At one point, outside one of the more expensive-looking restaurants, they strolled past an executive-style black Mercedes with tinted windows. The thought registered briefly with Luna of how out of place the car looked in the beach-town surroundings of Conil. Its engine was running, and through the driver’s half-open window a smell of cigar smoke curled its way across the pavement. For an instant, Luna’s senses froze. It was like something curtained off in her mind had stirred uneasily, as if a shape had unfurled itself from slumber in a far-off corner of the many-roomed mansion that was her memory. Then the moment was gone. Ruy had bent to kiss her neck, hugging her to him as he did so, startling a soft laugh from her in front of the onlookers seated at the pavement tables.
* * *
Susurros del Mar, Ocean Whispers, was a small, twelve-room hotel on the beach, surrounded by its own secluded garden and in walking distance of the drowsy seaside town. Its romantic setting made it a favourite among honeymooners. The suite Ruy had reserved was positioned at one end of the hotel with its own entrance; the rooms overlooked the ocean and the garden, and a massive fig tree hung over their terrace.
While Luna dressed for dinner, Ruy sat in the quiet darkness of the terrace, listening to the night sounds of the ocean and watching the moon through the canopy of fig leaves overhead. The ships had disappeared around the point. Under the moonlight, the sea itself was empty and placid, apart from the tuna boats anchored off the white sandy beach, and the night gave the scene a dreamlike, unearthly quality.
The words of a renaissance poet, Pietro Artino, ran through his head: ‘I love you, and because I love you, I would sooner have you hate me for telling you the truth than adore me for telling you lies’ – and the shadow in his heart was like the fig tree above him, dark and irrevocable. While he’d had the distraction of sailing the boat or snorkelling in the ocean, not to mention the exquisite delights of Luna’s body to explore, he had managed to block everything else out. It was easier to do so in the carefree hours of sunlight but, now that he was here, alone on the terrace at nightfall, the demons had returned, guilt and fear spreading ice in his heart.
Ruy loved Luna more than life itself; everything about her thrilled him and filled him with wonder. It wasn’t just her innate sensuality – though that was an important bonus he’d always suspected existed but had only discovered these past few days – it was also her lively intelligence, and the many fascinating contradictions in her character. He knew he would never tire of her; he was also sure he would never hurt her. Of all the women he had dated, she was the only one he hadn’t taken immediately to his bed. In spite of having to fight his own explosive need to possess her completely, he had held off from sex at first, even when she would have willingly succumbed. Other women had given themselves to him – thrown themselves at him, he had to admit – but Luna was different; he always sensed something fragile in her, too precious to be broken.
So many times since they had set off from Cádiz he had nearly told her about the accident; it had been on the tip of his tongue. Then, each time, the words had stuck in his throat and the terrible fear of losing her sapped his courage completely.
When Luna came on to the terrace, breaking into his sombre reverie, there was a dewy look in her beautiful amber eyes and a certain edge of sadness in the smile she gave him that caught at his heartstrings. In that moment, staring at her exquisite face, he almost blurted out the truth.
‘Luna, there’s something—’
But then she sat on his knees and placed her lips on his with a fervour that took his breath away, and the moment was gone.
Her hand smoothed his hair back and she trailed a finger over his cheek. ‘What’s wrong, my love?’ Her whisper was tender, her eyes searching his. He parted his lips, but what he intended to say remained unspoken.
Taking her hand, he held it tightly in his and then he murmured: ‘Whatever happens, querida, promise me you will never doubt my love.’
He did not leave her time to answer. With one sweep of his arm he had her around the waist and, picking her up, he carried her to the bedroom and gently laid her on the bed. What better way was there for him to prove to her how much he loved her?
* * *
They were up before the birds, showered and ready to attend the Almadraba. It was a morning of flat calm with the big blue sky a little hazy, like glass that had been breathed upon. By the time they went down to the beach, the sun was already strong and hot, the sea shining like a carpet of diamonds. There was a clean white brightness about everything and the glare was blinding as they stood at the water’s edge, watching the circle of wooden boats off the coast. The smell of iodine hung in the air and a little breeze tempered the great heat of the sun.
‘There’s a maze of fixed vertical nets stretching for several kilometres from the coast out to sea,’ Ruy explained. ‘They’re attached to floating barrels and corks, kept in place by very heavy anchors. As the blue-fin tuna migrate from the Atlantic to lay their eggs in the Mediterranean, they find their path blocked by the barrier net of the Almadraba. As they try to escape, they enter through a funnel into the cuadra, the holding net made up of several pens, to end up finally in the central pen, the copo, the only one with a horizontal net.’
‘It sounds very cruel,’ said Luna, frowning. ‘Especially since they’d swum so valiantly all that way …’
‘The trapping of the tuna is not that cruel when you compare it with other means of fishing. The gruesome bit comes at the end. If you don’t want to see that, we don’t need to stay. There are plenty of other things to do.’
‘I’m happy to stay for now,’ Luna smiled contentedly. ‘Besides, it’s lovely to watch everyone busily at work while we’re here holidaying without a care in the world.’
Just then, Ruy realized that he had left his camera on the terrace back at the hotel. ‘Look, why don’t we get a table at that beach café over there,’ he suggested. ‘I’ll order us a coffee – I’ll only be ten minutes or so.’
They ambled over to the café. It had a few unoccupied tables outside, under a red-and-white striped awning. Ruy had a word with the waiter while Luna helped herself to a newspaper from a pile at the counter and took a seat outside.
‘He’s bringing you a coffee now,’ said Ruy. ‘I’ll order a cup on my return. Don’t go anywhere, querida. I’ll be back shortly.’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t run away,’ Luna said, smiling up at him.
She watched Ruy’s progress up the beach and along the harbour front, marvelling at the elegant ease he had, the almost panther-like athleticism and grace. She was aware of nothing else but him, so it came as a shock when someone sat down at her table. Luna had the faintest sense of that smell again, the cigar-smoke she’d noticed the previous evening, which had emanated from the parked Mercedes. Recognition hit her like the blow of a sledgehammer. The faintest whiff of memory had tantalized her then; now it came back in a rush, like a lurid flood … Lorenzo.
‘Hello Luna, my beautiful niece, how wonderful to see you! It’s been such a long time …’
The same arrogant smile she remembered so well greeted her, and turned her stomach. He was still a striking man but his once-blonde hair had now faded to silver and one thing hadn’t changed: he carried an aura of the pompous, conceited toreador he had been in his youth. It gave what would otherwise have been handsome features a faintly sneering mien. He was dressed in an expensive cream linen suit that shouted to the world that he was now every bit the successful businessman.
‘Uncle Lorenzo …’ said Luna blankly, as shock fractured her thoughts. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘What a lovely surprise,’ he continued, evading her question. ‘Isabel told me you were staying in Cádiz. Apparently she bumped into you at an exhibition not that long ago and you had dinner together. I think she’s sorry she’s not seen more of you.’
Luna didn’t fail to pick up the rebuke implicit in his words. ‘I’ve been busy at work,’ she said shortly.
&
nbsp; ‘Ah yes, at the so-called Institute,’ said Lorenzo. ‘I heard from Ted Vandenberg that you had taken up an internship there. He says you’re a first-rate journalist, by the way, not that I’d expect any less from you, my dear. Anyway, I was highly gratified that the whistle will at last be blown on that appallingly flaky outfit.’
Luna listened to Lorenzo with mounting horror. If he knew, who else did? She felt instantly nauseous and had to steady her breathing before the wave passed. Lorenzo’s piercing blue eyes were boring into her and she knew that he was fishing for something. Indeed, she felt uncomfortably like one of the tuna about to be captured in the nets out in the harbour.
‘I saw you last night, Luna.’ His words were sibilant and soft. ‘It didn’t exactly seem like a business rendezvous with your boss.’ Watching her face, he added: ‘I don’t know what you’ve been up to with that gypsy-doctor,’ he probed, his penetrating pale eyes fixed upon her, ‘but I never thought I’d see you mixed up with a compulsive womanizer.’
‘It’s none of your business. What I do in my spare time has nothing to do with anybody else, especially you,’ Luna snapped. She was feeling fearful and cornered, but not so much that she couldn’t turn and bite back at her assailant.
‘What you ought to know, dear niece,’ said Lorenzo with a caramel silkiness, ‘is that your handsome new beau is not exactly a friend of the Herrera family.’
‘Oh, for goodness sake! Those old family feuds are ridiculous, they’ve got to stop!’ Luna’s eyes were sparking now.
Lorenzo’s sharp gaze suddenly glinted in triumph. ‘Ah … you don’t know …’
To ask what he meant would only sanction the outpouring of more poison, so Luna said nothing; instead, she grabbed her bag in readiness to escape.
‘Your bogus doctor,’ he enunciated the words crisply and slowly, ‘was the driver of the car in which your sister met her death. He managed to sweet-talk his way out of it, never even lost his licence. Your poor mother, my only sister, gave up on life after that. So it’s hardly a surprise there’s a “family feud”, as you put it.’
Luna swayed and clutched the table for support, her face white as the paper cloth that covered it. ‘No … no, that’s not true. You’re lying!’ she whispered hoarsely.
‘Now why would I do that?’ he asked with an oily tenderness, belied by the snappish fury that glinted in his eyes.
‘Please, just leave me,’ Luna managed to say, in a small, emotionless voice. ‘Go now, before he comes back. You’ve done enough damage. You did a good job ruining my life before. Now you’re trying again. It’s not going to work, I assure you.’
But even as she said it, she knew her uncle’s words had hit home.
Lorenzo pushed back his metal chair with a scrape on the concrete flags and stood up. He paused a moment, and something flickered in his expression before his face became a mask of arrogant pride once more.
‘I do hope you’re here to see the Almadraba. It’s a fascinating spectacle, especially when the fish are trying to escape.’ He looked down at Luna with a grim smile. ‘I highly recommend it.’ And with that, he walked off abruptly, as quietly as he’d arrived.
When Ruy returned to the table a couple of minutes later, he was so eager for them to secure a good position with a fine view of the nets that at first he didn’t notice that Luna was pale and quiet.
‘Shall we get going? I’ll forego coffee,’ he said. ‘You don’t want to miss this.’
Luna allowed him to take the lead and, when he grasped her hand, he only mentioned how surprisingly cold it was. She murmured something about the sea breeze having made her feel a little chilled before lapsing into silence again.
Ruy led her to a good vantage point not far from the action. They could hear the fishermen’s excited shouts and laughter – ‘Anda! Vamonos!’ – as they hauled in their huge nets.
‘Look, the fish are trying to get away,’ Ruy pointed to the surface of the sea, which was turning white and frothing as though in ebullition, heaving with a multitude of enormous fish, their fins slicing through the water. Luna obediently followed his pointing finger with her gaze but made no comment.
It was as if she were an automaton: there in flesh though not in spirit.
‘The mesh of the nets is big enough to allow the younger tuna to escape,’ Ruy continued. ‘That way the life cycle continues and stocks are maintained.’
Now, men armed with sharp knives were jumping into the copo to hook the bluefin tuna, forcing them to the surface and hauling them into the boats, battling for supremacy with the fish, a couple of which looked as if they must be three times the fisherman’s body weight. The slaughter had begun.
Now the churning waters had turned blood red. In a frenzy, the huge fish were bucking and roiling, their slithery dark backs arching out of the water in the scarlet urgency of their death throes. Ruy put his arm around Luna’s shoulders and gave her an enquiring look, as if to say, if this is all too much for you, we can leave, but she was unable to respond, her eyes fixed on the carnage, back and shoulders completely rigid. Instead of leaning into him, she stood perfectly upright, undemonstrative. She felt nothing, her heart encased in ice.
Finally, she turned to Ruy. He saw her lips move but couldn’t make out what she was saying, so lowered his head to hers.
‘Please take me home.’
* * *
Back at La Gaviota Luna undressed and showered, performing the motions of everyday life mechanically. Then she crawled under the cool sheet of her bed with the blinds of the window pulled down, curling up like an animal nursing its wounds.
Ruy had driven her home solicitously, after having quickly thrown things in their two cases at the hotel. Pleading a migraine, she had kept her eyes closed in the car; that way she could block any attempt at conversation and wouldn’t have to meet his gaze. She knew it would be full of tender enquiry and she couldn’t bear that.
Not now.
As soon as he had parked in front of La Gaviota and turned off the ignition, Luna had grasped the handle of the door, preparing to make her exit as quickly as possible, but he had stopped her with a restraining hand on her arm. She had flinched at his touch and Ruy had then withdrawn his hand and passed it over his eyes.
‘Luna,’ he said after a moment. ‘I can tell something is wrong. It’s not just a headache, I know that. Will you tell me what it is?’ He waited for her to speak and when she didn’t reply, he went on: ‘I can’t say goodbye to you like this … please talk to me.’
Luna heard the husky warmth in his voice, as well as the fear. She couldn’t trust herself to speak but she had to say something.
‘Ruy … I don’t want to talk … I really need to be on my own right now.’ She opened the car door and got out. Then, realizing her case was in the boot, she waited mutely beside the vehicle while he retrieved it.
‘Luna, I’m asking you again. Don’t leave me like this, not knowing what’s wrong. What have I done to upset you? Please
… mi amor …’
What had he done? How could he face her so brazenly with such a question, as if he were innocent? Finally, stirred from her numbness, she felt colour surge to her cheeks.
‘You can honestly stand there and ask what you’ve done?’ she fired back, her amber eyes flashing with anger.
Ruy paled and took a step back, as if winded by a blow to the gut.
But Luna didn’t wait for his reply. ‘I know about Juliet,’ she said quietly. ‘And now, would you please leave.’
She could tell from the intense pain she read in Ruy’s eyes that her words had hit their mark – it was as if she had plunged a dagger into his heart – but the knowledge caused her neither satisfaction nor triumph. They had both lost something irretrievable, she knew. There were no winners in this game of love and betrayal.
Unable to bear the sight of his suffering face a second longer, Luna had turned on her heels, grabbing her case as she did so. Without a backward glance she let herself into the house, closing
the door behind her. A few minutes later, still standing in the hallway, she had heard the sound of Ruy’s engine and the scrape of his tyres as he drove away.
Luna lay in bed, eyes closed in the semi-darkness of her room. What did she feel? What did she think? More importantly, what did she believe?
In one conversation, Lorenzo – the same man who had so cruelly destroyed her innocence all those years ago, when she was no more than a vulnerable and defenceless child – had stripped her of everything. At the café, the shock of seeing him had been bad enough and, when he’d told her he knew of her assignment, her mind had begun to teeter on the edge of a precipice. In a terrible flash of realization Luna wondered whether every step she had taken in her career had somehow been orchestrated by her uncle; perhaps he had been the reason Ted Vandenberg had given her a job in the first place. It certainly made macabre sense that Lorenzo should be behind Ted’s decision to have Luna write an exposé of the Institute … Then to hear the story of the car accident … it was all too much.
Like scraps of flotsam floating in the sea, her thoughts drifted haphazardly, taking her where they chose without her having any volition of her own.
So this was the secret that Ruy carried. Luna had always sensed there was something wrong. Ever since the night of the exhibition and Isabel’s appearance, he’d known who she was … and all the time he hadn’t told her the truth.
It had been a cruel delusion to think she and Ruy would be clear of the web of animosity and bitterness that had caught up three generations of their families. What a story it made, she thought miserably. First, Doña Alexandra, Ruy’s grandmother, had not only fallen for Isabel’s ex-fiancé but had then allegedly used Lorenzo’s father, Felipe Herrera, one of the great toreros of his time, to achieve her own ends.
During the next generation, Luz, Ruy’s mother, had fallen for Andrés de Calderón, the man Luna’s own mother, Adalia, had hoped to marry. And now Ruy had caused the death of Juliet, her half-sister, due to his reckless driving. It had never occurred to her that the world was so small that of all the men she could have met, she would fall for the one who had brought tragedy on her family. It came as no surprise to her that Lorenzo had been the one to deliver the death blow to their love; it was only too apt in this horrible, toxic game the two families had been playing for so long.
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