From Barcelona, with Love (8 page)

“Buena, did my mom like it here?” she asked, taking a second bite and then demolishing the whole thing because there was no neat way to eat this kind of cookie and it had already crumbled in her hand.

“I only met her once or twice, Paloma, you already know that. She lived all those years in Hollywood and only stopped by here when she was on tour. That's when she would see her father.”

“And Lorenza.”

“And Lorenza.”

“Did my mother like Lorenza?”

“They liked each other well enough. And for the Lord's sake, Paloma, why did you go and cut off all that wonderful hair? Do you want to look like a boy or something?”

“Nope.” Paloma took a second cookie. “I just want to look like me.”

“Like yourself?”

The child drank the milk, looking at Buena over the top of the glass. Buena noticed her nails were bitten.

“Just myself,” she agreed. “That's all I am. Myself. Trouble is, though … Buena, mostly I don't know
who
I am. And sometimes I think I never will. Unless I can find my mother and then she'll tell me. Won't she?”

Buena nodded. “Mothers always know these things. And I hope so, Paloma, I surely hope so.”

But the truth was Buena did not think so. She thought Paloma would need to work out her life all on her own. That was just the way life was. You had it in your grasp, all was well—then suddenly you no longer had it and everything went wrong.

Tears threatened as she looked at the scrawny child, with her cropped red hair sticking up in tufts like a Shetland pony's, still worrying about her mother as well as about what was going on in the
salón,
and why all the family was here, at the old Ravel house that no one ever came to anymore. Buena wondered too.

 

Chapter 10

In the salón,
Jassy had thrown herself onto the sofa. Ignoring the coffee she had spilled, she fluffed her skirt over her long thighs and said brightly, “So? Why are we here? What's up?”

Lorenza took a napkin and mopped up the coffee. “I should have used your skirt instead,” she said, irritated. “After all, that's what caused it.”

Jassy shifted her long blond hair languidly over her shoulder and gave her a smile. “Go ahead,” she invited.

Lorenza gave an exasperated sigh. Jassy had made her life difficult from day one.

Jassy sighed back. She had always been jealous of Lorenza, she'd hated her father's attention being taken away from her, and she was the first to threaten to sue when the will was read and it was discovered that Juan Pedro had left Lorenza everything. Well, not
exactly
everything. He'd also left his youngest daughter, Bibi, one-third of the valuable vineyards and the income to be held in trust for any children she might have. Now, Lorenza controlled that trust for Paloma.

Jassy refolded her skirt, glancing at her brother, who was sitting up straight now, arms crossed over his chest, head thrust aggressively forward. Antonio was, Jassy decided, quite a good-looking man; well, maybe not so much good-looking as striking. Commanding. Like her father. While poor Floradelisa, hunched tiredly on the edge of her seat, looked like the hired help, though Jassy would never have hired her. She was too untidy, scruffy, even. Her sister needed grooming lessons and even so she doubted she would ever catch a man. Good thing her restaurant was doing well, so well in fact that she was now famous. Floradelisa's had won all kinds of awards, though her food was not Jassy's style. Personally, she was a caviar and champagne woman. Add a salad and some chocolate and that could be her chosen last meal before execution. And speaking of execution, she wondered which one of them was going to get the ax today, because this meeting had the feeling of doom about it.

“So?” Antonio said this time. “Exactly
why
are we all here, Lorenza?”

“Well, first, I thought it would be nice for you to see the house reopened. I hoped it would bring back memories of your father.”

“Of course it does.” Antonio was impatient. “
And
of my mother,” he added pointedly.

“Of course.”

“I love this house.” Floradelisa poured herself more coffee.

Of the three, Floradelisa seemed the most at ease. Leaning across the table she took another biscuit from the plate Lorenza had removed from in front of her earlier.

“One of my strongest childhood memories is of walking to school from here, out those blue iron gates, skipping down the street, stopping to buy churros on the corner…”

“Well, you
would
buy churros, wouldn't you,” Jassy said nastily, eyeing her plump body up and down.

“Of course I would. So did most every other Spanish kid. That bit of deep-fried pastry dusted with powdered sugar, sometimes even dipped in chocolate, was the best thing I ever tasted. Until I grew up, that is, and learned to appreciate other things.”

“How different we are,” Jassy mocked. “You'd never know we had the same mother.”

“Or father,” Antonio added.

Lorenza had watched these verbal battles for years. Nothing ever changed, except that now, the fourth child, Bibi, was not here.

Bibi's mother was Juan Pedro's second wife. She had died giving birth, leaving Juan Pedro devastated, but then his new baby had unexpectedly taken over his life. He adored her from day one. She was a star from the minute she was born, he'd told everyone proudly, though the truth was she was a spoiled brat, indulged to the hilt because of her poor motherless state.

Bibi's baptismal name was Isabella Fortuna, but she had older siblings who were learning to speak English and they called her simply “the baby.” Her first words were not “Mama” and “Papi,” but “the baby”—or as she said it in her charming infant lisp, “the bibi.” And from then on, she always spoke of herself in the third person—as in “The bibi wants churros,” or “The bibi loves Papi,” or “The bibi is crying.” And so Bibi she became.

Lorenza took a sheaf of official-looking papers from a canvas supermarket bag (she was very eco-conscious), thinking how sad it was that Bibi's own daughter was left in that same motherless state. Of course Paloma had always been fatherless, since at first Bibi claimed she didn't remember who the man was. Didn't
remember
! Lorenza hadn't let her get away with that one, for Paloma's sake, and later Bibi took it back and said it was too personal to tell. It was her secret and one day maybe she would tell Paloma, but no one else.

Then, Paloma could make up her own mind about what to do. Meanwhile Bibi would be mother and father to her.

The Italian husband had certainly never acted like a father to her. Anyway, no one had ever liked Bruno Peretti. And that was what this was all about.

“Jassy,” Lorenza said. “Please call Paloma in from the kitchen. She needs to be present at this meeting.”

Jassy looked surprised, but she got up and went out and yelled, “Paloma. You're wanted.”

Paloma slid from the high stool, hitched down her short skirt, retied her boot laces, smoothed her plain white T-shirt over her meager chest, patted her gold charm bracelet to make sure it was still there, then with a worried smile over her shoulder at Buena, walked reluctantly from the kitchen.

“Poor little thing,” Buena murmured, watching her go. “When will she ever face the truth and realize she will never see her mother, that
wild
woman, again?”

She did notice, though, that on the back of Paloma's white T-shirt was written in large purple script,
You can go home again.

*   *   *

Jassy had flung
herself down again, this time in a chair away from Lorenza, who was now looking expectantly at her.

“The kid heard, she'll be here,” Jassy said, just as Paloma appeared at the entrance, and stood, small and skinny, all big eyes and cropped head.

“Jesus!” Lorenza exclaimed, stunned. “Whatever did you do to her, Jassy?”

Jassy shrugged. “She did it herself. Cut it all off, then had a go with an electric razor.”

“All that wonderful curly red hair,” Floradelisa moaned, staring at her niece, who still stood in the doorway, as though ashamed to enter.

Instead, Lorenza walked over and took her into her arms.

“Sweetheart,” she murmured, “I've missed you.”

“I've missed you too,” Paloma said. “I wish you could have come to Malibu with us.”

“Perhaps next time.”

There were no more comments from anyone about her hair, merely a groan from Antonio, who shifted his eyes away from her and gazed, exasperated, up at the ceiling. His family got on his nerves. Including his wife and his own two children.

Lorenza had to admit that Jassy was very good about Paloma, and very good about allowing her her individuality. And when Jassy remembered, she was truly affectionate, buying Paloma presents and expensive clothes she never wore because, like most kids her age, all she wanted were jeans and sneakers.
Red
Converse sneakers.

“Come,
guapa,
sit next to me.” Lorenza took Paloma's hand and led her to the sofa. “You are nine years old now, old enough to participate in a family meeting. Especially,” she added, “since this concerns you.”

Paloma sagged onto the sofa, legs sticking straight out. She looked like Raggedy Ann with the stuffing taken out. She'd guessed this “talk” had to be about her mother and didn't want to hear it. She stared sullenly at her red sneakers.

Sighing, Lorenza looked at her stepfamily, gathered in the great shadowy
salón
where for two centuries the Ravels had gathered on memorable occasions. The pearls were threatening to choke her again and she tugged nervously at them. She hoped her plan would work. If it did not, it could mean the end of the Ravel empire.

“I am about to throw a bombshell into the works,” she said finally. “And it's about Bibi.”

 

Chapter 11

“It's also about
your stepfather,” Lorenza added and Paloma looked up at her, shocked. “Stepfather” was not a word she had ever expected to hear again.

It was typical of the child, Lorenza thought, that she did not ask “What about my awful stepfather?” She simply sat there, looking traumatized all over again, but Lorenza had seen the fear flicker in her eyes, and pitied her. This was not going to be easy but it must be done.

“I have here a copy of a letter I received from Bruno Peretti's attorneys in Los Angeles, plus copies of another letter sent by his legal representatives in Madrid.” She handed copies to each of them. “I think you're going to be very surprised by what Peretti has to say.”

Nervous, Paloma edged closer to her grandmother, and Lorenza reached out and patted her hand.

“Don't worry,
chiquita,
” she whispered, while the others took the letters and began to read. “Everything will work out, I'll make sure of that.”

Antonio read quickly, then threw the letters onto the table. He glared up at her. “
My God.
Has the man gone
crazy
?”

“He's out of his
mind,
” Floradelisa said, looking worried.

Jassy was reading more slowly, and very carefully. She read it once, then read it again. Then she screamed, “
No, no, no, noooo …
he cannot take Paloma. I will
die
before I part with her.”

Paloma jumped up and ran to her. “Jassy, Jassy, what do you mean? I'll never leave you,” she said, throwing her arms around her. Paloma's face only came up to Jassy's hard rib cage, which was a bit painful when she squeezed but she didn't care. “Tell me I don't have to go.”

“You are not going
anywhere.
” Lorenza's voice was firm. “I will make sure of that. And, you seem to have missed the point, Jassy. It's not Paloma Peretti wants, it's the Ravel properties. He's only using Paloma as a way to get them, and get his hands on Bibi's money.”

“Bibi's money,” Antonio repeated. A pang of fear slipped through him, a mere sword flick, but it was there. Bibi had been legally married to Peretti. Could he have a real case against them?

Lorenza said, “Peretti claims that since Bibi has been missing and can be presumed—” She glanced at Paloma and could not finish that sentence but everyone got that she'd meant “presumed dead.” “—he is entitled to Bibi's one-third share of the Ravel estate. He's claiming Bibi's third of all our vineyards, a third of all the monies that have accrued from that, as well as from the sherry, and all the other Ravel enterprises; the cork business, bottling, other products, the lands and buildings. He's even claiming ownership of this house, which he claims was left to Bibi. Which, in fact, is true. It was. And now it should be Paloma's.”

She sighed as she looked at Paloma. She was only her stepgrandmother but she had always considered herself Paloma's
real
grandmother.

“There's worse,” she said. “In an attempt to bolster his case, Peretti wants custody of Paloma. It's true he is her legal stepfather, he adopted her right after he married Bibi, though after the…” She hesitated looking for the right word. “After the ‘events' he abandoned Paloma. He wanted nothing to do with her.

“Now he claims to be concerned for her welfare, he's worried about her rattling around the world with Jassy, who he declares is ‘unsuitable and immoral.' He wants to raise Paloma himself, take care of her financial interests. He says he doesn't trust the Ravels not to cheat her with no parent around to look out for her. And unfortunately, he is
legally
Paloma's parent. Of course he knows that under the trust, she will inherit her mother's share when she turns twenty-five. And that's what he's after.”

“If he hasn't spent it all by then,” Antonio said angrily. He knew Peretti's type only too well. When Bibi had introduced him he'd told her Peretti was a shit, told her to get real, and anyhow why did she need a guy like him. “You've only to look into the man's eyes to know where he's at,” he'd told her. And he'd been right. Look at the way Peretti had dumped Bibi when the scandal hit; look what he was trying to do now.