Raul rested his hand on hers. ‘It’s okay, I’m not a Franco supporter. How could I be? I see through his lies about neutrality in this war. There’s no doubting he’s …’ Raul let his sentence fade.
‘He’s?’ Katarina leant forward and offered a small smile. ‘You can say anything you want. I imagine we have the same views.’
Raul stared at the corner as if debating with himself. She knew the feeling. Since the Civil War, words could be deadly. One simple sentence could spell a jail term, or worse.
He closed his eyes and bowed his head for a moment. ‘I’ve spent so long not trusting anyone, it’s hard to believe again.’
‘Do you trust me?’ she asked.
‘It could be my undoing, but yes, I trust you implicitly.’
Her heart lurched, as if a crack had surfaced. It didn’t feel broken, though, it felt … free, like it had opened up and everything she’d secreted away was now ready to be heard. Anger and bitterness surged out as she said, ‘I hate Franco. I hate Hitler. I hate them for taking my father away. For killing the innocent. For changing my life forever.’
Raul cleared his throat, his large brown eyes studying hers. ‘Do you hate them enough to seek revenge?’
Katarina drew her brows together and spoke slowly. ‘What do you mean?’
‘If you had a chance to somehow get back at them, or at least their offshoot organisations, would you do it?’ Raul pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead. Shaking his head, he said, ‘Forget it.’
‘You can’t go back now,’ she said quickly. ‘If you leave this hanging in the air I’ll only jump to conclusions and they may be the wrong ones. Please,’ she grabbed his hand, ‘tell me what you mean.’
Raul let go and leant his elbows on his knees, his head resting in his hands. He took a few deep breaths, then sat up and locked eyes with her. ‘If you are really serious about vengeance, I know people who can assist.’
She leant forward, not sure if he was joking, but the solemnity clouding his handsome features told her otherwise.
‘I may regret telling you about this, but I can see the hurt that haunts you. There are ways, Katarina, to exact revenge if this is your wish.’
‘I …’ Her mouth couldn’t connect with her whirring mind.
Running his hand gently along her arm, he said, ‘You may not share much with words, but your dancing tells me everything. The stories have many deep layers, including much pain and anguish. I would not hesitate to trust you with my life.’
‘You’re doing so by even discussing this.’
‘This is true.’ Raul wrapped his arm around her shoulders and drew her against him. ‘Enough political talk for now. I would much rather concentrate on other things.’
When Raul’s lips met hers, the simmering passion exploded and once again her heart surrendered to Raul.
CHAPTER
11
Mateo finished his beer, looked down his nose to check if there was any foam, wiped his mouth as a cautionary measure, then said. ‘We go.’
‘Go where?’ Charlotte happily abandoned her half-full beer. Since arriving in Spain her alcohol intake had increased dramatically. Perhaps hanging in flamenco bars with fetching Spanish men may have had an influence.
‘We go to Alhambra. You know of this place, yes?’
‘How could I not?’ Nearly everywhere she went in Granada the spectacular Alhambra stood like a sentinel, high on the hill.
She reached in her bag to find her purse, but Mateo placed his hand on her arm. ‘Let me pay.’
‘But—’
He raised his eyebrows and she didn’t bother arguing. Charlotte got the distinct impression that she would have to pick her battles with Mateo; not that she planned on having any arguments. He threw some money on the counter and she hitched her bag on her shoulder and followed him out into the bright sunlight. Donning her sunglasses, they sauntered in comfortable silence through the alleyways and cobblestoned streets, heading down to the Río Darro. They crossed the waterway and wound their way up Cuesta de Gomérez, up the hill littered with shops, guitar makers and sellers of brightly coloured T-shirts. Thick forest surrounded the palace, giving the impression the building had sprouted from the earth centuries ago, like a carnation out of the soil.
‘Wow,’ she said, leaning her head back to capture the palace in its full beauty.
‘It is impressive, yes?’
‘It most certainly is.’
‘We go in now.’ Mateo stepped forward, but she hesitated.
‘As much as I’d love to see it, I really don’t have time to play tourist.’ Feeling bad for ruining his plan, she said, ‘I’m really sorry.’
If she offended him, he didn’t show it. ‘A visit to the Alhambra will help with your dilemma of the painting.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘You do not need to right now.’ Mateo tilted his head to the side, his eyes glinting with mischief. The more time she spent with him, the harder she knew it would be to leave.
‘I thought you had to book tickets at least a day in advance.’ Why did she feel the need to put a spanner in his works? She already knew if Mateo set his mind to something, nothing stopped him.
‘That is only if you do not know the right people.’ He grinned then went to chat with a man in a uniform. They laughed and slapped each other on the back then Mateo handed him some cash. A moment later he returned with two tickets and said, ‘Everything is okay.’
‘Do all the locals get in so easily?’
‘Only if they play flamenco at someone’s favourite bar.’ Mateo nodded in the direction of the man he’d just spoken with. He smiled and gave a small salute.
‘Nice work. So, Mister Tour Guide, where do we start?’ And when will you tell me what you have up your sleeve?
‘We start away from the crowds.’ He glanced at the chattering masses milling at the entrance.
‘I think you’re asking the impossible.’
‘Never the mind. We will use our imaginations and pretend we are the only ones here.’
‘Sounds like a plan.’
They handed over their tickets, walked through the gates and Mateo made a beeline for wherever he had in mind. They wandered through a large hall decorated in blue, gold and black, the cavernous space brimming with history and secrets that may never be revealed.
Placing his hands behind his back, Mateo cleared his throat. ‘Originally a small fortress, the Alhambra was built in the year of 889. A very long time ago, no?’ He didn’t wait for her to answer. ‘When he left it turned to the ruins. Many years later a Moorish king arrived and he changed it into the palace we see now. The man you can thank for this beauty is Yusuf I, the Sultan of Granada.’
‘They had a sultan?’ she asked as they ambled out of the hall and into a garden. A water fountain was positioned at one end, running into an oblong pool that stretched the length of the courtyard. Lush foliage grew near the walls and white and lavender flowers created a romantic setting.
Romantic.
Gah! Charlotte mentally slapped her forehead.
The poor guy had a point to make and she could only think about what it would feel like to kiss those lips—the ones that were currently giving her a history of Granada. Concentrate, for god’s sake!
‘Do not forget, dear Charlotte,’ Mateo continued, totally unaware of her wanton thoughts, ‘that Granada, and especially the Alhambra, straddle two worlds. This site has been used for Muslim emirs, those of high command, and Catholic monarchs, over the centuries. Are you impressed?’
His wink had an air of cheekiness and she wished she were a person who could blurt out her deepest feelings without worrying about what others thought. Because if she were capable of such a thing, she wouldn’t hesitate in telling Mateo she loved the way the shadows fell across his face, outlining his strong jaw, giving his skin a beautiful olive hue, and how she adored the slight crookedness of his lovely nose.
You are so gone, Kavanagh.
‘Charlotte?’
‘What?’ She blinked rapidly, back in the moment, embarrassed about her momentary lapse.
‘Look at this.’ Mateo gestured to the nearest wall and she moved forward, concentrating on the elaborate artwork that included an assortment of flowers. Gold paint in fine detail glittered in the sun and above each wall stood an arch with darker tiling, highlighting the beautiful swirls and scrolled letters.
‘I’ve seen some gorgeous palaces in my time, but this is just …’ Overwhelmed, she couldn’t finish the sentence.
‘Breathtaking?’
She nodded.
‘So how do you feel when you see artwork that captures your imagination? Your heart? That speaks to you in a way that you cannot ignore?’
‘I …’ Oh, he was good. ‘Is this why you brought me here? To remind me how much I love art?’
Mateo gave a half shrug. ‘There are various reasons we are here but yes, one of them is to help you remember why you first started doing the painting. I can see creativity is a large part of who you are but you are fighting it. Give in, Charlotte. Let fate take its course and you will find peace.’ He leant in, his nearness disconcerting. ‘You may even find duende.’
Closing her eyes for a moment, she tried to cut out the chatter and the excited screams of children running through the large halls just outside the garden. Mateo got under her skin so easily, he could read her innermost thoughts and he always found the right button to push. How did he do that and how could she stop him? Or did she even want to?
‘I doubt duende is on my horizon,’ she said, her spirit flattening.
‘Do not be so harsh on yourself. Have some belief. Some faith.’ He placed his finger under her chin and his eyes connected with hers. ‘Converse with your flamenco spirit and let it guide you.’
‘I can’t.’
‘You already have. Do you not see? After the dancing you painted the fire inside you.’ He placed his hand over her heart and she wondered whether he felt it speed up.
The intensity brewing between them made her nervous and she took a step back. ‘That was just a fleeting moment.’
‘I doubt it was fleeting. Why are you so scared?’
‘I …’ Her shoulders fell and she hung her head. ‘There’s no point.’
‘There is always a point. Come.’ Mateo grabbed her hand and led her through another courtyard where bright green myrtle hedges surrounded another pool, this one reflecting the splendour of the geometric Moorish designs of the arches.
‘This is the Court of Myrtles.’
She nodded acknowledgement and they stood in silence and watched the goldfish swimming in the crystal water.
‘Beautiful, sí?’
‘Absolutely.’ Charlotte couldn’t look at him because she’d suddenly developed a teenage shyness. What the hell was wrong with her?
‘My city has spent centuries straddling cultures, embracing the Moorish and European roots. Sometimes it is a challenge, other times it is not. But the want … the desire is there to find a way to incorporate all of the goodness. Much like you and your painting.’
‘I’m not following you at all.’ Finding the nerve, she fixed her eyes on his and the minute they connected, the rush of a very deep liking for this man raced through her.
‘You are stuck between following your heart or listening to your head, yes? At the end of your days, what do you want? Happiness? Fulfilment? A chance at the magical duende?’
‘All of the above,’ she mumbled.
‘Then let yourself find it by painting what your soul wants. Do not control it. Let it unfold naturally. The world’s best flamenco can only happen if the musician or singer or dancer allows themselves to be taken on a journey. I am sure you will find the artisans of the Alhambra surrendered to their artistic self. And look at the result.’ He swept his arm wide, taking in the stunning tiles in green and blue hues, the gold swirls of Arabic and the lush gardens.
‘I know you’re right …’
‘I sense there is a “but” you wish to insert?’
‘Yes,’ she sighed, frustrated he wouldn’t let up. Although she loved that he cared enough to encourage her to tap into a part she’d closed off long ago. ‘It’s not that easy to give in to it.’
‘Living one’s art is a constant battle, but one worth fighting for, yes? Forget about your past struggles and move forward. This is something the gitanos are good at.’
‘From what I’ve seen, the people of Granada hold on to their past. Look at how well cared for the Alhambra and Sacromonte are.’
Mateo rubbed his chin with his thumb and index finger. ‘Maybe, but the past should not always be remembered.’
‘It’s not in me culturally or personality-wise to forget the past—how else can I know how much I’ve grown as a person?’ How quickly their conversation had turned.
‘Sometimes the past needs to stay there.’ Sadness now shadowed his usually cheerful demeanour.
‘Is this why you won’t do whatever it is that Leila suggested?’ She instantly regretted her mentioning it. ‘Sorry.’
Mateo pursed his lips and stared at the pond. A young blonde couple arrived on the patio, but they took one look at Mateo and Charlotte, and turned back. No doubt they could feel the tension that had exploded in the courtyard.
‘I don’t want to pry … actually, yes I bloody well do. Sorry, Mateo, but if you have a way of helping my grandmother and you’re holding back, I want to know why.’ So much for treading softly-softly until he was ready to tell her.
‘To help you and your grandmother, I have to confront my own history.’
Realising her demanding ways were uncalled for, she softened her tone. ‘I’m sorry, I have no right to ask you to do anything.’
‘It is okay.’ He rested his hand on her forearm. ‘You are looking out for family and that is important. Sometimes families are good, others not so good. Mine is the latter. If I am to help you, then I must use connections that mean I run the risk of seeing my own family—something I have not done for many years. Well, apart from my brother who I saw some weeks back.’
‘Are you talking with him?’
‘Not after he did this.’ Mateo pointed to his crooked nose.
‘Shit. Sorry.’ And she thought the issues with her father were complicated.
‘It is not your fault. So,’ he paused, ‘to understand why this is so difficult for me, you must know of my history.’
‘I don’t want you to do something you don’t want to.’ Yes, getting answers for Abuela was extremely important, but she didn’t want anyone, especially someone as lovely as Mateo, to have to suffer through their own traumas. She reached for his hand and squeezed it. When she moved to let go he tightened his fingers around hers.
‘We go find somewhere comfortable, yes?’ He led her by the hand and they strolled back through the archway, large and small halls, past the crowds and into another courtyard. Running water echoed as they let go of each other’s hand and sat on a stone bench under the shade of a cypress tree.
Charlotte breathed in the dry air, the woody, slightly spicy aroma of the cypress tickling her nostrils. ‘This place is amazing.’ You are amazing, Mateo Vives.
‘Yes, it is.’ His face held a serious expression once more. ‘You must know that my connection with the Giménez clan is a long and turbulent one. I will not go into the details but instead will concentrate on my own blood relatives.’
‘So you’re not even half gitano?’
‘No.’
‘Then how … sorry, I’ll let you talk.’ She mimed zipping her lips, locking them and putting an imaginary key in her pocket. It was then followed by an encouraging smile.
‘Gracias. I am not gitano by birth, but have always felt a strong pull towards their music and culture. My family, they are …’ He closed his eyes briefly and sighed. ‘They are materialistic, not interested in culture, they only care about how much money they can make. I come from an elite family of Spain, but I have chosen to dis
sociate myself from them. I did work for my father for some time and made much money but I had sold my soul so I left. After this, he did not speak with me because he could not understand why I would turn my back on a lifestyle he loved. We are the chalk and the cheese.’ Mateo rubbed his chin again.
‘The parallels in our lives are rather freaky,’ she said, more torn than ever about dropping out of the family business. Mateo had ditched his place on the family corporate ladder and now he was estranged with his family. She didn’t want to suffer the same fate but his poetic way of convincing her to give in to her artistic self sounded so convincing …
‘Charlotte?’
‘Oh! Sorry.’
‘I said to help you I must talk with family friends from my old days.’
Finally, a lead, but it was at Mateo’s expense. This didn’t sit well, but he was a grown man who could make his own decisions, right? It’s not like she’d held a gun to his head.
‘Please understand, Charlotte, the chance is slim, yes? Many families moved out of Spain, and some changed their names if they stayed during the rule of Franco. That’s why it is sometimes hard to find information and because, as it is with all the wars, records were lost or deliberately burned. However, I grew up with a family who only ever talked about other people—not always in a good way—and I suspect I know of a family who may help. That is if they will talk with me. They may not, due to their loyalty to my biological family.’
Mateo fell silent and drummed his fingers against his knee. Even the thought of seeing the people who could help made him agitated. Perhaps there was a way around it.
‘What if you gave me their details and I saw them myself? My Spanish isn’t great, but I could get by.’
‘This señora, she is a very private person and is not known for trusting the strangers. I know for a fact you will not get information from her without an introduction.’ Puffing out his chest, he said, ‘There is no other option. We go together and we try.’
Under the Spanish Stars Page 13