The Mélendez Forgotten Marriage

by MELANIE MILBURNE

  He shook his head. ‘I am leaving first thing.’ He bent down and brushed his mouth against hers. ‘Buenas noches.’

  ‘Buenas noches.’ Her voice was a soft whisper that feathered its way down his spine as he left the room.

  Aldana was in the kitchen when Emelia came downstairs the next morning. The atmosphere was distinctly chilly but she decided to ignore it. Ignore the bad, praise the good seemed the best way to handle a difficult person, she thought.

  ‘Good morning, Aldana,’ she said with a bright smile that she hoped didn’t look too forced. ‘It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?’

  The housekeeper sent her a reproachful look. ‘I suppose as usual you will turn your nose up at the food I have set out for you?’

  Emelia’s smile fell away. ‘Um…actually, I am quite hungry this morning,’ she said. ‘But you shouldn’t have gone to any trouble.’

  Aldana made a snorting noise and turned her attention to the bread she was making. ‘I am paid to go to trouble,’ she said. ‘But it is a waste of my time and good food when people refuse to eat it.’

  ‘I’m sorry if I’ve offended you in the past,’ Emelia said after a tense silence. ‘Would it help if I sat down with you and planned the week’s menus? It would save you a lot of trouble and there would be less waste.’

  Aldana dusted her hands on her apron in a dismissive fashion. ‘You are not the right wife for Señor Mélendez,’ she said. ‘You do not love him as he deserves to be loved. You just love what he can give you.’

  Emelia tried to disguise her shock at the housekeeper’s blunt assessment by keeping her voice cool and controlled. ‘You are entitled to your opinion but my relationship with my husband is no one’s business but my own.’

  Aldana gave another snort and turned her back to open the oven, signalling the end of the conversation.

  Emelia decided to carry on as if things were normal, even though it troubled her deeply that the housekeeper thought her so unsuitable a wife for Javier. She had always imagined she would make a wonderful wife. After all, she had learned what not to do by watching first her parents’ disastrous and volatile marriage, and then her father’s subsequent ones after her mother had died. She had determined from a young age to marry for love and love only. Money and prestige would hold no sway with her. But now she wondered how closely she had clung to her ideals.

  She ate a healthy breakfast of fruit and yogurt and toast and carried a cup of tea out to a sun-drenched terrace overlooking the villa’s gardens.

  The scenery was breathtaking and the fresh smell of recently cut grass teased her nostrils. Neatly trimmed box hedges created the more formal aspect of the garden, but beyond she could see colourful herbaceous borders and interesting pathways that led to various fountains or statues.

  After she carried her cup back into the kitchen, Emelia went on a tour of the garden. The sun was warm but not overly so and a light breeze carried the delicate scent of late blooming roses to her. She stopped and picked one and, breathing in its fragrance, wondered how many times she had done exactly this. She poked the stem of the rose behind her ear and carried on, stopping at one of the fountains to watch the birds splashing and ruffling their feathers in the water.

  The sound of a horse whinnying turned her head. In the distance Emelia could see a youth leading a magnificent looking stallion to what appeared to be a riding arena near the stables a little way from the villa. She walked back through the garden and made her way to where the youth was now lunging the horse on a lead rope. He was a powerful-looking animal with a proud head and flaring nostrils, his tail arched in defiance as his hooves pounded through the sand of the arena.

  Emelia stood on the second rail of the fence so she could see over, watching as the stallion went through his paces. Without thinking, she spoke in Spanish to the youth. ‘He’s very temperamental, isn’t he?’

  ‘Sí, señora,’ the youth answered. ‘Your mare is much better mannered.’

  Emelia looked at him blankly. ‘I have a horse of my own?’

  The youth looked at her as if she was loca but then he must have recalled what he had been told about her accident. ‘Sí, señora,’ he said with a white toothed smile. ‘She is in the stable. I exercised her earlier this morning.’

  ‘Could I ride her, please?’ Emelia asked.

  He gave her a surprised look. ‘You want to ride her?’

  She nodded. ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘But you have never wanted to ride her before,’ he said with a puzzled frown. ‘You refused to even look at her.’

  Emelia laughed off the suggestion. ‘That’s crazy. I love to ride. I had my own horse when my mother was alive. I used to spend every weekend and holidays at Pony Club or on riding camps.’

  Pedro shrugged his shoulders as if he wasn’t sure what to make of her as he made his way to the stables.

  Emelia jumped down from the railing and followed him. ‘I’m sorry but I’ve forgotten your name,’ she said.

  ‘Pedro,’ he said. ‘I look after the horses for Señor Mélendez. I have been working for him for two years now. The same time you have been married, sí?’

  Emelia gave him a small smile, not sure how much he knew of her situation. The stallion snorted and pawed the ground and she stepped up to him and stroked his proud forehead. ‘You are being a great big show-off, do you know that?’ she crooned softly.

  The stallion snorted again but then began to rub his head against her chest, almost pushing her over.

  Pedro’s look was still quizzical. ‘He likes you, Señora Mélendez. But you used to be frightened of him. He is big and proud and has a mind of his own. He is…how you say…a softie inside.’

  Emelia wondered if Pedro was talking about the horse or her husband. Probably both, she imagined. She breathed in the sweet smell of horse and hay and felt a flicker of something in her memory. She put a hand to her head, frowning as she tried to retrieve it before it disappeared.

  ‘Señora?’ Pedro’s voice was concerned as he pulled the horse back from her. ‘Are you all right? Did Gitano hurt you?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ Emelia said. ‘I was just trying to remember something but it’s gone now.’

  Pedro led the stallion back to his stall and a short time later led out a pretty little mare. She had the same proud bearing as Gitano but her temperament was clearly very different. She whinnied when she caught sight of Emelia and her big soft round eyes shone with delight.

  Emelia put her arms around the horse’s neck, breathing in her sweet scent, closing her eyes as she searched her memory. A scene filtered through the fog in her head. It was a similar day to today, sunny with a light breeze. She was being led blindfolded down to the stables; she could even feel the nerves she had felt buzzing in the pit of her stomach. She could feel warm strong hands guiding her, a tall lean body brushing her from behind, the sharp citrus of his aftershave striking another chord of memory in her brain…

  ‘Señora Mélendez?’ Pedro’s voice slammed the door on her memory. ‘Are you all right?’

  Emelia opened her eyes and, disguising her frustration, sent him a crooked smile. ‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Callida looks very well. You must be doing a wonderful job of looking after her.’

  ‘Señora,’ Pedro said with rounded eyes, ‘you remember her name, sí? Callida. Señor Mélendez bought her for you as a surprise for your birthday last month.’

  Emelia stared at the youth for a moment, her brain whirling. ‘I…I don’t know how I remembered her name. It was just there in my head,’ she said.

  Pedro smiled a wide smile. ‘It is good you are home. You will remember everything in time, sí?’

  Emelia returned his smile but a little more cautiously. If only she had his confidence. But it did seem strange that Callida’s name had been there on her tongue without her thinking about it; strange too that her Spanish had come to her equally as automatically. What else was lying inside her head, just waiting for the right trigger to unlock it?
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br />   Callida nudged against her, blowing at her through her velvet nostrils. Emelia tickled the horse’s forelock. ‘Can you saddle her for me?’ she asked Pedro.

  The lad’s smile was quickly exchanged for a grave look. ‘Señor Mélendez…I am not sure he would want you to ride. You have a head injury, sí? Not good to ride so soon.’

  Emelia felt her neck and shoulders straighten in rebellion. ‘I am perfectly well,’ she said. ‘And I would like to take Callida out to see if it helps me remember anything else. I need some exercise, in any case. I can’t sit around all day doing nothing until my…hus…until Señor Mélendez returns.’

  Pedro shifted his weight from foot to foot, his hands on Callida’s leading rein fidgeting with agitation. ‘I have been given instructions. I could lose my job.’

  Emelia took the leading rein from him. ‘I will explain to Señor Mélendez that I insisted. Don’t worry. I won’t let him fire you.’

  The lad looked uncertain but Emelia had already made up her mind and led the mare to the stables. Pedro followed and, wordlessly and with tight lips, saddled the horse, handing Emelia a riding helmet once he had finished.

  Emelia put it on and, giving him a smile, swung up into the saddle and rode out of the stable courtyard, relishing the sense of freedom it afforded her. She rode through the fields to the woods beyond, at a gentle walk at first and then, as her confidence grew, she squeezed Callida’s sides to get her to trot. It wasn’t long before she urged the horse into a canter, the rhythm so easy to ride to she felt as if she had been riding her for ever. How strange that Pedro had said she had refused to ride the horse Javier had bought for her. The horse was well bred and would have cost a mint. Why had she rejected such a beautiful precious gift?

  After a while Emelia came to an olive grove and another flicker of memory was triggered in her brain. She slipped out of the saddle and led the horse to the spot where she thought the photograph she had seen in Javier’s study was taken. Callida nudged against her and Emelia absently stroked the mare’s neck as she looked at the soft green grass where she had lain with Javier. Had they made love under the shade of the olive trees? she wondered. Her skin tingled, the hairs on the back of her neck rising as she pictured them there, limbs entangled intimately, Javier’s leanly muscled body pinning hers beneath the potent power of his.

  She thought back to their conversation about the terms of their marriage. The rules she had accepted supposedly without question. No children to tie either of them down. When had she decided she didn’t want children? Had she said it just to keep Javier happy? He struck her as a man who valued and enjoyed his freedom. In many ways he seemed to still live the life of a playboy: regular international travel on private jets, a disposable income, no ties or responsibilities other than a relatively new wife who apparently didn’t travel with him with any regularity. Children would definitely require a commitment from him he might not feel ready to agree to at this stage of his life.

  Emelia, on the other hand, had always loved children; it was one of the reasons she had wanted to teach instead of perform. She loved their innocence and their wonder at the world and had always dreamed of having a family of her own some day. Growing up as an only child with numerous stepmothers entering and exiting her life had made her determined to marry a man who would be a wonderful husband and father, a man who was faithful and steadfast, nothing at all like her restless father. Why then had she married a man who didn’t want the same things she did? Surely she hadn’t slept with him for any other reason than love. She had vowed ever since her disastrous affair of the past that she would never make that mistake again. But, thinking about the current of electricity that had flared between her and Javier from the first moment he had stepped up to her bedside in the hospital, Emelia had to wonder if she had fallen victim to the power of sexual attraction after all. If only Peter was still alive so she could ask him to fill in the gaps for her.

  She had made a couple of girlfriends at the hotel but none of them were particularly close. Besides, they had been on temporary visas and would have moved on by now. It seemed the only way to find out her past was piece by piece, like putting a complicated jigsaw puzzle back together without the original picture as a guide.

  Emelia rode back to the villa and handed Callida over to Pedro, who had very obviously been hovering about, waiting for her return. He took the mare with visible relief and reluctantly agreed on having the horse ready for another ride at the same time tomorrow.

  When Emelia came downstairs after a shower she was informed by Aldana she had a visitor.

  ‘She is waiting in la sala,’ the housekeeper said with a frosty look.

  ‘Gracias, Aldana,’ Emelia said. ‘But who is it? Someone I should know?’

  Aldana pursed her lips but, before she could respond, female footsteps click-clacked from behind Emelia and a young voice called out, ‘So you are back.’

  Emelia turned to see a young female version of Javier stalking haughtily towards her. The young woman’s dark-as-night eyes were flashing, her mouth was a thin line of disapproval and her long raven hair practically bristled with anger. ‘Izabella?’

  The young woman’s eyes narrowed to paper-thin slits. ‘So you remember me, do you? How very interesting.’

  Emelia took a steadying breath. ‘It was a guess, but apparently a very good one.’

  Izabella planted her hands on her boyishly slim hips, sending Emelia another wish-you-were-dead glare. ‘You shouldn’t be here. You have no right to be here after what you did.’

  Emelia marshalled her defences, keeping her tone civil but determined. ‘I’m not sure what I am supposedly guilty of doing. Perhaps you could enlighten me.’

  Izabella tossed her glossy dark head. ‘Don’t play the innocent with me. It might have worked with my brother but it won’t work with me. I know what you are up to.’

  Emelia was conscious of the housekeeper listening to every word. ‘Would you like to come into la sala and discuss this further?’ she asked.

  Izabella gave another flash of her midnight eyes. ‘I don’t care who hears what I have to say.’

  ‘Does your brother know you are here?’ Emelia asked after a tense pause.

  The young woman’s haughty stance slipped a notch. ‘He is not my keeper,’ she said, making a moue of her mouth.

  ‘That’s not what he told me,’ Emelia returned.

  Izabella gave her head another toss as she folded her arms across her chest. ‘He wouldn’t have taken you back, you know. He only did it because he had no choice. The press would have crucified him if he’d divorced you so soon after the accident.’

  Emelia felt as if a heavy weight had landed on her chest. She felt faint and had to struggle to remain steady on her feet. She would have excused herself but her desire to know more about her forgotten marriage overruled any concern for her well-being. ‘Wh-what are you saying?’

  ‘He was going to divorce you,’ Izabella said with an aristocratic hoist of her chin. ‘He had already contacted his lawyer.’

  Emelia moistened her lips. ‘On…on what grounds?’

  Izabella’s gaze was pure venom. ‘Adultery.’ She almost spat the word at Emelia. ‘You ran away to be with your lover.’

  Emelia stood in a frozen silence as she mentally replayed every conversation she’d had with Javier since she had woken in the hospital. While he hadn’t accused her of anything openly, he had alluded to what the press had made of her relationship with Peter. He had also expressed his bitterness at her remembering Peter while not remembering him, which she had thought was a reasonable reaction under the circumstances. But if Javier truly believed her to have been unfaithful, what was he waiting for? Why not divorce her and be done with it? Did he really care what the press would make of it? What did he hope to gain by taking her back as if nothing had happened? It didn’t make sense, not unless he loved her and was prepared to leave the past in the past, but somehow she didn’t think that was the case. He desired her. She was acutely
aware of the heat of his gaze every time it rested on her, indeed as aware of her own response to him. She was not immune to him, in spite of her memory loss. One kiss had shown how vulnerable she was to him.

  ‘But it’s not true,’ she said after a moment. ‘I didn’t commit adultery.’

  Izabella rolled her eyes. ‘Of course you would say that. Your lover is dead, so what else could you do? You had to come back to Javier. He is rich and you had nowhere else to go. Even your own father would not take you back. You are nothing but a gold-digger.’

  Emelia felt ill but worked hard to hold her composure. ‘Look, Izabella, I realise you must be upset if you have heard rumours such as the outrageous one you just relayed to me, but I can assure you I have never been unfaithful to your brother. It’s just not something I would do. I know it in my heart.’

  Izabella gave her a challenging glare. ‘How would you know? You say you don’t remember anything from the past two years. How do you know what you did?’

  It was a very good point, Emelia had to admit. But, deep down, she knew she would never have betrayed her marriage vows. How she was going to prove it was something she had yet to work out. Her reputation had been ruined by scandalous reports in the media. Who would believe her, even if she could remember what had happened that fateful day?

  ‘Did you ever love my brother?’ Izabella asked.

  The question momentarily knocked Emelia off course. She looked at the young woman blankly, knowing as each pulsing second passed another layer of blame was being shovelled on top of her. ‘I…I don’t feel it is anyone’s business but Javier’s and mine,’ she said.

  Izabella gave a scathing snort. ‘You never loved him. What you love is what he can give you—the lifestyle, the clothes, the jewellery. It’s all you have ever wanted from him.’

  ‘That is not true.’ Please don’t let it be true, Emelia thought.

  ‘He is not going to remain faithful to you, you know. Why should he when you played up behind his back?’