Santiago Sol

by Niki Turner

  He called Ben first and explained the situation.

  “You need me to drive you to the villa?”

  “No, I want you to pick up Tansy and Toulouse. I’ll drive myself. But Ben?”

  “Yes, Señor?”

  “I covet your prayers.”

  “You have them, Señor. God can bring to completion the good works He has begun. In spite of us.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  It was painfully early in the morning, but Sebastian called Toulouse anyway.

  ****

  Tansy flinched and rolled over. She pulled the pillow over her head to drown out the cheery ringtone. She peeked out when the noise stopped.

  “Talk to him.” Toulouse extended the phone toward Tansy.

  Tansy groaned, but complied. She waited for Toulouse to leave the bedroom and then said, “I don’t want to talk to you, Sebastian.”

  “I know you don’t. But I’m asking you to give me a chance. I want you to come to a party tonight. I’ll explain everything then.”

  Tansy clearly heard the rasp of his hand against his stubbled jaw.

  “Today is the day I was supposed to present my grandfather with the walking stick and my wife, or at least my bride-to-be. I’ve failed him on both counts. After the debacle this party is guaranteed to be, I’d like a chance to explain things to you.”

  Tansy sucked in air. The misery straining his voice was real, his regret and grief over failing his grandfather almost tangible through the phone connection. Though he’d kept his real name from her, he hadn’t kept himself hidden. She knew him. She cared for him. It was time to tell him about the walking stick, though she suspected he would hate her for keeping the truth from him.

  Although in fairness, he had done the same to her. He hadn’t told her the whole truth. Still, she had kept things from him, as well. If they were keeping score, they were even. And their mutual deception had caused naught but pain and trouble. Still, she could ease at least some of his distress with his grandfather. Tansy opened her mouth to speak just as Toulouse barreled back through the bedroom doorway.

  “We’re invited!” She flapped a creamy vellum envelope. Tansy pressed a finger to her lips in an exaggerated plea for silence. Toulouse mouthed a “sorry” and dropped the envelope on the bed beside Tansy.

  “Toulouse sounds pleased.”

  “Yes.”

  “The invitation has all the details. Please, Tansy, please come.”

  Tansy inhaled, prepared to say no, but Toulouse wrenched the phone out of her hand. “There is no way we would miss this. We’ll be there.” And she hung up before Tansy could so much as gasp for a breath.

  ****

  Tansy opened the door to the aparthotel with shaking fingers, feeling unreasonably betrayed by Toulouse.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Toulouse demanded, closing the door behind them.

  Tansy shoved her fingers into her hair and tugged hard on her scalp. “Why is this party such a big deal to you?”

  “Because it’s like, the social event of the year.” Toulouse dumped the backpack she’d brought into a chair.

  Tansy clapped her hands over her face. Toulouse reached for Tansy’s wrists and tugged. Tansy opened her eyes and looked up. Toulouse’s expression was unusually solemn.

  “Even though I don’t think he should have lied to you, I can understand why he did. Can’t you?”

  Tansy groaned, dropped to the sofa, and hid her face in her hands. “Yes. No. I don’t know. If I can, it’s only because I’ve kept something from him, too.”

  Tansy felt the sofa shift under Toulouse’s added weight.

  “What? You’re married? You have six kids?”

  Tansy looked up, aghast. “No!”

  “Then what is it?”

  Tansy rose, stepped onto the balcony, and shoved her hand into the leaves of the potted plant. Her fingers curved around the fox-shaped silver handle of the walking stick and yanked it free from its hiding place.

  Tansy brushed dirt and vermiculite from the end of the staff.

  “This is the Sandoval family treasure, for what it’s worth. And I suppose the fact Sebastian didn’t tell me who he was from the get-go just prickled my own guilty conscience for keeping this from him.”

  Toulouse crossed her arms and leaned back against the door frame. “Psych class 101,” she said, earning a glare from Tansy. Undaunted, she charged ahead. “The question is: were you planning to tell him?”

  “If I’d known who he was, I would have just arranged a meeting with his grandfather right away and that would have been the end of it.”

  “And then you wouldn’t have fallen in love with each other.” At Tansy’s shocked expression, Toulouse laughed. “Get in the shower, girlfriend. We’re running out of time to get you ready for Cinderella’s ball.”

  Tansy washed her hair again. She thought she’d washed it once already, but couldn’t remember. Her mind, and her heart, raced. Tonight she would complete Eva’s assignment, and she would lose Sebastian forever.

  When she opened the bathroom door, Toulouse was in the bedroom.

  “This is perfect!” Toulouse held up the pink taffeta party dress Tansy had found in Eva’s attic.

  “For what?” Tansy pulled the towel tighter around her body.

  “For the party tonight. The Sandoval birthday fêtes are formal affairs. Where did you get this? It looks vintage.” Toulouse lifted the gown and examined it with a critical eye.

  “It is vintage. It was packing material for the walking stick. It belonged to Sebastian’s mother.”

  Toulouse gasped. “Oh, my goodness! I can’t think of anything more perfect, Tansy. Here, put it on.” She thrust the dress toward Tansy. “I’ll get dressed in the living room.”

  “You brought something formal?”

  Toulouse grinned. “It’s in my backpack.” The bedroom door closed behind her with a soft click.

  Tansy laid the dress on the bed and rummaged through a drawer for appropriate underthings. She hadn’t planned to wear the dress when she’d packed it, but she had stockings and a bra that would work with the help of some safety pins. Shoes, however, would be a problem.

  She pulled her hair into a semi-formal up-do and applied a little more makeup than usual before she stepped out of the bedroom. Frothy pink tulle and taffeta billowed from her waist.

  “It’s beautiful!” Toulouse gaped.

  Toulouse, Tansy noted with dismay, was wearing a black jersey knit dress with long sleeves and a deep U-shaped back that clung to her curves. Dark, sheer stockings with seams in the back ended in a pair of cobalt blue platform suede pumps with ice pick heels. Her hair was loose, curling around her face, neck, and shoulders.

  “You look amazing,” Tansy said, feeling like a discarded cupcake.

  Toulouse fluttered a hand. “Thanks.” Then she looked at Tansy. “You have no idea, do you?”

  “Huh?”

  “That you’re gorgeous, and that dress is perfect for you. I can’t wait to see Sebastian’s face.” Her gaze traveled from Tansy’s shoulders to her feet. “Where are your shoes?”

  “I didn’t bring any to suit the dress. I wasn’t planning on wearing it.”

  At Toulouse’s horrified sigh, Tansy decided not to mention that she didn’t own any shoes that would go with the dress, anyway.

  Toulouse propped a fist on her hip and cocked her head. “What size are you?”

  “Seven or seven and a half.”

  Toulouse picked up her cell phone and dialed a number. “Celeste? I need shoes. Now.” There was a pause before she broke into Spanish, pacing the narrow confines of the aparthotel with the intensity of a government official negotiating a complicated international crisis. A few moments later, she hung up. “Done. Your shoes will be here in twenty minutes.” She gestured toward the walking stick on the sofa. “How are we sneaking that inside?”

  “You have a flair for the dramatic, Toulouse, I’m sure you’ll figure something out,” Tansy said dryl
y.

  13

  The villa was less than thirty miles from the heart of Santiago, its hundreds of acres of vineyards nestled into the Maipo valley between the Andes and the coastal mountains. In heavy traffic, the trip could take up to two hours, but this evening’s traffic was light. Sebastian increased his speed. He wanted time to speak with his abuelo alone, to prepare him.

  He patted his jacket pocket with one hand, feeling for the small box within. Tonight, no matter the fallout over the Vargas family, no matter that he hadn’t found abuelo’s walking stick, no matter that he had lied to Tansy about his surname, tonight he would trust that love was greater than all, and that Tansy would accept his proposal.

  He had wrestled with himself over the timing. Shouldn’t he secure her forgiveness first, at least? And then, as if compelled, he’d opened the small safe built into the floor of his office and withdrawn his grandmother’s engagement ring. She’d given it to him several years earlier, insisting that her knuckles, knobby with arthritis, were too swollen to wear it any longer. While that might have been true, Sebastian knew the gesture was her subtle way of encouraging him to find a bride.

  He turned onto the narrow road that paralleled the property line, pleased that the vineyards were as lush and green as he could remember seeing them. The imposing stone walls that separated the villa from the vineyards loomed ahead and Sebastian slowed. He keyed in his personal security code and waited for the massive wrought-iron gates to swing wide. Within the villa compound, he parked in the garage, then loped around the circular drive to the front. One of the maids opened the door.

  “Señor Sebastian, happy birthday! You are so early!”

  “Gracias, Evalina. ¿Donde esta mi abuelo?”

  “He’s in the kitchen, Señor, terrorizing Cook.”

  Sebastian strode through the grand foyer, past the formal rooms where the Sandovals hosted their famous parties, decorated tonight in elegant silver and black for his birthday, and made his way to the kitchen.

  Flagstone floors, scuffed smooth by years of foot traffic, and heavy timbers overhead, darkened with smoke from the hearth, belied the villa’s true age. The house was more than a century old, but well-maintained and frequently updated for style and comfort. Anyone with an eye for detail would recognize the top-of-the-line commercial appliances, kitchen fixtures, and silky granite counters that made it a dream kitchen for any modern chef.

  Serving platters piled with fresh fruit, cheese, pastries, and his favorite empanadas lined every surface. On the opposite side of a hexagon-shaped island, he could see the tiered birthday cake created for him this year.

  Behind the towering cake stood his grandfather and the family cook, Anselm, toe to toe, engaged in what appeared to be an intense debate.

  Sebastian cleared his throat.

  Neither man moved, and he wondered how long it had been since either of them had checked the batteries in their hearing aids. Anselm was almost as old as his grandfather.

  Sebastian rapped on the counter, then cleared his throat again.

  Anselm’s silvery head popped out from behind the cake, and a smile softened the hard lines and creases.

  “¡Señor Sebastian! Gracias a Dios. You are just in time to rescue me from your abuelo so I can finish preparing your birthday feast.”

  His grandfather’s head appeared on the other side of the cake. He held up one finger, then turned to Anselm. “I don’t know why I keep you, you insolent old fool.”

  Anselm grinned. “Because no one else would be willing to put up with you. Now go visit with your grandson before the guests arrive.”

  Sebastian shook his head as the two men embraced, smiling, slapping each other’s shoulders. It had always been this way with them.

  His grandfather came around the island and wrapped Sebastian in a hard hug. “I’m glad you’ve come early, hijo. Let’s sit.” He led the way to a scarred oak table, settled himself on a bench, and waited for Sebastian to take a seat.

  “Grandfather, I’m sorry about Arturo and Diego,” Sebastian said.

  Abuelo made a sound between a hmph and a sigh, then reached out and patted Sebastian’s hand.

  “I’m relieved it has finally come to an end.”

  “The ambassador said you are the one who instigated the investigation. Why didn’t you say something to me?”

  “I was hoping I was wrong.”

  Sebastian saw sorrow in his grandfather’s eyes and laid a hand on his shoulder. When had he grown so frail?

  “I will be fine, Sebastian. I’m sorry for you, for the loss of your parents. If I had been more aware, perhaps...” Abuelo’s voice trailed off, his faded eyes focused on some point in space above and behind Sebastian’s head, as though he were peering into the pages of history.

  “What’s past is past, abuelo. I’m just thankful I still have you and abuela.”

  He covered Sebastian’s hand with his own and squeezed. “As am I, grandson.” He took a deep breath, though his chest rattled a bit. “Now, about the young woman you brought to the artesanal…” ”

  Sebastian thought of the box in his pocket. “What about her?”

  “I approve.”

  Sebastian started. That was a first. “You don’t know who she is.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I saw her heart. That’s why I gave her the journal. The same reason I gave your mother one.”

  Sebastian thought he might be choking, until his grandfather reached out and thumped him considerately on the back.

  “If she’s the one, I approve. But you must know for certain.”

  Sebastian coughed, covered his mouth, and considered telling his abuelo about the box in his pocket, then dismissed the idea. Better to keep the surprise. One he hoped would offset the fact the walking stick was still missing and would probably never be found.

  ****

  From the backseat of the limousine, Tansy leaned forward for a better view of the villa.

  Its whitewashed adobe walls glowed pink in the late afternoon sun. The three-story manor with its arched, mullioned windows and red clay tile roof was set in an expanse of manicured and landscaped foliage. The drive curved around a reflecting pool, giving the impression that the house, with its pillared veranda and walls covered with lush ivy, had its foundations in the blue- and pink-streaked sky instead of on terra firma.

  “Wow. I’d heard about the villa, but I’ve never been here before.” Toulouse fluttered her hand over her heart. “I’m impressed. And I don’t impress easily.”

  A string of expensive luxury cars and limousines crawled around the driveway, dispensing guests at the front doors. Tansy clutched the walking stick, loosely wrapped in a black alpaca shawl Toulouse had pulled from the depths of her backpack.

  Their limo pulled forward, then stopped. French doors spilled soft light over the veranda, illuminating tall urns overflowing with bright Chilean bellflowers, and the well-dressed men and women making their way up the steps.

  Tansy felt like a cheap plastic toy amid a collection of expensive dolls. She swallowed against a sudden wave of nausea and shrank back from the door.

  “I can’t go in there with those people, Toulouse. They’re all...rich, or famous, or rich and famous. I’m...” Her cheeks flushed, thinking of Sebastian and the way he’d accepted her. She’d played along, enjoyed dipping her toes in the pool of luxury alongside a handsome, charming man. He had been playacting too. That thought chilled her. Now everything was different. And Tansy didn’t have a place in his world, no matter how much she wished she could.

  “They’re just people, Tansy,” Toulouse soothed.

  A gangly teenaged boy in a starched white shirt and black tie hurried to open the car door for Tansy and Toulouse.

  Toulouse pushed Tansy from behind, forcing her to clamber out of the limo. Toulouse exited behind her, lithe and lovely like a hothouse flower, and tweaked the boy’s ear as she passed him, causing him to blush and grin.

  “You know him?” Tansy asked as Toulouse tugged he
r into the queue.

  “He’s in the church youth group. And a terrible flirt.”

  Heart pounding, Tansy peered around shoulders and heads until she could see the door, and recognized Sebastian’s grandfather, the little man she’d met in the humble artesanal at Los Dominicos, greeting every guest personally. She stopped.

  “What’s the matter?” Toulouse whispered, leaning close.

  “I see Sebastian’s grandfather.”

  Toulouse stood on her tiptoes. “I thought you’d met him already.”

  Tansy swallowed. Yes, she had met him. And he had played along with Sebastian’s little game.

  “I can’t do this,” she choked. The thought of facing Sebastian’s grandfather at his front door was too humiliating. “Besides,” she pointed her chin at the walking stick. “If he sees this,” —she wiggled the wool-wrapped bundle she held—“it would be a disaster. You go in without me.”

  Toulouse frowned, considered, then signaled the teenage boy. He jogged up the steps. “My friend has a special gift for Sebastian, but she needs to get it to him privately, before the party. Can you take her through the back?”

  “Will I get in trouble?”

  “If there’s any problem, I’ll cover for you, OK?”

  He nodded, gave Toulouse a conspiratorial grin. “This way, Señorita,” he said to Tansy.

  Tansy navigated her steps with care, wobbly on the pink satin heels she’d borrowed from Toulouse’s friend. The boy led her around the side of the house on pathways lined with bougainvillea and jacaranda to what she supposed was a service entrance, and opened the door.

  “I have to get back,” he said.

  She nodded, thanked him, and stepped into a hot, bustling kitchen. She froze for a moment, pressed against the door.

  Uniformed servants scurried to and fro, carrying plates and platters. The scents of roasting meat and savory herbs, yeasty bread, melted butter, caramel, chocolate, fruit...blended together in an appetizing combination.

  Tansy’s stomach growled in response.