Under the Spanish Stars (26 page)

‘He was killed when your
abuela
was young, yes?' Mateo said.

‘Yes. So it is safe to say it has been there since before he died. Why hasn't someone else discovered it before us?'

‘Why would they? Time has changed the landscape of the floorboards. They would have been flat when people lived here.'

‘True.' Charlotte studied the photograph again, looking closely at the half-finished artwork on the canvas. Pointing to it, she said, ‘See this?'

Mateo leant forward, squinting.

‘It's the painting Abuela's father gave her.'

Charlotte sat on her hotel room floor, chewing her lip and trying not to interrupt Leila, who perched on the small sofa and studied the newfound photograph. Mateo stood at the desk, whistling as he prepared an early evening snack.

‘She is beautiful,' Leila finally said.

‘Yes, she is. Do you know what it says on the back?'

Leila turned the photo over, her lips moving as she read. Resting her hands in her lap along with the photo, she said, ‘It is definitely Iberian
caló
. My clan do not speak it much these days but I grew up listening to the older generation so I am knowing enough to understand the meaning.'

‘And?'

‘And I will try the translation but please know I am not fluent in this so the change to English may sound strange, yes?'

‘I'm sure it will be fine.' Charlotte reassured Leila.

Puffing out her cheeks, Leila paused then read out loud,

‘When the stars shine in the black of night,

And trees whisper from the wind,

When the moon glows,

And your soul, it is at ease,

My love, you will never be alone,

Because although we are apart,

My love, you are my world always,

And always my heart you will have.'

Leila paused for a moment as the words hung above them. ‘It is very romantic, yes?'

‘Yes,' Mateo and Charlotte said in unison.

Mateo sauntered over, bearing a plateful of olives, sun-dried tomatoes,
cheeses and fresh bread he'd picked up from the market near the hotel. Placing the plate on a small table he disappeared, quickly returning with a bottle of red wine and three plastic cups. As he filled them, he said, ‘Do you have any more ideas why the photo would be in the house?'

Charlotte said, ‘My guess is the painting was given to my great-grandfather along with this photo. Given the romantic nature of the poem, he wouldn't want anyone to see it, although it was written in
caló
. How would he have known what it said?'
So many questions.
‘Maybe he hid the photo and planned to give it to my grandmother when he told her the story behind the painting, except he died before it happened and it's been there ever since.'

‘Hmm. Your
abuela
was born in 1920, yes?'

Charlotte nodded as Leila pulled out her laptop and clicked a few times, sipping wine as she went. ‘Here …' She pointed at the document on the screen while Charlotte and Mateo gathered around her. ‘This is the gap I have in the timeline for … the artist. See this list of the art galleries and social events in her honour?'

‘How did you get those?'

‘Public records, old newspaper articles … She received much coverage in the newspapers, so it was not so hard to put a timeline together. I make a good detective, yes?' She gave a self-satisfied grin.

‘I wonder if she met my great-grandfather at an event.'

‘It makes the sense, no? Maybe that is where they fell in love.' Leila sighed.

‘So maybe they met, had an affair, she got pregnant, had his baby—Abuela—and somehow my grandmother ended up being passed off as the daughter of Señor and Señora Sanchez. Why, though?' Charlotte asked while Mateo and Leila shrugged. ‘You know … there is a big difference in age between Katarina and her brothers. What if Señora Sanchez couldn't get pregnant and wanted a baby so desperately that she was willing to take in her husband's illegitimate child? What if she then fell pregnant with the boys years later and resented pretending Katarina was her own?' Charlotte paused, letting her thoughts fall into place. ‘And what if Katarina taking up flamenco reminded Señora Sanchez of her husband's affair and it was a great excuse to get rid of Katarina?'

‘It is not impossible,' said Mateo.

‘It sounds like a
telenovela
—what do you call it? A soapie?' Leila glanced at the picture again then handed it back to Charlotte. ‘Does your grandmother look like Syeria?'

‘Syeria has olive skin and dark hair,' Charlotte said. ‘But Abuela and I both have red hair and blue eyes and pale skin. I'm no geneticist, but it doesn't sound like that's a match to me.'

‘Genes, they can do strange things, yes? It may be possible.' Mateo moved to fill Leila's glass, but she put her hand over the top.

‘I am sorry but I must go. I have a date.' Leila didn't bother concealing her glee as she packed away her laptop and gathered her bags. She used the camera on her phone to take a photo of the poem. ‘I will email the written translation and my timeline soon.'

‘Thank you so much for all your help.' Charlotte stood and kissed her on each cheek then gave her a massive hug. ‘I will miss you.'

‘You are going now?' Her wide eyes looked from Charlotte to Mateo.

‘I need to get back to Abuela. She needs to know what we've found out.' Charlotte let out a long sigh. How on earth do you tell a ninety-six-year-old woman that the person who brought her up most likely wasn't her biological mother?

Leila cocked her head towards the door. ‘Mateo, may I see you for a moment?'

‘Of course.' Turning to Charlotte, he said, ‘Please excuse us.'

They walked out the door, closed it behind them and Charlotte heard a conversation start in low voices that quickly grew louder. She picked up her mobile phone and checked the email confirming her flight, but it was difficult to ignore the heated discussion in the hallway outside. She tried not to eavesdrop but words such as
hermano
—brother—and
problema
landed in her ears. The conversation grew more agitated then Leila yelled something unintelligible and Mateo's low voice grumbled back. A moment later Leila clomped down the stairs, her heels echoing in the stairwell that led to the hotel's main foyer.

The door clicked open and Mateo slunk in. ‘I am sorry if you heard us.'

‘It was hard not to but you don't need to be sorry.' She put down her phone. ‘Stuff happens.'

‘Yes, it does.' He sat down heavily on the sofa. ‘It is complicated.'

‘Not much in life isn't.' Charlotte squeezed his hand. ‘If you want to talk about it, I'm here, okay?'

‘
Gracias
, but I would prefer to leave it all in my head.'

‘And your heart, I'm guessing by your reaction to whatever Leila said.' She didn't want to push him after the other night when he'd spoken about Alicia. She couldn't bear him walking out again, especially now that they'd—

‘You are very good at reading people, yes? Perhaps this is why I like being in your company.'

Butterflies went crazy in her belly. ‘It's not for my dancing ability, that's for sure.' She laughed nervously, but stopped when she caught his serious expression. ‘What?'

‘You should stop this doubting business. With the right training you could become a very good flamenco dancer. It is obvious you excel in the arts because you are a talented painter—'

‘You've never seen my work.'

‘Will you show me?'

Shit.
When would she learn to shut up?

‘Please.' He stretched out his hand, his lips kicking into a warm smile. ‘I imagine painting, like music, is very personal so it is difficult to share. But you were brave enough to tell me how you felt when you last painted, so can you find the courage to show me the work?'

Charlotte chewed her lip. Man, he was good at convincing people.

‘Fine.' She marched over to where the painting lay against the window, covered by a blanket. Pulling it away from its resting place she turned to find Mateo standing right beside her. ‘It's unfinished, okay?'

She passed him the painting and he held it like it was the most precious thing on earth. His intense concentration made her anxious and she fiddled with the bottom of her T-shirt.

‘It is beautiful.'

‘It is?' She sounded hopeful, something she hadn't realised she was.

‘It has the movement. The passion. The colours. It is easy to see this image comes from here.' He placed a clenched fist over his heart. ‘You are very talented. You should finish it.'

‘I don't think I can,' she mumbled.

‘If I can see the beauty in your work—in a style you do not normally paint—then imagine what you could do if you practised? Do not sell yourself short, Charlotte Kavanagh. There are too many people in this
world who are happy to do this for us.' Mateo stroked her hair. ‘You are very special.'

‘No, I'm …' She didn't finish the sentence as his words sank in. ‘Thank you.'

‘You are also a quick learner.' Mateo leant forward, his lips dangerously close to hers. Lust stirred and she gave in, once again relishing the feel of his body beneath her fingers, his smooth curves, his masculine scent …

‘I can't.' She pulled away and leant against the wall, mentally slapping herself in the forehead for being such a chicken. ‘My flight is tomorrow and I …'

He arched an eyebrow, his gorgeous brown eyes sparkling as he stared at her with an intensity that made her want to forget about the world outside this room.

‘I …'

‘You?' Mateo rested his hand on the wall beside her. His nearness made her feel protected, from what, she wasn't sure. From her heart betraying her, perhaps?

Clearing her throat, she said, ‘This introduction to flamenco, the
gitanos
, delving into my family history, me taking up painting again, you … so much has happened in a short time and I don't know what to make of it.'

‘Then do not make anything. Have faith the future will go in the direction you wish.'

‘But I don't know which direction I want it to go!'

‘Just let this,' he rested his hand gently over her heart that sped up the instant he touched her, ‘dictate where you want to go and what you want to do.' He moved his arm from the wall and ran his fingers down her neck and across her collarbone. A shiver shot up her spine and she had to refrain from dragging him on top of her, the need to feel the weight of his body on her increasing with every second that passed.

His breath grazed her skin as he studied her with intense eyes. ‘If I have learnt one thing since losing Alicia, it is you should listen to your heart and tell someone how you feel straight away because it may be the only chance you have.'

‘I … we … umm …'
What?
How could she think straight when a man she'd grown to care for was so near, wearing his heart on his sleeve? What was she supposed to do? Not waste a moment as far as Mateo was
concerned. She reached up and folded her arms around his neck, pulling him forward with force. They locked lips, their kisses deepening as he pressed her against the door jamb, the hard wood digging into her spine. She didn't care about the discomfort. Mateo lifted her like she was a feather and she wrapped her legs around him as he walked towards the bed and lowered her to the mattress. Using his strong arms to support his weight, he leant over her, his gorgeous face just out of reach. Lust sparked in his eyes, but a second later it disappeared and he moved away and sat beside her.

‘What's wrong?' Charlotte sat up and adjusted the shirt to cover her exposed belly.

‘Maybe we should not get more involved. Tomorrow you will be gone and I will be here, trying to go back to my life, but all I will do is think about you. It will be torture.'

‘You just said we should have faith things will go in the right direction.'

‘I did, yes, but some of the times I am very good at dispensing the advice but not living it myself.'

‘We're all guilty of that.' Charlotte placed her finger under his chin. ‘Let's just acknowledge we have feelings for each other and, like you said, enjoy the moment. What happens today, tomorrow, next week may not be in our power to know, so why don't we just give in and go with what makes us feel good?' She didn't make a habit of talking men into having sex with her and it felt a little bit … oh, okay,
a lot
… wanton, but Mateo's wisdom was spot on. ‘Bloody hell.'

‘What?'

‘What are you doing to me?' She leant forward and put her head in her hands. ‘My life is about constantly assessing risk. Do you know how many times I tussled with myself over getting on
multiple
planes to get to Granada? I had to weigh up what the chances were of the planes crashing or me missing connections and being stranded is a foreign city. I had to assess what the likelihood would be of the professor helping when I eventually got here, how many extra hours the people in my office would be working to cover my job … the list goes on. And then I had to weigh that up with the risk of never finding out the truth for Abuela.'

‘And?'

‘And …' And what?
What?
‘And maybe I should lighten up and stop looking at the world as one big pool of risk.' As soon as she said this, her
body felt lighter, freer, like this revelation had been a long time coming.

‘Perhaps thinking about risk helps you make right decisions. I should learn to think more before I act. Many times it has got me in trouble. Maybe—'

‘Maybe you should shut up and kiss me.' She reached forward and placed her hand behind his neck, running her fingernails along his smooth skin.