Public Marriage, Private Secrets

by Helen Bianchin

  ‘Sleep, querida,’ Raúl directed huskily.

  His voice was the last thing she recalled, and when she woke in the morning his side of the bed was empty. She reached out a hand and found the sheets cool to her touch.

  There was no sound of the shower running in the en suite bathroom, and it was then she remembered he had business to deal with in Madrid. A quick check of the time revealed it was after eight, which meant he was probably at the airport, if not already in the city.

  The day loomed ahead—one which she intended to devote entirely to Teresa who, if she felt sufficiently well enough, might appreciate a drive…perhaps even a pause for some light refreshment.

  With that thought in mind, Gianna slid from the bed, indulged in a leisurely shower, then dressed in casual white cotton trousers, added a colourful knit top, and ran lightly downstairs.

  ‘My dear, let’s venture out a little this morning,’ Teresa suggested as they lingered over coffee. ‘I rested well yesterday and enjoyed a good night’s sleep.’

  ‘I’m in,’ Gianna assured her with a warm smile. ‘Where would you like to go?’

  ‘Jardines de Alfàbia,’ Teresa enthused. ‘I’m particularly fond of the Moorish gardens surrounding the old manor house. The house itself is set amid lemon groves, and there are splendid beds of roses. A garden lover’s idea of heaven.’

  Miguel drove them north of Palma, less than twenty kilometres distant, and Gianna experienced a sense of awe as she wandered the footpaths shaded by pergolas, with streams and a number of softly murmuring fountains. A stately avenue of plane trees led to the house—formerly a residence of the Mallorcan kings, Teresa informed her, according to history.

  However, it was the gardens themselves, the many beds of beautiful roses, which caused the breath to catch in her throat.

  ‘Splendid, are they not?’

  Perfect blooms, emerging buds, provided a riot of colour.

  ‘It’s so peaceful here,’ Gianna offered. ‘Serene. An idyllic place for writers, poets, painters to meditate and create.’

  ‘Not during the tourist season,’ Teresa began with a faint smile. ‘But for now, at this time of day, it is lovely. I like to come here to be inspired, and to be reminded life continues and evolves.’ She spared Gianna a look that held mild humour. ‘Occasionally I ask Miguel to walk with me and we discuss…’ She shook her head. ‘No, we argue, politely of course, about what we shall introduce with the new planting. It occasionally becomes a lively debate.’

  ‘Which you invariably win,’ Gianna teased, and Teresa laughed.

  ‘Not always. But then, life would be very dull without a certain conflict of interest, don’t you think?’

  ‘I can’t imagine anyone wanting to argue with you.’

  ‘Raúl chooses to call it a reminder of wisdom whenever we clash, which is rare. He is very patient with me.’

  They wandered for a while, pausing here and there to admire one of the many fountains, an ivy-clad wall, a large plane tree which offered shade.

  There was time to pause for light refreshments before returning to where Miguel waited with the car. It had been a pleasant sojourn, one which had obviously delighted Teresa.

  Following lunch, Gianna retreated to her suite, while Teresa rested, and checked her laptop, read the latest update Annaliese had sent via e-mail and switched her mindset to business. Sales were steady, and most of the ordered stock had arrived on time, with the exception of a few items held up by Customs. Gianna frowned, then keyed in a response with who to call. The delay was irregular. So, too, was the request by the clerk for Gianna to deal with it personally. For some reason it appeared items addressed to Bellissima were being withheld from clearance.

  Very frustrating, given the client was anxiously waiting for the package. Annaliese’s polite insistence that she was relieving manageress during the owner’s absence didn’t appear to carry much weight.

  Which meant Gianna would need reference numbers, dates, in order to make a personal call. With the time difference, there was no chance Annaliese could access the information needed until she reached the boutique several hours from now.

  It was perhaps as well it was only a matter of days before she’d be back on the Gold Coast and available to keep a vigilant eye on business.

  Apropos of which, she should consider shopping for a few gifts to take back for Ben, Eloise and the children. Not forgetting Annaliese, who was doing a sterling job with Bellissima in her absence.

  While most of the boutiques would be closed, the large department stores in Palma remained open. A few hours was all she’d require, and she went downstairs in search of Elena, who in turn contacted Miguel’s cellphone, and arrangements were made to leave within half an hour.

  A change of clothes, her hair pulled back in a small pony tail, a scarf, sunglasses, carry-bag, wallet and cellphone and she was good to go.

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ Gianna assured Miguel as he pulled in to a parking bay. ‘I’ll call you in about two hours, OK?’

  ‘Not OK. I will accompany you. Señor Raúl’s instructions.’

  She looked at him carefully. ‘Do you really want to traipse around a department store?’

  ‘It is my job.’

  To argue seemed pointless, and she waited while he secured permanent parking, then, with Miguel at her side, she searched for appropriate gifts. A much-favoured perfume for Eloise, a pictorial book on Inca history for Ben. The children scored tees and books, while it took a little longer to find something for Annaliese. Bracelets, thin, several of them in multi-colours…perfect.

  An hour and a half later Gianna declared she was done…only to pause at a display counter with crystal, jade and rose quartz ornaments. Delicate, exquisitely carved miniatures. But it was the crystal rose which drew her attention. It shot prisms of light as it moved on an individual turntable, and she didn’t hesitate.

  It was the perfect gift for Teresa, and she listened to the salesperson’s patter about the quality and workmanship, even down to the pearl of dew on one of the leaves.

  Satisfied, she accompanied Miguel to the car, and when they reached the villa she thanked him before running lightly upstairs to her suite, where she changed into a bikini, filched a towel, then sought the pool.

  A light breeze teased the air as the sun sat high in a cloudless sky, revealing the panoramic vista beyond, with colourful stucco villas bearing multi-coloured terracotta roof tiles, and exotic flora and fauna down to the distant cerulean blue ocean.

  With care she dived into the sparkling water and stroked several laps, before resting her arms against the pool’s tiled lip as she took time to appreciate the peaceful serenity apparent, the relaxed atmosphere.

  So why did the thought of leaving cause a pang of…what? Surely not regret? She couldn’t want to stay. It wasn’t only not possible…it held disastrous consequences to her emotional heart.

  Because nothing from the past had been resolved…not at the time, nor could it be now.

  Why not? a rational inner voice queried.

  She’d taken on board the words of a vindictive ex-lover prepared to use any means to reach an ultimate goal. Listened to Sierra, and discounted Raúl’s explanation because the incident had occurred at a time when she was an emotional mess, and Sierra’s version had appeared more plausible?

  But…what if Raúl’s explanation had been the right one?

  Why hadn’t she stayed to check it out for herself instead of escaping to the other side of the world and the only familiar sanctuary she’d imagined she had?

  The benefit of hindsight could be a mixed blessing, she perceived ruefully, for it forced her to choose between accepting the status quo…or beginning a search for the irrefutable truth.

  With Raúl in Madrid on business, and Teresa resting, it was an ideal opportunity to make some investigative enquiries as to what had really happened almost three years ago.

  She could, she ruminated, leave it be.

  But, dammit, she’d reached a poi
nt where she needed whatever proof she could unearth in order to resolve the incident conclusively…irrespective of the result.

  Gianna had no problem recalling the name of the hotel where Raúl had stayed in Rio, for it had been indelibly imprinted in her mind from the onset together with the dates.

  Who could forget the momentous event of a husband’s infidelity? The date, time and place where it took place?

  Purportedly, she allowed, surprised she could even consider the distinction.

  As a precaution she used her cellphone instead of the villa’s landline, and with a list of written questions she made the first call.

  By day’s end she’d made several connections, researched media archives online…and accumulated sufficient information to reach some interesting…make that intriguing conclusions.

  Enough, she determined, to confront Sierra.

  It was just a matter of where and when…preferably in private.

  Almost as if fate played a helpful hand, there was a phone call from Teresa’s friend, Adriana, reminding Teresa of an invitation to a fashion showing the following afternoon in order to raise funds for terminally ill children. The event would begin with lunch.

  Teresa seemed pale when she joined Gianna for dinner, and ate little. And although she dismissed feeling unwell she nevertheless begged tiredness soon after dinner, and at the nurse’s bidding excused herself and retired for the evening.

  Gianna opted to view a movie on DVD, and when the credits had rolled she accessed her laptop, caught up on a few e-mails, checked the data Annaliese had sent through, then made ready for bed.

  She told herself she enjoyed the solitude and knew she lied. For all it had taken was a few nights of Raúl sharing her bed for her to miss his presence.

  Admit it…she enjoyed having his hands on her body, his mouth taking erotic liberties that made her forget everything except him and what he could make her feel.

  What a conundrum…to want, but not accept she wanted or needed him. Except it was a truth she had to face—especially now, when she’d uncovered proof of Sierra’s lies.

  The question of what she was going to do with that proof, and how she intended to resolve the situation, conjured up various scenarios which played in her mind until sleep tipped her into a dream-like state, where the past merged with the present, providing stumbling blocks she fought hard to circumvent.

  It was late when Raúl entered the villa after a tense day of negotiations, ending with his ultimatum that could swing the deal for or against the Velez-Saldaña conglomerate. It was a deal he wanted but on his terms.

  He could have stayed in Madrid overnight. Common sense had dictated it to be a sensible option. Except he’d called his pilot and directed him to file a flight plan to Mallorca.

  The reason was the sleeping form of his wife, curled beneath the bedcovers, blissfully unaware of his presence.

  He shed his clothes, took a leisurely shower, then, towelled dry, he crossed to the bed and carefully slid in beside her.

  She didn’t stir as he gently gathered her close, and he pressed his lips to the sweet curve of her neck, then closed his eyes and attempted to sleep.

  Gianna woke next morning as Raúl was in the process of fastening buttons on his business shirt.

  His eyes gleamed with a degree of humour as he met her slightly bemused look. ‘You slept like an angel.’

  ‘Must have,’ she acknowledged as she reached for her robe. ‘I didn’t even know you were here.’

  ‘Is that a complaint because I didn’t wake you?’

  Her response was swift…too swift. ‘No, of course not.’

  A husky laugh escaped his throat as he crossed to her side and closed his mouth over her own. When he lifted his head she caught the wicked gleam in his eyes.

  ‘Tonight, mi mujer.’

  ‘You’re returning to Madrid today?’

  ‘Sí.’

  She opened her mouth to ask why he hadn’t stayed in his apartment, only to close it again as he touched a light finger to her lips.

  ‘A lonely bed, querida, when I can be here with you through the night?’

  Oh, my. A painful ache settled in the region of her heart. In a few more days her two-week sojourn here would conclude, and she’d board a flight out of Madrid for home.

  Except the lines had become blurred, and she was no longer sure where home existed.

  A week ago, it had unquestionably been Australia.

  Now… Well, now it would be a wrench to leave Mallorca, Spain, and everything they meant to her. And Raúl… Dear God. Leaving him would be the hardest thing she’d ever do.

  She became conscious of his studied gaze, and she curved her lips to form a winsome smile. ‘Should I be flattered?’

  He made an indistinguishable sound in his throat and reached for her, his mouth a seductive force as he took her own in a kiss that captured her soul and branded it his own.

  Earth-shattering, primitive and totally shameless.

  Her entire body seemed to coalesce as she gave herself up to him, for everything faded and became meaningless. There was only him, and electrifying passion.

  She was barely conscious of him dispensing with her sleep tank until he shaped her breast and sought the tender peak with skilled fingers.

  Sensation arrowed through her body, and a silent groan caught in her throat as he lifted her high and replaced his fingers with his mouth.

  More, she needed more, and she gave an audible moan of distress as he gentled his touch, then relinquished it as he lowered her to her feet.

  For a moment she was incapable of speech, and her eyes widened measurably as he cradled her face.

  ‘Tonight, querida.’

  She watched in mesmerised silence as he released her before tending to the buttons on his shirt, then he fixed his tie and shrugged into his suit jacket.

  Gianna found her voice as he turned towards the door.

  ‘Travel carefully.’

  Raúl cast her a dark musing look over his shoulder. ‘Always.’

  Then he was gone, and she stood transfixed for several long seconds, still lost in an emotional vortex, until common sense exerted itself.

  She needed to shower, dress, join Teresa for a leisurely breakfast, and then spend time with her.

  Not long after that it would be time to get ready to attend the charity fashion show in Teresa’s stead.

  Gianna chose a chic fitted black lace dress with three-quarter sleeves and a scalloped hemline that reached just below her knees. The neckline showed just the right amount of cleavage.

  Black stilettos, a minimum of jewellery, and understated make-up with emphasis on her eyes completed the look, and she caught up a small red clutch, checked the contents, then made her way downstairs to the foyer, where Miguel waited to drive her to the venue in Camp de Mar, near the picturesque port of Andratx.

  The mansion was large, luxurious, and a testament to the host’s extreme wealth. No expense had been spared with the floral decorations—exotic displays which had to have cost a fortune.

  Adriana came forward with a genuine smile as Gianna entered the foyer.

  ‘My dear, so good of you to come. I am sorry to hear Teresa is not having the best day. Let’s go into the lounge and I’ll introduce you to the guests.’

  Superb champagne was offered as they mingled together, and while there were some men present, the majority of attendees were women…each of whom was exquisitely attired, perfectly coiffed and cosmetically beautiful.

  A surreptitious glance was all it took to determine Sierra was not among them.

  There were a few guests she’d met before, some of whom had been present at Adriana’s home.

  A certain competitiveness existed among the social elite…the fashionistas who flew to Paris and Milan each season to buy their clothing and shoes from top designer houses, flashing black Amex cards gifted by their wealthy husbands and lovers.

  Except when it came to supporting worthy charitable causes they did so
with unstinting generosity.

  It was late afternoon when their hostess requested the guests’ presence in the adjoining ballroom, set up with a professional runway and numerous tables precisely placed, with chairs sheathed in white linen caught at the back with an elaborate bow.

  Gianna was pleased to discover she was sharing a table with Adriana, together with a pleasant woman whose name temporarily escaped her.

  ‘Luisa,’ was offered with a mischievous smile. ‘We have met before, in Madrid, at a function you attended with your husband.’

  ‘Of course.’

  An impish gleam lightened her eyes. ‘I’ve had a little work done, changed my hair colour, and now wear contacts.’

  Gianna couldn’t help but return the smile. ‘You’d never know.’

  ‘New husband, new image.’

  Waitstaff began serving wine, together with platters holding a sumptuous selection of finger food designed to tempt the most discerning palate.

  The hostess presented a short speech lauding the charity and informing them what funds were needed to add a wing to an existing facility.

  Teresa had gifted a certified cheque as a donation, which Gianna had handed the hostess on arrival, and now she focused her attention on the runway as a DJ began spinning discs.

  The first selection featured resort wear, and five models paraded the runway with practised flair.

  It was during the second selection that she felt a light touch to her arm, and she turned slightly as Adriana warned quietly, ‘Sierra has chosen to make her entrance.’

  Flamboyant in red stiletto heels, flashing jewellery, and appearing cosmetically perfect, Sierra fluttered a hand in general greeting and made her way to the one remaining vacant seat at an adjoining table.

  Gianna felt her stomach clench a little, and dismissed it as nervous tension. She’d coveted the opportunity for a confrontation, and now all she had to do was initiate it. Verbal swords…when? After coffee, perhaps?

  The confrontation occurred when Gianna elected to use one of the guest powder rooms to freshen up. She was in the midst of applying lipstick when the door opened and Sierra sauntered across the room to pause at her side.