Second Chance in Barcelona

by Fiona McArthur

  ‘Sí. Both.’

  Not a dance artist in your spare time? Oh, she wished she could say that out loud. But Sofia would hear and ask questions. But he saw the mischief in her eyes and raised his brows in silent query. She shook her head. An oncologist? She wouldn’t have guessed it. Yet another contradiction.

  ‘Oncologists and oncology nurses are special people,’ she murmured. Well, she’d already guessed he was special.

  ‘Sí. As are those who deal with the beginning of life.’ Was that a compliment to midwives? Or was that to atone for the ‘nurse’ comment he’d made earlier?

  ‘We have just completed building a new hospice. Named after my grandmother.’

  It all came back to her then from their night together. He’d mentioned the hospice but not that he ran it and had been involved in its creation. She looked at him, seeing his commitment to his job, and another tiny piece of the wall that she’d erected between them fell away.

  He didn’t notice her change. ‘It has taken up a large portion of the last few years. Then when my father died there were even fewer hours in the day as family business intruded.’

  Any softening that had lightened the harshness that seemed to be his default expression was gone, though for her peace of mind it was better when he wore an expression of aristocratic hauteur.

  It had been recent, his father’s death? His role as family head was new, too, then. ‘I’m sorry to hear your father also has passed away.’ She remembered he had said his mother was gone. So they were both technically orphans, though he was clearly suffering no monetary hardship. Sofia had said he was rich. And he owned his own international aircraft. So why did he make her feel that he needed her?

  His face shifted and she felt a wave of sadness emanate from him. ‘My grandmother is not a feeble woman and has hung on as long as she could, hence the necessity to speed up Sofia’s return.’

  ‘So you said. I’m sorry she is so unwell.’

  He inclined his head but didn’t look at her. She would have liked to see his face but he’d turned to stare out the window. ‘She does not leave her bed much now. I think she will enjoy meeting you. Her contentment at this stage is very important to me.’

  ‘I look forward to meeting her.’

  Now he turned his head and studied her. ‘Good!’

  Was that a warning to not upset his grandmother?

  ‘To your right is the ocean.’ And there it was. The end of that subject and the distraction of viewing the port of Barcelona.

  Talk about having topic changes on speed dial.

  Dutifully she studied the famous Barcelona seafront. But she accepted it as a good enough place to find some mental space from the man beside her.

  Tall white cruise ships and the port. Mountains in the distance, front and back. A blue diamond sea.

  They drove through the city, past more brightly painted artworks on street corners, a multifaceted face, an outstretched and oversized hand, and away in the distance on the mountain in front of them she could see a white church high up overlooking the city.

  They wound their way through close streets and began to climb in a sweeping motion through avenues to the summit of the mountain. The higher they climbed, the more ornate the iron and stone entries to semi-hidden houses grew.

  When they reached one of the most imposing gateways the tall wrought-iron gates swung ponderously open to fold back against the overarching greenery of tree branches.

  A short tree-lined gravel road swept them into a circular driveway and the stone villa soared above them in curves, balustrades and high windows that seemed to reach to the sky.

  The base of the mansion sat amidst roses, hundreds of flowering roses. It took her breath away.

  The house itself ascended three storeys yet seemed higher and spread out backwards. The sparkling bow windows each side of the front door were open and fluttering curtains seemed to wave and flicker a welcome home to its master.

  The dozen or so steps that began wide at the driveway where they’d stopped and narrowed as they rose to the huge double door at the top created a grand ascending entrance.

  A problem if you were injured or ill, Cleo thought, but noted another, smaller ornate door away to the right at ground level. Maybe that led to a less strenuous entry or perhaps even a lift.

  Balconies along each floor above them promised wonderful places to sit with a view over the city below.

  She turned to Felipe beside her on the rear seat. ‘You have a beautiful house.’

  ‘Sí. My grandfather built this for his wife.’ His face softened as he looked past her to his home. ‘But my grandmother prefers living in the city now that he has gone.’ His face stilled as the car halted. ‘She lived here until I was old enough to establish my own household then moved to the city.’

  Cleo thought it would be lonely living here by yourself. ‘Great view,’ she murmured as the driver alighted and opened her door.

  Some space from Felipe’s big body was welcome. She eased out so Sofia could also climb out and by the time the women were standing beside the car Felipe had removed the infant carry part of the bassinet and had lifted Isabella from the car.

  A small dark-haired woman glided down the steps, her thin face serious. Another larger blonde woman, who certainly didn’t glide but had ramrod-stiff shoulders and the apparent strength to carry them all up the stairs if she wanted to, followed. They were shadowed by two burly younger men in matching waistcoats whom Cleo presumed would bring the luggage.

  ‘Hola, Rosa,’ their host greeted the thin dark-haired woman.

  She dipped a curtsey. ‘Buenos días, Don Felipe.’

  ‘Sister Wren, this is my housekeeper,’ he said to Cleo. ‘Leave your bags. Rosa will arrange everything.’

  Cleo followed Sofia up the steps, Felipe carrying the bassinet, but she was uncomfortably aware that she’d never stayed in such a palatial home before. She was learning so much about the man she’d shared her bed with. Too many more reasons why he had planned to leave her behind.

  Once through the large doors he stopped and placed the bassinet gently on a carved wooden chair against one of the walls.

  Cleo barely took in the stretch of Italian marble floor and the soaring painted ceiling as she followed Sofia to her daughter.

  Sofia began to undo the straps and Cleo slid the young woman’s handbag from her shoulder and held it. The infant grizzled and whimpered until she was lifted into her mother’s arms and settled.

  Finally, Cleo could observe the tension drain from Sofia’s shoulders as she held her baby.

  She turned her head sideways to note if Felipe had observed the same. Their eyes met.

  It seemed he had. But all he said was, ‘Rosa will take you to your rooms and Maria will attend to any laundry needs or other requirements. I have not engaged mainadera.’ He paused and glanced at Cleo, explaining, ‘A nanny...’ then back to Sofia ‘...as you have your own midwife.’

  Yes, she’d understood the word for nanny. She had some Spanish, even less Catalan. And French, Italian and German because she needed it in her job. And languages were easy for her to learn.

  Sofia drew herself up and faced her cousin. ‘You are correct. My child does not need a nanny, she has a mother, but Cleo is my guest.’ The words were directed at Felipe.

  Cleo smiled at the young mum. ‘I can be both. And here’s Rosa to show us to your apartment.’ Thank goodness.

  Felipe ignored Sofia and directed a dark glance at Cleo. ‘I will send a message later this afternoon in regard to this evening and my grandmother’s ability to receive visitors.’

  ‘Of course,’ Cleo agreed, with a careful glance at Sofia and the baby. She’d be glad to get out from between the two warring parties.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  FELIPE WATCHED THEM GO. In fact, he couldn’t help watching Cleo’s shapely legs and s
traight back as she easily climbed the stairs. Again. He’d watched her do that before, at her home. He suppressed the sigh he wanted to expel at the stubbornness of his cousin and the stupidity of his libido.

  It was his awareness of the midwife that caused him the most distraction. Which was not part of the plan.

  Once he was busy with his life, the board meetings, patient consultations, the family businesses, everything that had been interrupted by his grandmother’s request to find and bring Sofia home, it would settle down once more, and he needed to resume all that now.

  Perhaps he should have arranged for Sofia’s parents’ house to be prepared and staff installed there rather than bring her here. He told himself that in her present frame of mind whomever he engaged she would have suspected they could not be trusted. Hopefully her rancour towards him would lessen soon, as he was growing weary of it. He was still not sure she’d stay, even if he had made her house available to her, though she’d at least have had her independence, and her midwife to settle her in.

  Which meant he wouldn’t have had the distraction of Cleo staying in his own house. She still tempted him every time their glances met. Each time he noted the tiniest shift of her body beside him in the car.

  A phone buzzed in his pocket and he slid his hand down and lifted it to his ear.

  His mouth softened. ‘Sí, Àvia.’ He listened as his grandmother launched into excited questions and leaned back against the wall with a slight smile on his face. It had been the right thing to bestir himself and fly to Australia. He hadn’t heard her this animated for many weeks. When she finally ran down he gently suggested their plans for the evening if she was up to it. Again, he heard the excitement in her voice and even a proposed menu was shared.

  He smiled. ‘Shall I bring the Australian midwife, too? Sofia would prefer it if I did, I think.’

  He listened as his grandmother agreed. ‘As long as you are well enough for her as well, then. Good, and we will see you with your new great-granddaughter at seven for tapas.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CLEO FOLLOWED SOFIA up the stairs.

  Below them she could hear Felipe answer his phone.

  With her hand on the ornate wooden rail Cleo had a chance to look around the enormous space that comprised the front door, the entry, with places to sit and wait before you were invited into the inner sanctum of the house, and the soaring dome of the ceiling.

  The magnificent angels painted above her head on the ceiling she couldn’t study on the move but would take some time later to appreciate the works of art.

  When they reached the landing, Rosa turned left and down a hallway, and at the end of the corridor she pushed open a green panelled door.

  The room inside opened to a lounge area with a bow window looking over Barcelona away in the distance below. On the opposite side of the room windows showed trees and gardens and blue sky.

  The room, in mint green and white, provided a restful air and obviously feminine overtones and spread larger than Cleo had expected for guest apartments.

  ‘There are three bedrooms here,’ Rosa said, in accented English. She nodded at Cleo. ‘Yours is to the left, the child next and Doña Sofia has the front room.’

  There was a knock at the door and a footman entered at Rosa’s call. ‘Would you like me to send Maria to unpack for you?’ she asked Sofia.

  Sofia shook her head, though she drooped as she stood there. ‘No. Thank you, Rosa, we will be fine.’

  ‘Then I will order light refreshments to be brought up.’

  She turned to Cleo. ‘And you. Do you require anything?’

  ‘No. I’m fine, thank you, Rosa,’ she said. ‘Thank you for your assistance. Your English is wonderful.’

  ‘Don Felipe’s mother spoke English.’ She left abruptly and the door closed behind her.

  Sofia sank down into a chair, clutching her baby, and one lone tear slid down her cheek. ‘I don’t want to be here. I’m in his house. With his servants. And the father of my child is across the other side of the world.’ She looked at Cleo. ‘I fell in love with him. He spoiled me, encouraged me to do what I wished, unlike anyone in my family had, and I liked having my own apartment and being able to go where I wished when I wished. Now I am back in Spain. A prisoner in Felipe’s house.’

  ‘You are not a prisoner. You are here to see your grandmother.’ Cleo crossed to her and perched on the edge of the nearest chair to lean towards her. ‘Which is why you insisted I come. To support you. You’re tired. It’s been a huge twenty-four hours.’

  ‘No kidding,’ Sofia grumbled.

  ‘You’ve kept Isabella happy during a very long flight. Perhaps top up her feed, which will help you feel more relaxed, and then both of you could rest. Build up your strength for tonight.’

  Sofia nodded. Sat down with her baby and undid her shirt.

  Cleo turned to the luggage. ‘I’ll unpack the bags while you feed. Then maybe I could settle Isabella to sleep while you lie down and rest.’

  Sofia nodded. ‘I may feel better if all goes as you say.’

  * * *

  By evening Sofia seemed quite settled in the apartment and her smile had returned. Isabella played model baby with her mother’s full attention.

  Cleo had discovered Sofia had a house just outside Barcelona, inherited from her parents, but that it was currently closed and without staff.

  So perhaps Don Felipe had done the correct thing to bring her here. A house out of town, without friends or family, might have proved daunting for a new mum with only her baby as company, she thought, but hoped it wouldn’t be in her remit to arrange any moves.

  Cleo showered and donned her simple cream shift, the one that washed like a dream and never looked as if it had come out of a suitcase. The high-necked style could be a formal floating knee-length frock or almost a uniform if she gathered it in with a belt.

  She wore her favourite blue lapis bead necklace and she pulled it out to sit at the neck of the dress to give herself extra confidence. She shouldn’t feel she needed it, but who knew how grand Felipe’s grandmother was. Especially now she knew how grand Felipe was. This was his world and she wanted to keep her head held high.

  ‘Your necklace is pretty,’ Sofia commented as she walked past to take a cup of fresh tea that had arrived.

  ‘It was my mother’s. Blue at my neck always helps my thoughts turn into words that flow more easily. I wear it most days.’

  ‘Perhaps I should get myself one so I can tell my cousin what I think of him.’

  Cleo laughed. ‘I think you do very well without any help. Tell me about your grandmother. How old is she?’

  ‘Doña Luisa is in her early eighties. Though you wouldn’t think it to look at her. She has a beautiful home in the centre of the city. It will be good to show her Isabella. As long as she doesn’t harp at me about finding a Catalan husband. And if she is unwell, perhaps I could stay and help her until she is well again.’

  She wasn’t going to get well again. For some reason Sofia was refusing to believe that. Cleo wasn’t going there. Tonight they would see. And as for a husband for Sofia, she had no idea how upper echelon Spanish families arranged marriages and didn’t particularly want to know.

  ‘If she is very ill, mortality can make people adjust their needs. Don Felipe mentioned your grandmother is failing fast now. Perhaps the idea of the next generation with a full life ahead of them is a comfort for her at this time.’

  Sofia looked suddenly frightened and very young. ‘We will see.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  A MESSAGE CONVEYED by Rosa arrived after their rest. Felipe had left the house to attend the hospice, but requested everyone to be prepared to leave at seven to visit Doña Luisa.

  At five to seven Isabella, in the way of breastfed babies, created last-minute irreparable damage to the delightful frock she’d been dressed in. Sofi
a looked as though she would cry. ‘She looked so beautiful. We’ll be late now.’

  Cleo wrapped a bunny rug around the disaster until they could start on the repair. ‘She’ll need a bath. These things happen. I can help.’

  ‘No. You go down. I will bath her and choose another dress. But you tell my cousin he will have to wait.’

  Cleo wondered who’d got the worst job. ‘Of course he will wait.’

  All afternoon it had sunk in that she was in the principal residence of a Spanish aristocrat she’d slept with. And still fancied. With the suspicion he still fancied her as well. How had she got herself into this?

  Cleo blocked the nervous flutter at being the one descending to find the master of the house and checked her handbag. She had everything. More than everything, really. She was a bit of a girl scout and always prepared.

  Of course, a minute later when she did pause at the top of the stairs, before searching to find him, Felipe was waiting at the bottom to watch her descend.

  Her skin heated enough to know he observed her with extreme concentration. She didn’t plan to give him the excitement of tripping and making a fool of herself so she went carefully. No, sedately.

  When her shoes touched the marble floor at the bottom of the stairs she lifted her head and, as expected, his gaze sat firmly on her face.

  ‘Bona nit, Cleo.’

  ‘Good evening, Don Felipe. Isabella has made her mother late. I’ve been sent to offer apologies while Sofia changes Isabella’s clothes.’

  Instead of the impatience she’d half expected, though maybe she was channelling Sofia there and not her own experience, a smile softened his firm features.

  ‘Babies run to their own timetables.’

  She tilted her head. ‘And how do you know that?’

  He shrugged his shoulders and looked at her quizzically. ‘I have friends with children.’

  ‘You are the doting uncle type?’ It was a question that came out as a statement of disbelief bordering on amusement.