CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SHE was leaving her heart in Argentina, while duty and a very different type of love was taking her to England. It was too late to wish she had told Diego about her father. He couldn’t have come with her anyway. And why would he want to? How could she be so selfish as to even think of asking him in the middle of a match that would decide Diego’s future?
Even now she might arrive too late to find her father alive. With no one to see her she let the tears come as the powerful jet engines carried her swiftly above the cloud line and everything she had longed to be part of. She had to find the old, organised Maxie, who would immediately know what to do, but she was gone.
So she’d get her back, Maxie determined fiercely. First she had to prioritise. There would be other matches, but this visit with her father couldn’t wait. She couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t go to him and he died alone.
And Diego?
She would call Diego the moment she arrived in London. She would tell him and he would understand. She hoped he would understand, Maxie amended as her heart contracted into a tiny, defensive ball.
Nacho’s helicopter took Diego to Ezeiza International. From there the flight to London would take the same time as the jet. He was a mere six hours behind her. The trail was still hot.
His investigator was waiting for him at Heathrow with a fast, unobtrusive car. ‘Move over, I’ll drive,’ he told the man. ‘Just give me directions.’
And that was the extent of their conversation until he pulled in through the gates of the Nuttingford Nursing Home.
‘What’s this?’ he said, peering out of the windscreen at the imposing Victorian façade. ‘Has Peter Parrish taken to swindling old ladies these days?’
‘It’s a retirement home, for those who can afford it,’ his investigator explained.
‘Thank you.’ He cut the man short. He could see for himself that there was everything here to make a con-man’s twilight years extravagantly comfortable. Anger exploded inside him.
Peter Parrish was evidently prospering in this overblown honeypot while Diego’s friend Oresto was rotting in his grave. Spinning the car across the gravel, he screeched to a halt in front of the steps. Springing out, he slammed the door and took the steps in a couple of bounds. The front door was open and the PI followed him in. He was ready to do murder by the time he reached the reception desk, so perhaps it was as well that the investigator supplied the name under which Maxie had registered her father.
‘You can leave me now,’ he told the man, dismissing him without a glance.
He would confront Peter Parrish first, and then he would tell the world about a man without scruples so no one else would ever fall victim to his scams. If Maxie was with him … He steeled his heart. If Maxie was with her father she would have to admit her role in covering up his whereabouts and lying about his name. She must accept the full extent of her father’s fraudulent dealings, together with their tragic consequences.
Guilt and anger vied inside him as he mounted the stairs, dragging on stale air at least five degrees warmer than it should have been. The thought of redemption and penance within his grasp drove him on. The upcoming confrontation wouldn’t raise Oresto from the grave, but it would be the end of a journey he had once feared would never be over.
Stalking along a richly furnished corridor that boasted a faint scent of overcooked cabbage and beeswax, he found the room on the second floor. One of the better rooms, the receptionist had told him. As if he cared. As if he was interested in anything other than the fact that Peter Parrish had feathered his nest at the expense of who knew how many others apart from Oresto. He grasped the handle and threw the door open without the courtesy of a warning knock.
‘Diego!’
‘What the hell?’ He whirled in turmoil before he had a chance to see inside the room, to find Maxie standing right behind him. His angry mind threw him back to the past even as he tried to absorb this new information.
She had just been coming out of the restroom when she spotted Diego. So he knew. He’d come. He was here for her. This was right. In that instant all the lonely sorrow banked up inside her changed to relief. He understood, she registered numbly as Diego steered her towards the empty visitors’ lounge. When they were both inside he shut the door and leaned with his back against it so no one could disturb them.
‘Well?’ he said.
Oh, thank God to be with someone who understood without the need for words. Diego’s voice penetrated the mud in her head, just as the sight of him filled her heart with soothing balm. ‘Oh, Diego …’ She stopped. There was so much she wanted to say to him. ‘Thank you for coming.’ He made a sound, as if to say anything else was unthinkable. She could see the passion in his eyes—the fierce, fierce passion. ‘I wish I could have waited for you. I wish I could have stayed to see the end of the match, but this …’ Her hands lifted and fell again. There were no words.
‘The match?’ he said without inflection.
‘I know how much it meant to you …’ She lifted her gaze then, and stared him in the eyes.
‘You had to be here,’ he said in the same calm voice, his burning eyes the only reflection of the deepest of passions swirling inside him.
‘Yes, I did. Thank you for understanding.’
The sound he made now was both primal and terrifying. ‘Understanding?’ he spat out, grabbing hold of her. She cried out like a frightened animal when he yanked her close. Staring furiously into her eyes, he said, ‘I only understand that you’re here with him.’
‘Yes, I know—I should have been with you.’
‘Me?’ he said, staring down at her as if she were his most loathsome enemy. ‘You were never with me.’
‘What are you saying?’ Shock coursed through her even as bewilderment sapped the strength from her legs. ‘Diego, I don’t understand …’
‘You don’t understand?’ he raged. ‘You were always with him—calling him—speaking to him—thinking only of him.’
‘Diego, please!’
He let her go as suddenly as he had grabbed hold of her and stood back, breathing heavily, lost in some place where she couldn’t reach him. The world was going crazy. This wasn’t her tender lover or the friend she had trusted above all others.
‘Diego, what is it? Are you talking about my father? Are you jealous of my father? Diego?’
A discreet tap on the door made them both go still. Maxie’s heart contracted. She knew what this meant.
‘Diego,’ she said softly. ‘I have to go now.’
When she left him his fury subsided, leaving only the knowledge that he loved Maxie with all his heart, and that life without her was unthinkable. If she wanted to be with her father in private he would understand. He would be here for her, whatever happened. If Peter Parrish chose to ridicule and belittle him, then he would take that on board too. Love had no boundaries, no restrictions. Love was unconditional.
Walking over to the window, he stared out, remembering Oresto as the rain fell bleakly down.
The door to her father’s room was partly open, and she heard the nurse outside explaining to Diego in an undertone, ‘He doesn’t have long. Please don’t stay for more than a few minutes …’
The nurse’s voice seemed to come from a long way away, while Maxie was in a bubble that excluded the rest of the world, apart from her father and now Diego. When the door swung wide to allow him in and she saw Diego framed in light calm fell over her, as if Diego being here at this particular time was part of the natural order of things. All the petty concerns and fears that jabbed away, making small problems seem huge, had been collected up in a holding pen to be dealt with at some later time. It was the only way individuals could cope with great grief, she supposed.
She heard Diego murmur something in reply to the nurse and then they were alone. Still holding her father’s hand in both of hers, as if she could will some of her own strength into him, she turned to look at Diego.
Why hadn’
t she told him? He had remained in the visitors’ lounge until he had begun to wonder if Maxie had left him again. He’d gone looking for her and a nurse had explained. And here she was, seated on an upright chair, holding the gnarled hand of the old man on the bed. His heart pounded with concern for her even as incredulity swept over him. Was this his enemy? Was this the man he had wasted so much of his life hating?
It took him a few moments to accept there could be any connection between the confident, robust individual he remembered and the frail old man who lay dying on the bed. The shades were drawn and there was no sound other than the ticking of an antique mantel clock and the old man’s involuntary breathing. Peter Parrish had passed to the last struggles of a body ready to surrender, and while Maxie appeared resigned to this, he could feel her anguish and her deep sense of impending loss.
‘Diego,’ she whispered, reaching for him.
Taking hold of Maxie’s hand in a firm grip, he raised it to his lips and pressed a long kiss against her palm. Only then did he straighten up to stare down at Peter Parrish. So this was the devil on his back. This was the man who had haunted him. How sweet were those thoughts of revenge now?
‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ Maxie whispered.
He stared down into her eyes and saw only goodness in them. Maxie had never been to blame for her father’s actions. She hadn’t been hiding wickedness from him—she had been hiding love. Peter Parrish might be undeserving of that love but he was Maxie’s father. And if there was one thing Diego understood it was family. There was only one thing he could do now, and that was to forgive Peter Parrish as Oresto’s family had forgiven him.
Diego reflected as he watched her moisten her father’s lips with a sponge left for that purpose. This was life. This was Maxie’s life. A great shame washed over him when he thought how badly he had misjudged her. He hadn’t really let her in. If he had he would have told her about Oresto and she would have been able to confide in him about her father.
‘I would have left the match to be with you,’ he whispered.
‘I couldn’t have asked you to do that,’ she protested in an undertone. ‘Your first match back, Diego? Don’t you think I know how important that was for you?’
He shrugged this off with a rueful breath. ‘I’m just another player. There are always substitutes standing ready, longing for the chance to prove what they can do. You should have told me what was happening, Maxie. I would have brought you here.’
‘I never thought you’d want that level of commitment.’
‘What are you talking about?’ he demanded incredulously, drawing her away from the bed to an alcove, where they could talk without disturbing her father.
‘I’ve seen what love can do, Diego. I know how destructive it can be.’
She glanced at her father as she spoke, and it killed him to see her wringing her hands. Capturing them in his he held them safe as Maxie told him how her father had mistreated her mother and how he’d later been eaten up with guilt when her mother had become ill.
‘But the guilt was too late,’ she said. ‘Just as it’s too late for me to tell my father that I love him.’
‘It’s never too late,’ he argued fiercely, dragging her close. ‘You’re here now, and I think your father knows that. I think he knows you’ve always been here for him, and that your forgiveness for whatever he’s done in the past is limitless and was never in doubt.’
‘Do you really think so?’ she said, searching his face.
‘I know it,’ he ground out fiercely, holding her tight. ‘I know it just as surely as I know that love can last. I know it in the same way that I know I can’t live without you. Can you ever forgive me for not being here for you—for not telling you how I feel about you before this?’
‘For not expressing your emotions?’ She smiled sadly. ‘Diego, we’re both lousy at that.’
‘So if I tell you I love you?’
The tension in her face softened. ‘I never thought of you as a romantic, Diego.’
‘And I never took you for a coward, Maxie Parrish. I still don’t. So if I ask you to marry me, will you risk it?’
‘Just hold me,’ she begged him, nestling close. ‘For now, just hold me.’
They stood for a long time without speaking, and when he released her she turned back to her vigil. He caught her before she reached the bed. ‘I’ll take over,’ he said quietly. ‘Please … Let me do this for you, Maxie.’
She looked at him in bewilderment.
‘You need a break,’ he said, appealing to her common sense. ‘Sit down for a moment outside and gather your strength. I’ll call you right away if you’re needed.’
‘I can’t believe you’d do this for me.’
‘I’d do anything for you,’ he said simply. When she rested against him he felt how exhausted she was, and he knew he wouldn’t tell her the history he shared with her father now. He wouldn’t tell her for a long time, and only then if he thought she was ready to hear it—so maybe never. The only thing that mattered to him was caring for Maxie and supporting her when she needed him, and he thanked God for giving him this opportunity.
When they left the nursing home he realised Peter Parrish had taught him a valuable lesson. While he had been sitting with Maxie’s father, doing all he could to make the man comfortable in the last hours of his life, he had taken the opportunity to review his own life, and had realised that the only thing that mattered was love.
‘I should have told you about my father long before this,’ Maxie said, worrying her lip as she frowned. ‘No, you shouldn’t.’
He was holding her in his arms on the bed at the palacio on the Isla del Fuego, where they were staying for Holly’s wedding. They hadn’t talked about Maxie’s father since the funeral, when Diego had said a few words over the grave about forgiveness and redemption and moving on. Maxie was still tender after her father’s death and needed constant reassurance. She had been holding it together for so long she hardly knew how to let go. He understood how vulnerable a strong person could be, and his heart had gathered her in.
‘Why are you telling me all this now?’ he said, kissing her brow.
‘Because I want to share everything with you,’ she said, turning her clear gaze on him. ‘I don’t want there to be any secrets between us.’
‘And there won’t be,’ he pledged, dropping a tender kiss on her lips.
This return to Isla del Fuego, where they had first met, first kissed, first argued, first loved, had been a poignant homecoming for both of them. He would always remember what Maxie had done for him here, as well as what she had created for Holly’s wedding—scenes of such celebration and love that the old house and the island on which it stood had been reinstated in his memory as a happy place rather than a prison.
‘Have I thought of everything?’ she murmured, worrying because today was the long-awaited day of Holly’s wedding.
‘You know you have,’ he reassured her, drawing Maxie into his arms.
The guests had been brought in by ferries which had been met on the dock by fleets of horse-drawn carriages, specially decorated with ribbons and flowers for the occasion. The weather, unlike on Maxie’s first sighting of the island, couldn’t have been more perfect, and everyone had enthused that this was going to be a wedding like no other. Even his hard to please brother Ruiz was in a perpetual state of ecstasy at the sight of the joy and anticipation on Holly’s face.
And now he and Maxie were resting on the bed after the final dress rehearsal. The sex was always phenomenal between them, but just lying together quietly was good too. ‘So, come on,’ he coaxed, ‘tell me what’s on your mind.’
‘I want to tell you everything,’ she murmured against his mouth. ‘Then we needn’t speak of it again. But there is something I want you to know.’
‘If it’s worrying you, and it will make you feel better if you tell me, then do so,’ he said. He would do anything to make Maxie happy.
‘My father didn’t always tr
ead a straight line.’ His impulse was to tense. He caught it in time. ‘But there was a reason for it,’ she continued. ‘When my mother became sick we had no money for her care. That was when I learned how to massage her leg, because it saved paying for extra sessions from the therapist. I soon became good at it.’
‘Because it mattered to you?’ he guessed. She smiled sadly.
‘Because it helped my mother.’ He gave an encouraging nod.
‘My father couldn’t afford the treatment my mother needed,’ she went on, ‘and so he started to borrow money—more and more money.’
A downward spiral that had ended with Peter Parrish trying to swindle two cocky Argentinian youths out of a fortune, Diego realised.
‘He wasn’t a bad man, Diego. He was a desperate man. The money wasn’t for him, but for my mother.’
He hushed her and drew her close to kiss the top of her head, thinking this hardly mattered now. But Maxie tensed and pulled away, her eyes full of some unspoken horror.
‘What is it?’ he said.
‘It went wrong, Diego,’ she said, staring at him with that same look in her eyes. ‘My father’s plan went horribly wrong. Someone died because of him. I was too young to know the details, but I heard my mother crying one day as she confided in a friend that a young man had lost all his family money and killed himself because of my father’s actions. There were more rows, and my father was never the same after that. His intention, foolish though it was, had been to save life—not to destroy it. I think he went mad with grief, and then dementia took over. My mother died shortly afterwards, so he felt it had all been for nothing.’
‘But none of it was your fault, Maxie,’ Diego insisted gently. ‘You can’t go on blaming yourself for something your father did so long ago. And you mustn’t,’ he insisted. ‘Your father was trying in every way he knew to care for your mother, as you later cared for him. He could see no further than that any more than you could see further than your duty towards him. Don’t you think I understand that now?’
The Argentinian's Solace Page 14