* * *
The darkened room of Doña Luisa held the scent of lavender and the aroma of candle smoke. The smoke came from a small altar with two candles and a gilt-framed image of Jesus.
Cleo hadn’t thought about the Catholic significance of terminal illness in Spain but she should have. She could see how that would be a large part of Doña Luisa’s transition out of this world.
As a non-Catholic she’d have to ask Felipe or the nurse later if there was anything she needed to be aware of regarding Doña Luisa’s religious needs. Perhaps the emergency number of her priest as well.
She passed further into the room and saw the papery skin and yellow tinge of Doña Luisa’s skin against the pillow. Her breath caught and she eased it out discreetly. The physical change from a woman who’d walked with a stick to one lying in a bed barely able to raise herself up on her elbows was stark.
‘Come closer, so I can see you.’ Doña Luisa’s feeble voice called her towards the bed.
There was an ornate but strategically placed chair so Cleo sat, creating enough space not to crowd Doña Luisa but close enough for easy conversation.
A swathe of silver hair lay tucked into one side of her pale face. Lines of tiredness—she didn’t think they were of pain—were etched deeper into her cheeks.
‘Good afternoon, Doña Luisa. Is there anything special you would like me to do?’
The older woman huffed out a small laugh. ‘You seem to be achieving what needs to be done. There is nothing wrong with my hearing and my grandson thinks you’ve calmed the nurse.’
On that tart note she closed her eyes. With eyes still shut, she said, ‘I am glad you are here to help my family. To help Sofia, but most of all to help my grandson. When I am gone, he will have no one he allows close.’
Cleo didn’t know what to say to that. She didn’t think he allowed her close either.
‘He watches you constantly. Do not discount the power you have to help him.’ Then she sighed.
‘My wash tired me. Rhona means well but she pulls me around like a sack. You will help her be more gentle.’ Another sigh. ‘I will sleep and talk with you later. The pain medication makes me drowsy.’
‘Do you have pain at the moment?’
‘No. It has left for the time being.’
‘Good.’ Cleo assessed the sheets pulled up to the pale chin and noted the freshness and precision of the tucking in. Signs of an old-school nurse.
Though Doña Luisa’s tidily brushed hair and the lingering soapy smell of lavender attested to the thoroughness of the sponge bath, a little looseness in the sheets and perhaps a chink of gentle light would be good. She’d suggest that diplomatically later. For the moment there was nothing she could do except let her sleep.
Seeing Felipe’s grandmother surrounded by the things she loved, comfortable and fresh, with her family in attendance was comforting to everyone as well as for Doña Luisa. It must be helpful to know all the resources she needed were here and there was no reason to move to a hospital for the end unless she wanted to.
Cleo rose. ‘Rest well.’ But the woman in the bed was already asleep.
Sofia and Felipe waited for her outside the door. The young mum was leaning on the wall while absently patting her baby’s bottom. She straightened when Cleo came from the room. ‘How is she?’
‘Tired. She’s sleeping.’
‘How could she have gone so quickly downhill?’ Sofia asked.
‘Sometimes it is the way,’ Felipe said quietly.
‘And she tells me there is nothing wrong with her hearing so I shall move away from her door.’ Cleo drew them with her and smiled. ‘Your grandmother is still seeing humour in the world. I hope I have the chance to know her more fully before she chooses to leave us.’
‘As I do,’ he said as they all moved to the main rooms. Felipe glanced at his watch. ‘I must go.’
And that was that. It shouldn’t have shocked her, but it did. Had she become so used to him being around?
Of course he had to go.
‘I will be back tonight around seven to see my grandmother.’
This wasn’t his house and he had a life. Hers was here for the next week or two. Then she would go home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
ALL AFTERNOON AT the hospice Felipe’s thoughts returned to his grandmother’s apartment in the city centre. Concerned for his grandmother, for Sofia and also for Cleo.
Had he been fair to Cleo to ask her to remain? Had he asked too much of a woman he had known for so little time? Yet he felt he knew her better than others he had known for years. Felt he could see to the heart of her and knew with certainty she would care for his family at this time.
And into the future, but that was for later.
He did not doubt that if anyone could ensure his grandmother’s comfort and the tranquillity of the carers around her it would be Cleo. He was using her, but she didn’t seem to mind. Because she gave freely to others, that was her way, as she had given herself to him, and he was learning that one day soon he would give himself to her.
Even his cousin Sofia had surprised him. She held depths he’d not only underestimated but had failed to appreciate before.
Perhaps he was more like his father than he’d thought. Looking at members of his family as problems that needed to be solved instead of as people who needed to be considered and listened to for their wishes.
He had friends, of course, but none now who were close except perhaps Diego, but he had left Spain years ago. He had colleagues at his hospice, people who admired his work, but apart from Raymond, a man he’d shared medical school with, he had allowed very few people to get close to him. He had many acquaintances but no confidants.
Except he’d told the midwife things that he’d told no one else. That very first night in Australia.
Why was that?
Perhaps because at first he’d known he’d never see her again and some magic about her had encouraged openness. It had felt surprisingly good to be so candid with someone for once. Such was her charm. But he’d quieted his reluctance to share by saying he would leave and never see her again.
And how had that worked for him?
He almost laughed out loud. Who would have believed that a woman he’d met in an unguarded moment would change his views on life so much and become such an integral part of his life, and his family’s lives, in so short a time?
And his grandmother fully approved of her. The last thing he had expected from a woman who had been parading aristocratic Catalonian women in front of him for years.
Enough of these deep thoughts.
He was better here, working while his àvia slept for a few hours. Waiting for a phone call in case his grandmother’s condition changed, seeing to other patients’ needs and grieving families, daily staff and administrative issues that had piled up in his absence, Felipe worked steadily to free himself from the overload, and in between short conversations with Alba to check he prayed for his grandmother.
* * *
When he returned to his grandmother’s apartment just before five that evening the lift doors opened to the faint strains of ‘Nights in the Gardens of Spain’ by Manuel De Falla. The recording had been one of his grandmother’s favourites but he hadn’t heard it played in her apartment for years.
The volume was turned so low it was almost a murmur but the whispering orchestra added an undercurrent of life and soul into the darkness of the approaching night.
Alba’s mouth twitched when she saw he recognised the music, though her eyes were sad. ‘The priest has been. And now the baby has been lying next to her,’ she said.
Felipe followed her silently to the door of the darkened bedroom, where he leaned against the frame. He could hear his grandmother’s laboured breathing but the scene was peaceful.
Alba slipped away, no doubt to the kitchen.
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In the corner the nurse sat knitting and back from the bed. Cleo reposed calmly, with hands crossed, almost unobtrusive in the gloom, reading a small book.
In the background the subtle whisper of the music flowed over them all.
On her bed his grandmother lay on her side, packed with pillows for comfort, her face soft and relaxed, and beside her lay Isabella, one small arm free from her blanket, a tiny starfish hand clasped around her great-grandmother’s finger.
The baby’s eyes were wide open, and next to her on the pillows on the other side of the bed, Sofia lay asleep.
The room resonated with a gentle flow of breathing from the players in the tableau and Felipe felt serenity seep into him even though he stood on the fringes.
As if she sensed him, Cleo turned her head to meet his eyes. She smiled and the cares of the day blew from his shoulders like leaves in the wind.
He nodded his appreciation of the ambiance of the room and moved to leave them to it.
Silently Cleo stood and gestured for him to take her seat.
He waved her away but she shook her head and walked towards him, her eyes on his face. She touched his arm as she passed. ‘Please, sit,’ she said quietly. ‘Savour the moments you deserve to share more than anyone, for they are beautiful.’
Then she walked from the room and his grandmother woke and turned her head slightly to see him. Her smile was a gift he’d almost missed.
He went closer and leaned over, kissed her cool cheek. ‘Good evening, my little grandmother,’ he said softly.
‘It is,’ his grandmother whispered as she closed her eyes and smiled. He thought she’d gone to sleep, but without opening her eyes she said, ‘Thank you for bringing them to me. All of them. They are blessings.’
Her breathing became heavier but the smile remained and she soon dropped into a deeper sleep again.
He sat with her for another half an hour until the baby had fallen asleep, too, the quiet clacking of the nurse’s knitting needles rhythmically soothing, not something he would have thought possible in connection with Rhona.
Cleo came to the doorway and patted her stomach, pointed to him enquiringly.
Yes, he could eat. Perhaps like a horse, because he hadn’t stopped for anything since midday, and now his appetite had returned with a vengeance. He glanced at the nurse, who nodded that she would stay, and followed this amazing woman he had found across the world through to the dining room. His gaze was drawn from watching the way Cleo walked to his grandmother’s empty chair.
He knew his àvia would not be sitting there regally to chastise him ever again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CLEO WAITED AT the door for him to join her and when he glanced at the empty winged chair in the formal lounge she knew the direction of his thoughts. Her heart ached for him.
‘Your grandmother says she feels less strong tonight,’ she said. ‘But there have been many moments today when we enjoyed listening to her reminiscences.’ She smiled at him. ‘She is a wonderful woman.’
‘She is.’
‘I hope you know that many of her memories centre around you. You’ve given her great joy.’
He inclined his head and waited for her to sit. She did but glanced up at him as he moved to his own chair. He looked so solemn and she remembered his grandmother’s wish, uttered so frequently, that he should not be cast down.
She thought of the small poetry book his grandmother had asked Alba to find and give to her. She wondered if she should tell him about it.
The pages held children’s poems and Doña Luisa had said maybe one day she would read them to her own children and remember her. It was a battered book, and hadn’t looked valuable, so she had accepted it in the spirit with which it was offered and thanked her. Before she could mention it, Alba carried the dishes in and set them on the table.
‘Just the two of us?’ He looked questioningly at the empty places.
She nodded. ‘The nurse has already had her meal and Alba has put away something for Sofia when she wakes.’
‘Of course, you are aware of all that goes on. You astound me.’ He studied her, his eyes warm, the way they seemed to be all the time when he looked at her now. When had that changed? she wondered. Perhaps since the baby was born in the street?
He said, ‘Are you a chameleon that fits into any background? You’ve only been here two days.’
‘Everyone has been very kind.’ She shook her head. ‘You’ve missed all the fun. We have been told many secrets by your grandmother. I think Sofia will never be overawed by you again, especially after hearing of your exploits as a child.’
His smile was half-hearted. ‘None of it is true.’
‘Sorry.’ She shook her head. ‘But I believe your grandmother.’
He raised his hand ruefully and she saw a little lightening of his seriousness. ‘I don’t want to know what she told you. No doubt Sofia will share inappropriately later.’
Then his face changed. ‘I take that back.’ He frowned at himself. ‘I believe I haven’t appreciated Sofia enough. That will alter when I know my cousin more in the future.’
‘I’m glad,’ Cleo said simply. ‘She’s amazing. So good with the baby. So good with your grandmother.’ She waggled her brows. ‘And you were very good to have saved her from that man.’
He even smiled at that. ‘Not what Sofia said at the time.’ Then he sighed. Solemn again. ‘I should have been aware of her danger earlier but that is for another time...’ He turned to her and shook his head. ‘I can’t believe the difference I saw, walking in here tonight. Thank you, Cleo.’
Cleo felt the sting of tears and fought hard to keep them from overflowing, which they could so easily do. The last few hours had come at a cost and she was weary, but the night could prove a long one yet.
She’d be surprised if Doña Luisa saw the sun rise tomorrow.
Her greatest concern now was for this man. He loved his grandmother dearly. She’d come to realise that. She could see his needs but was trying desperately not to heighten her own feelings for someone she might still have to leave.
When she didn’t answer he said, ‘What you’ve achieved here is a priceless gift that I can never repay.’
Her brow furrowed. ‘You say that as if this organising of me being here for your grandmother is not your right.’ She looked away and then thought of all the people this man helped. The insights from meeting his staff. Their love for him. The stories from his grandmother of his kindness to her. She understood him better now. Some things she’d seen for herself, some things she’d been told by others, and some things she just knew in her heart were true.
Couldn’t he see? Or was he too used to keeping most people at arm’s length? She remembered their first night together. Was it because his father had told him at seven not to hinder the family with his emotions as if he didn’t deserve to be loved?
‘You’re a man who has dedicated your adulthood to creating support and quietude at the end of people’s lives. If I can go some small way to providing that serenity for you here, then it is only what you deserve, and what your grandmother deserves.’ She felt that with every fibre of her being. ‘It is a privilege to be able to help your family. It’s not a favour, Felipe.’
He looked a little stunned. ‘I...’ He stopped, but in the end he nodded his head and said simply, ‘Thank you.’
She continued, ‘I will relieve the nurse soon. Sofia has sat with your grandmother most of today. I rested before you came home. I’ll do the night shift and watch her overnight.’
‘There is no need. I will stay with her.’
‘Of course.’ She smiled at him. Exactly what his grandmother had said he would say. ‘But either the nurse or I would like to be there as an assistant if needed. It is your grandmother who requested that you have support.’
He pushed his plate away. ‘I d
on’t need support.’
‘I have no doubt. I’m also hoping that you will allow me to unobtrusively follow her wishes. If that is acceptable to you.’
He looked at her from under dark brows. ‘Don’t use your cajoling ways on me.’
She opened her eyes wide. ‘I wouldn’t dream of that, Don Felipe.’ She remembered too late that he’d said he would kiss her every time she called him that.
He raised his brows at her, another brief flash of humour, but then it faded.
She added, ‘I’ll be dozing in the corner and no nuisance to you.’
‘And if I refuse to be babysat?’
She smiled. ‘Then I will leave your grandmother to explain her wishes—which I’m sure she will when she wakes and finds you there alone.’
* * *
Which was how it came about that in the early hours before dawn, in that time of transition between worlds when Doña Luisa’s breathing changed, that Cleo was there with Felipe. Briefly Cleo slipped away from the room.
‘Sofia,’ she said. The young woman looked up with startled eyes from where she was feeding her daughter and then she stilled.
‘It is time?’
‘Almost, I think. Would you like to take Isabella and kiss your grandmother’s cheek in farewell?’
Sofia nodded and, carrying Isabella, she went in and said her last farewells beside Felipe, who sat very still in the dark.
Then Sofia touched his shoulder and left the room, tears streaming down her face. She leaned against the wall outside the door so she could sob quietly, out of her grandmother’s hearing.
This brought Alba, whom Cleo had also woken at the woman’s request.
Then, as per his grandmother’s instructions, she stood beside Felipe as he held his grandmother’s hand.
She knew she hadn’t come uninvited because one unintentionally imploring glance he’d cast over his shoulder when she’d returned said how much he appreciated her support.
This was the woman who had raised him, loved him when his father wouldn’t, had been his mentor and his mother, and he was losing her.
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