Legacy

by Hannah Fielding

  Once in the sanctuary of her room Luna went to the window and stepped out on to the balcony. She was hot and needed air, but she was trembling from head to toe and had to hold on to the balustrade as if her knees might fold under her.

  She did not understand herself. What was she doing? If she gave in to these confused emotions she would burst into tears and cry her heart out. She had just thrown away an opportunity to meet someone she had last night labelled the man of her dreams. That’s precisely what you wanted, to see him again, a little voice at the back of her head nagged incessantly. But he made you feel cheap, like all men do. Her mouth gave a wry tilt: no, he hadn’t, not really, she admitted wistfully. Instinct told her he was different. This feeling was different. She was simply running away.

  Luna had no doubt he wanted her, he had made no secret of it; but she was also aware that this overwhelming rush of sheer sensuality, which had invaded her mind and body ever since she had set eyes on him, was a reaction so alien to her, she was terrified. She half wished she hadn’t come to Spain, or that she knew how to break free of this intoxication, which bombarded her with so many new emotions she hardly recognized herself. Or perhaps it was the idea of not giving in to these unleashed feelings that troubled her more.

  She remained still as she leant against the balustrade, breathing in the night. The beauty of the scene stretched out soothingly into the distance. It was like a picture in black and gold, with the dusky sky making a dark canopy over her head; and golden stars, so much larger, it seemed, than the ones back home. A deep orange glow spread over the lit-up city, making it seem as if life were going on everywhere else, vibrantly, adventurously … passionately. She sighed and stared out over the luminous landscape. Tonight, she had coped with the situation in the only way she had known, and that was to flee: to put miles between her and the risky business of getting hurt.

  This was a beautiful place but she was happy to be leaving Barcelona the next day. It had been an intense forty-eight hours, and she looked forward to quieter times in Cádiz.

  * * *

  The Jerez flight was already boarding, Luna noted, glancing up at the departures board as she hurried into Barcelona El Prat Airport. She had already checked in online and thankfully the queues were short. After speedily dropping off her bags at the check-in desk, she passed through the half-empty security hall and jogged down to the departure lounge. She was panting a little as she joined the long line of passengers at the gate waiting to board the plane.

  It had been one of those mornings. Still jet-lagged, she had woken to find she had missed her wake-up call and that it was already past ten. Showering and dressing had been a hasty affair with no time for breakfast or even a cup of coffee. Reception had forgotten to book her taxi and, to top it all, there had been an accident in the city centre before they reached the motorway. Twenty minutes in a traffic jam added to the delay, during which she’d had to put up with the noise of horns blowing, brakes grinding, and gears scraping while the Guàrdia Urbana de Barcelona diverted the traffic, finally resulting in a race to the airport at breakneck speed.

  Now, Luna gradually cooled down as the queue to the plane doors dwindled to the last handful of passengers. She was glad she had dressed comfortably: a pair of white linen cropped trousers with a white-and-pink polka-dot poplin blouse, a white linen jacket and sensible pink ballet pumps. She had no hand luggage, apart from the oversized Havana shoulder bag that held everything she might need for the journey.

  ‘Buenas tardes, señorita. Bienvenidos a bord.’ The steward flashed her an appreciative smile as she handed him her boarding pass. ‘El asiento de la ventana, la segunda fila a la derecha, the window seat in the second row on your right,’ he added, and winked at her.

  The flight was full. It was a small, regional plane, hot and cramped. A woman carrying a child and a large bag, coming close behind, jostled Luna as she was putting away her jacket in the overhead locker. Luna jerked forward and banged her head. She winced. It simply wasn’t turning out to be her day at all.

  Finally she took her place near the window, tidied her bag under the seat in front of her, fastened her seatbelt and tried to relax. She had barely shut her eyes when the voice of the pilot announced over the intercom that take-off would unfortunately be delayed due to the late arrival of a passenger.

  Luna glanced at her watch. She was meant to be meeting the estate agent, Diego Montez, that afternoon to pick up the keys to her house in Cádiz. Rather than leaving it to Scientific US to arrange her accommodation, Luna had searched the internet herself for a place. She wanted control of her surroundings while staying in the city, and had found a two-bedroom house right on the beach that seemed ideal. Given the failure of the Spanish property market, it had had not been difficult to negotiate a short-term lease with the estate agent that suited her purposes. If the day continued the way it had started, she would be late for her appointment. She had better ring Montez before the plane was ready for take-off and let him know.

  Her bag was full. She rummaged in it for a few moments, but couldn’t find her mobile. Her whole life was contained in it and, she wondered distractedly as she checked again, how anyone ever managed before mobile phones. A growing sense of panic stole over her. Could she have left it in the taxi? That was the last time she remembered using it. Thankful that the seat beside her was empty, she began to take things out of her bag, one by one.

  ‘Es esto lo que busca? Is this what you’re looking for?’ she heard a smooth, confident baritone ask in Spanish.

  Startled, Luna’s head shot up, a grateful remark on her lips, only to have it freeze, unuttered. With a plummeting heart she met the dazzling cobalt eyes of the gypsy-scholar. He was looking down at her intently, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. So absorbed in what she was doing, Luna had been quite unaware of his approach.

  Speech seemed to desert her and all she could do was stare at him. The eyes that flashed back at her with amusement were like brilliant blue flames.

  ‘Is this what you’re looking for?’ The enquiry, this time in perfect English, was spoken with a seductively Spanish lilt.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ Luna managed finally, though evidently too stunned to move. Her hand was still hovering over the contents of her bag, strewn over the seat.

  He smiled, his gaze never wavering from her face. ‘I found it just here on the floor, at the edge of the aisle.’

  It must have fallen out of her pocket when she got bumped against the overhead locker. ‘Thank you,’ she repeated, summoning a faint smile and taking the phone from his hand.

  His lips gave that now familiar quirk, and she caught a glimpse of gleaming white teeth as he stood there, shrugging off the jacket of his expensive-looking beige lightweight suit and laying it in the overhead locker. Her eyes strayed automatically to the open-neck shirt that clearly delineated his broad shoulders and torso. It revealed the same triangle of dark hair that had been so appealing under a T-shirt before, and she wondered how the rest of his chest might look beneath that crisp, white cotton. The thought sent every cell in her body firing to a new level, acutely aware of his nearness.

  His eyes held hers again. He signalled the place next to her, which still had the pile of her paraphernalia sitting on it. ‘My seat,’ he murmured.

  Mortified, and with a breathless apology, she began piling her belongings back into her bag, conscious of the other passengers’ mild curiosity and a few glares of disapproval. The air stewardess came up to ask if there was any problem, but he dismissed her easily with his charming smile. Then he slid into the place next to Luna, laying his small briefcase under the seat in front of him and fastening his seatbelt.

  Near or far, this man represented a danger Luna was incapable of handling, she thought, as hammer-beats thundered in her blood; and now he was much too close for comfort. Their arms were almost touching and she could feel the heat of sheer male energy radiating from him. Her keen awareness of his smouldering presence an inch away was a sweet night
mare, but a nightmare nevertheless. With unsteady hands she managed to send a brief message to the estate agent and, turning off her phone, she tucked it into her bag.

  The stranger leaned towards her and she was conscious of the faint musky scent of his aftershave. ‘Would you like a mint?’ he offered with a warm smile, half reaching for his briefcase.

  Luna shook her head. ‘No, thank you,’ she murmured politely. If only she could think of something to say.

  He saved her the trouble, though she almost wished he hadn’t. Settling back in his chair, his smile was still on her. ‘It seems fate is determined to throw us together.’ His voice was a little huskier this time.

  She tried not to dwell on the images that provocative remark conjured in her head. If she’d been the sort of person to believe in fate then, right at this moment, she would have railed against it. It was certainly determined to undermine her resistance. Still, she should show more constraint now, she reminded herself. She hadn’t forgotten the openly appraising look he had given her in the hotel lounge as she’d read his note. The sheer arrogance of it still smarted.

  Just like other men.

  Well, perhaps he was not like other men, she admitted reluctantly. Certainly he was different in ways that confused her. In fact, this gripping, powerful attraction was like nothing she had ever known.

  She shook the thought loose. No matter how attractive or charismatic he might be, he was not the kind of man she should be getting mixed up with.

  ‘I don’t believe in fate, just extreme coincidences,’ she said, less confidently than she would have liked.

  ‘Not even luck then?’

  ‘Isn’t that the same thing?’

  He grinned. ‘In any case, as extreme coincidence has made such an effort on our behalf, we should at least know each other’s name.’ He turned slightly, his hand outstretched. ‘My friends call me Ruy.’

  Ruy. He hadn’t offered his full name, which gave her the perfect excuse not to volunteer her own.

  ‘Luna,’ she said, reaching her hand towards his.

  When their palms came into contact, it was all she could do not to gasp at the strange exhilaration that spread to her nerve endings. Like the rest of him, his hand was strong and well groomed. Once again, her stomach performed an unwelcome feat of acrobatics and she ignored the accompanying squeeze of disappointment when he released her hand.

  ‘Luna,’ he murmured, as if tasting the sound on his tongue. From his sinfully perfect lips, her name sounded positively decadent. ‘A Spanish name. The moon, Queen of the Night … Yes, of course.’ The plane was moving on to the runway now, lining up, waiting for instructions to take off. He studied her silently for a few moments. ‘Where are you from?’ he ventured.

  ‘The USA,’ she said. She slanted him a half-smile, noticing how his cropped curly dark hair lay in fetching wisps against a tanned neck. She cursed herself for letting her gaze wander again. If his appearance made her lose the power to think, then she would have to keep her eyes on something else. Luna reached for the inflight magazine tucked into the pocket in front of her, opening and raising it hastily to her face, not even seeing its contents. Perhaps this would give her a few moments to compose herself. She could tell that he was watching her flustered manoeuvrings with interest.

  Damn him. Why didn’t he just find somewhere else to look?

  Leaning a little towards her, he gently took hold of the edge of the magazine and turned it around, his fingers lightly brushing against the back of her hand. The tiny shock of his touch shivered through her body and she sucked in her breath.

  ‘Maybe this way, you’ll find the article more interesting,’ he whispered, his eyes dancing with mischief as she flushed bright red, realizing that she had been holding it upside down.

  Luna felt an instant desire for the floor to open up and swallow her whole. She bit her lip and turned to him in a dignified manner, despite herself.

  ‘Thank you.’

  Safety procedures began over the intercom, much to Luna’s relief. Having politely listened to the air hostess’s instructions in case of emergency, Ruy said no more as the plane rumbled along the runway, picking up speed. Their eyes met for a split second, making her turn away abruptly from that intense and penetrating look. There was nowhere to run here.

  What was wrong with her? Where was all that calm selfconfidence, on which she always prided herself? Luna was not a woman who became flustered so easily. Then again she was not a woman who read her magazines upside down either.

  Why was she being so coy? Deep down, she had dreamed of seeing him again. Ruy. The name echoed in her mind. The man of her dreams was called Ruy. Fate, luck or coincidence, whatever the cause of their chance meetings, she now wondered at her own maddening prevarication at every one of them. After all, she was sure he was conscious of the chemistry between them; there was no point in trying to hide it, her awkward manner had given her away. The answer to her questions came loud and clear: with dreams there must come a time of awakening, and she was protecting herself.

  So she steeled herself for the flight ahead. This was going to be the longest plane journey of her life. Take-off was smooth. The jet lifted slowly, climbing gradually over the clouds before it levelled.

  Inevitably, he spoke again. ‘I thought I detected a twinge of an American accent,’ he said. ‘Your Spanish is impeccable. Are you here on holiday or for business?’

  She inhaled slowly, determined to handle a simple conversation.

  ‘Yes, and no. I was in Barcelona only for Professor Goldsmith’s lecture.’ She deflected his question. ‘Do you live there?’

  ‘No, I’m not from Barcelona. I was there just for a few days for the same reason.’

  ‘And are you in the habit of singing in bars in places you’re not from?’ The question had popped out of her mouth before she had time to stop it …

  Careful, Luna. It will seem as though you’re flirting with him, she chided, appalled at herself. Think before you speak.

  Ruy chuckled. ‘It has been known to happen but I travel to Barcelona now and again. I have friends there. So are you staying in Spain for long?’

  ‘I’m taking up a job in Cádiz on a short-term contract.’ That was the truth. Besides, it was probably wise that she start practising her story so that she could settle into her undercover role.

  ‘I’d guess you have a science background. At least from your incisive interrogation of me at Goldsmith’s lecture.’ His mouth twitched.

  ‘Yes, I’m a researcher.’

  ‘Ah, that figures.’ His smile broadened at her reply and something brightened his blue gaze. ‘So, Luna from the USA, you’re a scientist travelling to Cádiz.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. And so, Ruy, who isn’t from Barcelona,’ she said, now determined to give as good as she got, ‘you’re a scientist who’s a gypsy singer in his spare time.’

  His mouth curved devilishly, clearly enjoying her response. ‘In a manner of speaking. Did you like the music?’

  ‘Yes, I love flamenco.’ Luna didn’t add that it was his performance of flamenco that had her spellbound, that sent a shiver through her and made her feel gloriously alive.

  ‘But you didn’t stay for more.’ The gleam in his eyes deepened. They twinkled at her with a bold intensity that made it almost hard for her to breathe.

  ‘No. I needed to be up early to get some work done before Goldsmith’s lecture,’ she lied.

  Ruy paused as if he was going to say something else but had thought better of it. ‘So tell me,’ he said, ‘you seemed to be highly sceptical of the benefits of hypnotherapy at the lecture, despite my arguments. Does that scepticism extend to all alternative medical practices?’

  ‘On the contrary, I’m very interested in hypnotherapy, which is why I was at the lecture,’ she said, sincerely. She paused. This could be an opportunity to try out her new professional persona. Once she took up her new post, she would need to show sympathy with these ideas.

  Let’s make th
is believable.

  She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. ‘I think it’s important to play devil’s advocate, don’t you? It’s not about knee-jerk scepticism, but constantly questioning to find the truth. How can one strive for excellence in any discipline without truth?’

  ‘Well put.’ He grinned. ‘In other words, you were testing me.’

  ‘Perhaps. I couldn’t see that anyone else in the audience was going to.’

  He let out a throaty laugh. ‘You have an interesting way about you, Luna. I’m sure there isn’t much a man could get away with where you’re concerned.’

  Luna blinked. That was a rather arrogant remark. Was he implying that she was surprisingly clever for a woman, or something else entirely? She had meant to show him that his charm did not faze her, but her determination to stand up to him was not having the desired effect; instead, it seemed to be making him deliberately provocative. Maybe she had played this all wrong. Annoyance bubbled inside her.

  ‘I’m interested to know,’ Ruy continued, ‘where your questioning takes you when it comes to non-orthodox treatments. Have you ever been hypnotized, for example?’

  Only by you, she thought warily. His expressive eyes seemed to shift in colour and now were almost aquamarine in this light. She slanted her gaze to the magazine on her lap, wishing there was more space between them.

  ‘No, I’ve never been hypnotized myself, but I find the idea interesting,’ she went on, keen to move the conversation away from herself. ‘Whether or not you agree with its benefits, though, it’s been bundled with other “alternative” therapies, many of which, like so-called energy healing, get a bad press with the medical community.’

  ‘True,’ he agreed. Luna couldn’t help but notice the line of his smooth-shaven jaw as he rubbed his chin. ‘But being from a gypsy family, I’ve come to realize that there are definitely more things in heaven and earth, as they say.’

  So he was a gypsy. Suddenly she was fascinated to know how a man from gypsy stock had come to be the elegantly besuited person next to her. She knew little about the gitano culture apart from the stereotypes that painted them as a socially isolated people. But perhaps it was best not to show her interest by questioning him further, she decided.