife like you, is it?’ he said dejectedly.
‘Don’t say that. In time you’ll know what this is all about. We can sell this apartment to help pay off the debt, or we can cash in some investments or shares,’ she suggested. ‘We have options, fortunately. Strange, I never liked that Jutta woman. She was always so sure of herself. Arrogant even. She’s on her journey too. There can be no happiness for her, stealing from people. I pity her.’
‘Really! Pity? I hate her,’ exploded Eduardo.
‘Don’t hate, it only comes back to you, and damages you, not the person it’s directed at. At the end of the day we’re all from the one Source no matter who we are, sinner or saint,’ Consuela sighed, getting up to go out to the kitchen to take their meal out of the oven.
He’d expected anger, shock, tears even, not this calm, almost fatalistic acceptance of their new predicament. He could see Consuela moving around the kitchen, surprisingly composed after her initial outburst.
Isabella, and now, Consuela had surprised him by their reactions to his tales of woe. Did women know something that men did not? Eduardo pondered. Was this the Divine Feminine energy Consuela and Catalin
a were always talking about together? It was a balm to torment if so. Perhaps he should read some of those books his wife read and expand his outlook somewhat. It was certainly working for Consuela.
Eduardo felt weary in every bone but at least his secrets were no longer secrets, as Isabella had pointed out earlier. He would sleep better tonight than he had for the past week, having made part confession to his wife. For the first time since Jutta had betrayed him, he felt like eating. The casserole that Consuela was dishing out smelled delicious. He refilled her glass, and hesitated before filling his own sherry glass up. He didn’t want to turn into a drinker but he’d been through a lot this week. One extra glass of sherry wouldn’t kill him or turn him into an alcoholic.
How lucky he was that his wife had not abandoned him to deal with his catastrophe alone. He’d made one exceptionally good decision in his life and that was marrying Consuela. Although he’d never realized it until now, he had three remarkable women in his life. That had to count for something.
Consuela flavoured the casserole with just the amount of salt and pepper that her husband liked. Now that he’d unburdened himself to her he might be able to enjoy his meal instead of picking at his food as he had for the past week. She was relieved she knew what was at the root of his agitation. She wouldn’t have to drag it out of him and endure his moody silences.
Eduardo had chosen a hard lesson to learn. He would come to realize that money was merely energy to be used for good or bad, and that material possessions didn’t matter in the long run. He’d started to change although he didn’t realize it, she reflected, ladling pieces of tender chicken on his plate. The old Eduardo would never have told her what had happened, and the old Eduardo would certainly never have said ‘I’m a fool and I don’t deserve a wife like you.’ The learning of humility was never easy, and that was his first lesson. Others would come thick and fast. In the words of that famous old Doris Day song that she’d come to hold as her mantra, ‘Que sera, sera’. What will be, will be. She wouldn’t abandon her husband in his hour of need, but neither would she give up her own voyage of discovery, wherever it would lead her, Consuela promised herself. Who knew if they would stay together or go their separate ways; that was a decision for the future. Que sera, sera indeed.
Orange Blossom Days Page 41
