Second Chance in Barcelona

by Fiona McArthur

  ‘You don’t believe me?’

  A shrug. ‘Not my place as your employee.’ Primly.

  ‘And here I was thinking you were Sofia’s guest.’

  Now, that was funny. She laughed. His face softened and he smiled back at her.

  ‘Would you like a drink while we wait?’ he asked.

  Of all the people who needed to stay sober and keep their wits about them it was probably her. ‘I don’t think so. Thank you.’

  ‘This is Spain. Wine is an institution.’

  ‘Not at this time for me.’ Or she’d end up in an institution.

  He studied her for a moment longer and then withdrew his phone from his pocket. ‘I will let Doña Luisa know we will be a few minutes late.’

  He stepped back and Cleo took the opportunity to reassemble her battered shield under the guise of examining the entry. She knew Felipe could be charming when he wished but she had to guard against that. It made him nearly irresistible.

  She concentrated on the blue swirls in the marble floor that had been picked up in the columns that ringed the circular room. Towering columns every six feet, floor to ceiling, and she assumed they carried the weight of the dome above. That was some weight.

  She moved to one of the spindly-legged velvet three-seaters and sat on one end so she could lean her head against the wall and admire the ceiling. Calm settled over her as she drank in the scene. Truly amazing artwork. This was good. A quiet minute to collect herself and some time to breathe.

  In the distance she could hear Felipe murmuring in Catalan but most of her attention stayed on the ceiling above. Rich, vibrant colours depicted gliding angels with red capes. Glorious pale-skinned cherubs with golden curls reached out to a triumphant warrior on his horse holding up a shield and sword. She wondered how he didn’t fall off the horse while holding both.

  Felipe came and sat down beside her to lean his head back against the wall beside hers, his eyes on the ceiling, too. She felt he was smiling but no way was she going to turn her head to find out. He was too close.

  The masculine scent she now associated with him drifted over her, bringing back far too many memories. Still resting her head back against the wall, she asked, ‘One of your ancestors?’

  ‘Yes. We’re a bloodthirsty lot, my countrymen.’ She turned her face to him and noted the glint in his eye when he said, ‘And we like to win the wars we engage in.’

  ‘Take the spoils and run?’ Their eyes met. Her cheeks warmed. She wouldn’t mind taking those words back.

  His eyes widened but he resisted teasing her, a small mercy, and she changed the subject. ‘Did your grandmother understand why we will be late?’

  ‘Of course. A baby is a baby.’ He smiled. ‘Her words.’

  ‘You are all very patient. Why is Sofia so angry with you? Why doesn’t she believe anything you say?’

  ‘Smoother tongues than mine have filled her head with lies. She will eventually learn the truth.’ He closed his eyes briefly as if weary. ‘I am not patient with that subject. Enough about my silly cousin.’ He turned his head and their eyes caught and held. ‘There is another subject I am not tired of.’

  He smiled and she felt her own lips curve despite the warning bells that began to ring, at first quietly and then more stridently, in her head. A pulse beat in his strong jaw and she had the ridiculous impulse to lift her hand and feel its beat. He was so beautiful a man.

  His irresistible mouth came closer.

  At that moment they heard a door open upstairs and then footsteps along the corridor above. Sofia, with Isabella in her arms, appeared at the top of the stairs.

  Felipe stood abruptly and Cleo sagged back in what she told herself was relief. She needed to snap out of it.

  ‘Take care, there’s plenty of time.’ Felipe’s voice carried easily up the stairs and ironically Cleo wondered if he was talking to Sofia or to them. She saw the young mum pause as if collecting herself.

  Yes, the last thing they needed was Sofia to rush down the steps and fall. Or for Cleo to accept a kiss in Felipe’s house while working for the man.

  By the time they were all in the car Isabella had gone to sleep and Sofia had her own head resting on the cushions with her eyes shut.

  Cleo had her own thoughts to occupy her and was glad Sofia didn’t need her input on anything. It was important that her client feel relaxed when they arrived.

  Even Felipe seemed to have appreciated that fact.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later the car stopped in a typical Barcelona street with motorbikes parked in the centre of the road and more mopeds under the trees along the edges of the footpath.

  The occasional delivery van zoomed past the tall cream buildings, all seeming to be six to eight storeys high with ornate balconies and roof scrolling. This was obviously one of the quieter and more exclusive inner-city streets. Though on the corner a gorgeous café with tables on the sidewalk had people spilling out onto the street—a family with young children were eating gelato and the parents were laughing as they wiped dribbles of coloured ice from their youngest’s face.

  For a second Cleo felt the catch in her heart at all the things she’d lost thanks to her own shattered marriage, but she pushed it away. Not here. Not now.

  The entrance to Doña Luisa’s house lay behind a tall spiked gate that swung inwards when Felipe pushed it.

  Beyond lay white marble steps with a red carpet disappearing into the distance. At the sides, speckled grey marble columns matched the grey of the marble walls but frames of cream plasterwork covered the higher reaches and kept everything light as another steeper set of stairs twirled away in a circular climb.

  To the right sat an ornate elevator, round roofed, all gleaming wood and brass and glass like something out of an ancient hotel. The doors clanked as Felipe closed the three adults and one baby snugly inside.

  With a jolt they shifted upwards, and their cage creaked as it rode to the third floor. The faint aroma of furniture polish and age wasn’t unpleasant.

  When Felipe opened the ancient elevator doors, they stepped out into an entry hung with red velvet curtains and intricate grey wallpaper, lit by lamps in sconces. A double door opened to the entrance of a large salon.

  A massive fireplace, cold and filled with precious brass art objects rather than wood, held a mantel hung with a huge gilt mirror. On the wall priceless paintings broke up the wallpaper and everywhere spindly chairs were empty as if expecting hordes of visitors.

  Instead a maid waited. She curtsied to Felipe and Sofia. ‘Your grandmother is in the salon.’

  Felipe gestured with his hand for them to follow him. ‘We’ll find our own way, Alba.’ The woman inclined her head again and disappeared through a door.

  Cleo followed the two cousins and couldn’t help the widening of her eyes as her silenced feet trod the glorious Aubusson carpet runner over the paved marble and past glowing ornate furniture. Shimmering oil paintings were lit softly by windows to the outside. It was like a private museum.

  The corridor ended in a wood-panelled room with a white sectioned ceiling that curved and drew her eye to the magnificent chandelier in the centre of the roof.

  At first she saw the gilded screens, the marble-topped tables and velvet-upholstered chairs sitting on polished parquetry intricately inlaid with different shades of gold and red-brown timber and reflecting the light.

  Don Felipe crossed to the chair in front of another unlit fire and leaned down to kiss the wrinkled cheek of the woman who now turned their way.

  That was when Cleo saw the small white-haired woman sitting with a dark shawl around her shoulders. She seemed ethereal in her frailty.

  ‘Àvia, Grandmother, I have brought Sofia and Isabella.’

  ‘Sí. And you would have been in trouble if you hadn’t.’ There was a hint of amusement in the dry voice. The woman’s ga
ze went to the dark-haired baby in Sofia’s arms. ‘She has her mother’s hair.’

  ‘And her father’s eyes,’ Sofia muttered.

  Doña Luisa’s gaze moved from the child to the mother. ‘I hope not. For his were full of avarice.’

  ‘Ávia,’ Felipe murmured placatingly, ‘Sofia is upset.’

  ‘And I am old and have no patience. Or time.’ The white head swivelled. ‘And who is this pretty other lady?’

  Cleo felt her face flush. Nobody had called her pretty in years.

  ‘The midwife I mentioned,’ Felipe said. ‘Cleo Wren.’ And, yes, there was amusement under his introduction as if he found her blush a reason to smile.

  ‘Miss Wren.’

  ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Doña Luisa.’ Now that she was closer Cleo could see the underlying yellowish tint to the skin. The sunken eyes. Yes, this woman was terminally unwell.

  ‘My grandson tells me you have much experience in caring for the ill and stranded...?’ The question hung at the end.

  ‘Indeed. I find it satisfying to help people return home safely when they are vulnerable. At those times people need their family.’

  ‘And you have brought Sofia back home. I am grateful.’

  ‘Your grandson has done all the arranging.’

  ‘Yes. I can see.’ Her eyes twinkled as she glanced between Cleo and Felipe. ‘I heard this.’

  Felipe’s head snapped up at that. But Doña Luisa just smiled blandly at him and cast one last look at Cleo. ‘You are a sensible woman.’

  She turned to Sofia. ‘But you, my grandchild...’ Her voice trailed off and Cleo had the impression that Doña Luisa did not think Sofia was a sensible woman. ‘Forgive me, child. You have suffered a betrayal. I have forgotten what it was to feel strong emotions for a man.’

  She looked across and raised her brows at Felipe. ‘Except for you, dear grandson. Though sometimes my emotion is frustration. You spend too much time giving to others when I would like to see you care more for your own happiness.’

  Her thin arm stretched towards the waiting chairs. ‘Sit, Sofia, here next to me, and tell me of your little daughter. She is truly beautiful.’

  And Cleo could finally release the tension she’d held over this meeting.

  This was why they’d come all this way. For this ill and elderly woman to meet Isabella. As Sofia sat down with the baby in her arms Cleo stepped back.

  Felipe had moved behind her to pour a glass of wine and she almost bumped into him. She edged sideways and increased the distance between them.

  ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like to taste my grandmother’s Cava?’ he murmured.

  ‘Cava?’ Words from the past played in her head. Like Lonia Cava from Catalonia. Wine that tastes of white peach, melon and apple... His first words to her. After he’d pretended to be a dancer. Didn’t he remember?

  ‘Someone offered me that once before.’ She pretended she, too, didn’t remember it was him.

  He frowned at her, as if he sensed her disappointment in him. ‘Cava is one of the Catalonian Designation of Origin products. Nowhere else in the world can produce it and call it Cava. My grandmother buys from a local restaurant who make their own.’

  She needed something to do with her hands. ‘A small one, then. Thank you.’ She could at least pretend to unwind.

  He reached for another glass and poured an inch of the wine into the glass. At least he was listening.

  ‘Come, we will sit near the window and watch the world go by while they talk.’

  He gestured to two large winged chairs with an ornate side table between them.

  The red velvet curtains shed a pink glow into her lap as she sat and looked out onto the street above the leafy tops of trees.

  The view filled the room with soft light. Peaceful.

  The man opposite was not.

  ‘Have you settled into my home?’ That sounded very determined.

  Cleo looked at him in pretended surprise. ‘Yes, thank you.’ Why wouldn’t she feel settled in the house of a man she’d slept with when she’d thought he was a dancer and who had actually turned out to be a Spanish nobleman pursued by hordes of panting women? ‘I’m fine.’ She lifted the glass to her lips. ‘You?’

  His mouth kicked up. She really wished he wouldn’t do that.

  ‘I am home.’

  ‘Your grandmother dotes on you.’

  An elegant shrug, dismissing any emotion she might have glimpsed. ‘My àvia and I have spent a lot of time together.’

  His raised brows suggested he’d given her something, so now she could also share. ‘And you? Was your childhood happy?’

  They’d discussed some things that night in Australia, but hadn’t gone into detail. They had been barely acquainted, after all. Why did he want to stretch those boundaries now? She had to say something. ‘My parents were happy most of the time, though finding enough funds to live on was always an issue for them.’

  She shrugged. ‘When I entered the workforce I studied hard and ensured my savings were adequate. My ex-husband was a doctor, although not a thrifty one, and it’s taken me several months to climb out of the debt he left me with, but I finally managed it. I am a woman determined to find myself secure.’

  ‘A sensible person?’ He tilted his head at her. ‘I don’t think I know any thrifty women.’

  ‘Poor you.’ Dryly. She tilted her own head. ‘I am prudent.’ She thought about what she’d done with him and added, ‘Mostly.’ She’d told him too much. Though Jen had always said her relationship with her ex had been one-sided. She’d saved, he’d spent. She’d cared for him more than he’d cared for her. She wouldn’t be doing that again, ever. ‘Enough about me, tell me more about your grandmother.’

  ‘Taste the wine.’

  She inhaled the fruity aroma of the wine and then took a sip. ‘Very nice. About your grandmother?’

  He sat back and gave her one of those half amused, half warning glances. ‘When my grandfather died many years ago, my grandmother took over the family empire until she could hand it on to her three sons. She has had much grief in her life and far too many deaths. Now there is only me, Sofia and Isabella left. And lots of distant cousins like Diego.’

  Ah, so Diego was a distant cousin of his. She wondered if Jen knew that. Cleo could quite believe it was an empire judging by the wealth that surrounded Felipe and Luisa.

  Felipe went on. ‘Before he died, my father managed his and Sofia’s part of the business and I managed my grandmother’s and my own. She was an astute businesswoman and very used to making decisions for the family. It was her contacts who first discovered Sofia was in trouble. Her fingers are in many pies.’

  He glanced with affection and obvious respect towards Doña Luisa. ‘For the last ten years I have been telling her it is time for her to sit back and savour the time she has left.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I can see she is unwell. You said you would care for her.’ That night. ‘Will she move back in with you when she needs more care?’

  ‘She has refused. Though, as I said before, we have thankfully completed the new oncology hospice that she has consented to consider when she requires twenty-four-hour care.’

  ‘We have completed’, as in just his family, or ‘we’ as in Barcelona has completed? she wondered. She strongly suspected the former.

  He shrugged. ‘Though I would prefer she stayed in her own apartments with full assistance but that is up to her.’

  She remembered their discussion about oncologists. ‘And this is the building, the new centre you spoke about before? Where you work?’

  ‘Sí.’

  Felipe’s phone buzzed quietly in his pocket and he excused himself to walk to a window. A rapid one-sided conversation and then he moved across to his grandmother. ‘Àvia, there is something I must attend to at the hospice. I will be no more than a
n hour. Can you stay from your bed that long?’

  ‘I am not dead yet, Felipe. Go. Take your midwife. She would be more interested in your building there than sitting in a corner, watching us talk. Show her your pride and joy.’

  The frown he sent his grandmother made Cleo cringe with embarrassment. He didn’t want to take her.

  But he said, ‘Would you like to see the new hospice, Cleo?’

  And she could say nothing except, ‘If you are sure that will be acceptable.’

  His astonished look said it all. ‘Who would complain?’

  She laughed at his arrogance. She probably shouldn’t. She was in his sandpit now. But she couldn’t help herself. She had nothing but her courage to shield her. ‘I’m sure no one would dare,’ she said, her voice dry.

  He raised his brows but his eyes smiled. He shook his head but didn’t comment. They rode down in the elevator, and when they emerged she had to skip a little to keep up, but he didn’t seem to notice. He was on a mission. Typical.

  His usual driver waited with the car, and she wondered if he’d had warning or just...always waited around until he was needed.

  The driver opened the rear door for her and she wondered again whether to slide across or just sit and make Felipe go to the other side of the car, but he was always there before she could make a decision.

  Then she thought of all the aristocratic women she’d ever watched on TV and none of them had ever slid across a back seat. So she assumed Felipe expected her to stay put.

  Good to get that sorted in her head.

  Too many unknown areas with the weight of such a long, distinguished family history and the ridiculous wealth that surrounded these people. She looked forward to being home in her own humble yet comfortable environment.

  ‘Where is the hospice?’ she asked as the car pulled away from the kerb.

  ‘Ten minutes from here. One of my patients is asking for me. He is a very dear friend of mine and I would never ignore any request he made.’

  As a lead oncologist he must have many other demands on his time. ‘It must have been difficult for you to get away for the week to go to Australia.’