Their luggage came down the chute just as he ended the call. He explained the change in plans to Ana and minutes later they exited the airport. A well-dressed young man with a closely trimmed beard and chauffeur’s cap was standing curbside with the aforementioned sign. Ben waved, and the man quickly came over to help with the bags. They settled into the comfortable back seat and put themselves in the driver’s hands. Soon they were leaving Málaga behind and traveling into more rural surroundings. The altitude was changing gradually, as was the terrain. Grasslands with grazing cattle soon gave way to almond orchards, and then rows of grape vines, heavy with ripening fruit. The miles passed with little conversation and a lot of looking out windows until the startling appearance of an extensive outcropping of rocks that seemed to reach for the sky.
They finally came to the mountain road leading to Ronda, where a ridge of low-hanging clouds had obscured the sheer cliffs of the spectacular El Tajo gorge. Perched on a plateau above, cathedral spires glistened in the sunlight, and a sea of tile roofed buildings stood silhouetted against a backdrop of vivid blue. Visibility was low as the car made its way, the driver carefully navigating the steep curvy road. As they ascended into the cloud it began to break apart, tufts of white scudding across the sky on the wind. Then the town appeared, bright and beckoning.
The private car made its way through the streets of Ronda’s old town then slowed and stopped in front of the entrance to Hotel Montelirio. A young valet hurried to open the car door for Ana, while the driver retrieved their bags from the trunk and placed them on the sidewalk. Ben dug out his wallet and prepared to tip the valet, who gestured ‘no’ and asked politely in Spanish for them to follow him inside. He also intended to tip the driver, but he declined, saying that it had been taken care of. They thanked him and he drove away. They stood there for a moment, taking in the town’s skyline, then went inside.
The first thing Ana noticed was an arched portal leading to another part of the hotel. It was framed in shades of blue leaded glass. An eclectic assortment of paintings graced the walls, and she could see comfortable seating areas tucked in corners and bouquets of fresh flowers placed just right. Once they had handed over their passports and signed the register, the concierge gave Ben two key cards and a pamphlet about the seventeenth century palace that now housed the hotel. The valet motioned them to follow him and they proceeded up a curved staircase to the second floor. Ana found the surroundings authentic and charming. The young man led them down a corridor made bright by walls painted a soft yellow ochre. At intervals along the way small wooden tables held object d’art and the occasional vase of roses.
He asked Ben for the key, unlocked the door, and ushered them inside before following with the bags. A generous tip sent him out of the room smiling. As was her habit, Ana focused on each detail as she walked around the room. The old hardwood floors were highly polished, and a massive, intricately carved dark wood armoire dominated the room. On a small round table, a basket filled with cheeses, snacks and a bottle of wine welcomed new guests. The half-vaulted ceiling was trimmed with wooden beams, and at the lowest angle was an attached canopy suspended over the large bed. French doors opened onto a tiny terrace from which could be seen a panoramic view of the rolling green landscape and seemingly bottomless gorge of the Guadalevín River.
The room was pristine to the tiniest detail and invited comfort and relaxation. However, relaxation was the last thing on Ben’s mind. As soon as the boy had closed the door, Ben locked the deadbolt. His eyes fixed on Ana, who was standing at the French doors looking at the view. He threw his wallet and sunglasses into a chair and softly called her name. She turned to face him, crossed her arms and cocked her head slightly. A sexy yet somehow self-conscious expression washed over her face. Ben’s thoughts since having left Pamplona were dominated by the realization that he was finally free to express what he felt. He hoped it was the same for Ana. Now there would be no circumstances or distractions forcing them to subdue that mutual ardor. Nothing could keep them apart.
Ben walked toward her and said, “I think it’s time to toss out that ‘unrequited lust rulebook’ and just let things happen. What do you think?”
“There couldn’t be a more perfect place to let things happen. I wonder what it will be like to be comfortable, warm and dry, and on an actual bed.”
Her comment brought a smile to Ben’s face and he opened his arms to her. She approached, and he held her tightly for a moment before letting a kiss convey his intentions. Ana returned his passion as the first kiss blended into another, then another, while he pulled her closer and closer to the bed. Ben turned away for a moment and in one motion yanked back the bedding. He pulled off his shirt, tossed it aside and unsnapped the top of his jeans. At the sight of him, her heart raced, and deep in the pit of her belly the pressure of arousal made its presence known. Ben’s arm slid down, his open hand against her lower back, bringing her firmly against him. His desire was evident and aroused her further.
Ben kissed her again and whispered, “Okay if I undress you?”
“Yes, but I could do it faster.”
Her seductive tone fed his sense of urgency. He backed away slightly and took her by the shoulders. “You should know that after all this waiting I’m likely to just ravish you.”
“Mmm… that sounds fine to me. I’m past waiting too.”
“But I can promise you long leisurely afternoons of making love and shutting out the world… at least for as long as you want me.”
“Seriously?” Ana said, admonishing him for the remark.
“Well, what I want is time to pleasure and memorize every inch of you.”
Ben’s words sent a shiver through her body. Ana kicked off her sandals and began to pull off her shirt. He stepped in to help by unfastening her jeans then sliding them down and off. When she was standing before him in only bra and panties, he told her to stop, that he wanted to remove the rest. Still looking directly into her eyes, he reached around and unhooked the bit of lace that clung to her breasts, letting it fall to the floor before quickly stripping off the panties; in his haste tearing them slightly. It was his first look at her nude, and she was everything he had imagined.
Ana climbed onto the bed, but stayed on her knees, legs slightly apart. She looked straight at him from under dark lashes, and with one finger she motioned him to join her. Ana’s eagerness and provocative expression grabbed Ben where he could feel it most. He climbed onto the bed, put his arms around her and eased her down onto the mattress. She felt the weight of his body against her chest as he once again began to devour her with demanding kisses. The moment yearned for was now a reality.
She noticed his hand sliding up her inner thigh and opened her legs slightly, inviting him to explore. Ben’s touch took her breath away. Ana adopted the rhythm of his movements until she was consumed by the pleasure. Without a word Ben climbed onto her and noticed the flush of pink on her cheeks and chest. This excited him further and he surrendered to his hunger, thrusting forward, entering her more forcefully than he could have predicted. Ana let out a gasp as the sensations washed over her. To Ben her body was inviting, intoxicating, and the sexiness of her sounds as he moved drove him to an explosive release. He collapsed between Ana’s legs, satisfied and spent.
Ana wrapped her thighs around his back and held on as tightly as she could. “Stay—don’t move. I love having you this close.”
He obeyed but said nothing, just continued to wait for his heart rate to slow and breath return to normal. The balcony’s French doors had been left slightly ajar, admitting a welcome cooling breeze. It was late afternoon, and muted streaks of sunlight cast a trail across the dark wood floor and onto the rumpled bed. Twilight was hours away, but if they stayed, eventually they would be cloaked in darkness, still listening to the faint sound of guitars coming from somewhere in the hotel. Ana finally had to shift under his weight, and he rolled to one side. With their arms still entwined she straightened the leg closest to him, draping the ot
her over his waist.
Once they had settled on the pillows facing each other, he gazed directly into her eyes and said in a near whisper, “Baby, for me that was worth the wait.”
“Perfection,” she said, uttering a sigh of satisfaction, followed by a smile.
Lying there quietly, wrapped together, neither interested in moving, a veil of serenity settled over Ana. Ben shifted slightly and rested his head against Ana’s chest, his ear touching the spot where he could hear the pulsing beat of her heart. Soon his breathing became slow, deep, and she felt his arm relax into the curve of her hip. Ben had been lulled to sleep by the heart he had promised not to break.
Ana’s serenity was short-lived. She remained wakeful, unable to surrender completely to the air of contentment that had settled over the room. The reality of all that had happened flooded her mind. Chance had set her on a path that was beyond her wildest imaginings. It was difficult to realize how one decision, a decision to help a man she’d just met, would lead her on an adventure that made every other experience in her life pale by comparison. Now that man lay sleeping in her arms, his every breath lightly touching the skin just above her beating heart. And she knew how close she had come—they all had come— to losing him, and that his loyalty had almost gotten him killed. Their relationship had evolved out of worry, danger and great risk. Were their intense feelings just a result of the constant adrenaline rush, and would the satisfied lust diminish his interest? Those were questions that couldn’t be asked.
After a while she had to shift her body. Ben stirred then opened his eyes. “How long was I asleep?” he asked.
“Not that long,” she answered, “but we have only a couple of hours before nightfall.”
“‘Nightfall’… Well there’s a word you don’t often hear.”
“I may have read it somewhere. But the only books I intend to read in the near future will be yours. At some point I hope you’ll tell me what you’re planning next.”
“Maybe,” he said, rolling away from her and stretching.
“Playing hard to get, huh?” Ana shifted then sat up against the pillows. “Anyway, right now all I really care about is food. Are you as hungry as I am?”
Ben answered by getting up and fetching the basket from the table. “A snack will keep us going for that sunset walk. We’ll eat something else later.”
* * *
In a short while the pair stepped out of the hotel and into the street, deciding which way to go. Ben took the lead, and they walked in the direction of La Plaza de Toros, the oldest bullring in Spain. Peaceful wandering was in sharp contrast to anything they had yet experienced in their relationship. They were charmed by the houses, some with terraces crowded by pots of blooming flowers, and others where abundant bougainvillea climbed up and over railings. A profusion of passionate colors swirled in the breeze like the ruffled skirt of a Flamenco dancer.
They continued to walk in companionable silence until Ben spoke. “If you can keep it under your hat, I’ll give you a verbal peek at that ‘next book’. You tried to quiz me about it on the first night we met.” Ana nodded yes and made a zipping motion across her mouth. “I’m going to use the story of how my grandparents met as a basis for the book… just a basic plot. I’ll fictionalize the rest— invent some mischief for the main characters. The setting? Spain. It was always going to be Spain.”
“Those details are just what I needed. Wish there was a way to use them, but as we know, I’m probably unemployed.”
“I knew I’d need to visit Spain again. It had been a long time. There are places I’d like to see either for the first time, or again, and some where I’d like to spend time— do the whole ‘find your roots’ thing. But the last thing I expected was to be here under these circumstances. Rather bizarre. I have to admit that starting another book seems distant right now.”
“I can understand that. But you will write it, when you’re ready. So tell me the story. What’s all this about ‘roots?’”
Ben took his arm from around Ana’s shoulders and instead, took her hand as they walked. “Well, first let me give you some back-story on my grandparents. My grandfather was a student at Cambridge— reading for the law. Alexander Wallace McKinnon— good old Scottish name.”
“So I see your middle name honors him?”
“Right. And I remember him being quite stern— a far cry from his youthful escapades.”
“Escapades, huh? Now I’m even more curious. Get on with it!”
“This is the way my father told the story to me: It was summer break from classes. He and his buddies decided on a lark to go to Pamplona and run with the bulls. I doubt his parents knew about that, or even where their twenty-year-old son was really going. They were traveling on a dime and managed to book a one-star hotel not too far from the center of things. Before leaving England they vowed to do the run together, all four, or not at all. On the first full day in Pamplona one of the guys got sick, either from too much drinking the night before, or some bad food. That created a three-day delay for all four of them.”
“I’d bet it was drinking,” Ana said, “That seems to be a priority while at university.”
“Maybe both. But while he was waiting for his friend to get better, my grandfather—let’s just call him Alex— wandered around, hung out in plazas, bars, and walked endlessly through the town.”
Ana pulled Ben toward a bench in the small plaza they were crossing, using tired feet as an excuse. As they sat there the lights came on around the area’s perimeter. Waiters were setting candles on the outdoor tables of a small café, and shopkeepers were turning their signs from abierto to cerrado.
“Ah, that’s better,” Ana said, smiling. “Now I want to hear the rest.”
“As you wish, but we can’t rest here long if we want to find a good place to watch the sunset.” She asked for five more minutes, and he went on with the story. “My grandmother’s family had lived in Pamplona for generations. Julieta Luz Navarro was a student too— at Universidad de Pamplona. Summer classes were being held, but there had always been a short break during the festival. Girls weren’t allowed much freedom in those days, and their honor—we’d call it ‘reputation’— was fiercely protected. Granny told me that she and her friends had to wangle opportunities to shed their chaperones and do what youth needs to do.
“One evening during the festival she and her friends made up some story that allowed them to get out for a while to watch all the foreigners and other young people partying in the plazas and bars. That same evening Alex was also wandering around and stopped to rest on a bench at the edge of the fountain in Parque de Taconera. The group of three young women strolled by, and the long black hair and graceful movement of the girl on the right drew his attention. He called out to them and asked where in the neighborhood he could get a good cheap meal. They strolled back to him, and the group struck up a conversation. His eyes continued to drift back to the black-haired girl with the dark penetrating eyes. She spoke just enough English for him to understand what she said. He didn’t know Spanish— just learned a few tourist basics I guess.”
“I can see this story is headed for romance.” Ana reached over and patted Ben’s arm. “I do love a romance,” she said, “and I feel a little guilty now for not having read anything you’ve written before I came to interview you. But the piece was to be about you, not a book, per se.” Ben didn’t respond, and for a moment Ana wondered if she had offended him. “Just listening to this first bit of the story tells me that you’re an exceptional story teller. The words flow as if you were actually writing, not just conversing.”
Ben glanced sideways and grinned. “You’re good for my ego. After all these years I might be guilty of embellishing the story a bit— but not the facts.” He stopped to visually scrutinize the surrounding area. “You know, it’s probably not a good idea to be wandering around after dark in an unfamiliar town. I haven’t seen any taxis around here.” Ben got up and held out his hand, a signal they should go. “I th
ink the Puente Nuevo is the place to be when the sun goes down, plus it’s close to the hotel. We’d better get a move on.”
“Don’t walk too fast to talk. I want the whole story… but you can give me a condensed version,” she said, trying to keep up. “But I assume you’ll draw it out in your book—however you plan to use it and whenever you write it. It’s amazing that you remember details like the name of the fountain where they met.”
“If you’d heard the story told as many times as I did growing up, you’d remember too. As they got older they loved to tell it at family gatherings. We could see it pleased them, so we gladly listened.” He paused then added, “I don’t think people ever tire of the great love stories— fictional or historical.”
“Or current?” Ana said, giving him a provocative look. Ben winked at her then stopped to lean against a building, but she took his hand and pulled him along. “Come on. We’re losing light… and I never tire of love stories either, so get on with it.”
“Okay! Now try to picture it. As the girls turned to leave, Alex summoned his courage, reached out, and touched her gently on the arm. She turned back with a questioning expression. He spoke slowly and asked if she could meet him later in the Plaza de Castillo, because he’d like to talk to her. He complimented her on her knowledge of English. She rolled her eyes as if to say that if he chose to come to Spain, he should be speaking her language. She said her plans were uncertain, but that perhaps she would end up in the plaza. She warned him that it would be very crowded and noisy, that several popular bars bordered the plaza. She added that Ernest Hemingway often attended the festival and that Alex might catch a glimpse of him in one of his favorite haunts, if he knew what the man looked like.
Good Deed Bad Deed : A Novel Mystery Page 36
