Blood in the Valencian Soil (Secrets of Spain) (26 page)

24

Valencia, España ~ octobre de 2009

The evening never had a chance. Only a few hours ago she
told Darren how much she didn’t want her old life back, and now Luna stood with him in a little bar deep in the Barrio del Carmen, the historical quarter in the heart of Valencia’s old town. They were surrounded by his cycling teammates, all happy to be finished work for the Christmas break. It was just after midnight, so the area was just winding up, the bar full with people.

“That face is too beautiful to be sad,”
Darren said to her.

Luna glanced over and threw him a look. The tiny place was full,
and the pair stood shoulder to shoulder among the noisy crowd in the dark building. “Very funny.”

“Come on, you got dressed up, got
Lucía to babysit, let’s have a good time! Don’t we deserve a little happiness now and then, even if it’s just a night out for drinks?”

Luna playfully saluted her friend as he disappeared off through the crowd. She couldn’t deny that the wine in her system
relaxed her. She shrugged; her top slipped on her thin frame. It was backless and just hung on her. It wasn’t a great choice at this cold time of the year, but it made her feel feminine. After losing so much weight when Fabrizio died, she had finally started to get a figure back, and why wouldn’t she be able to show it off? She was single now, and a single girl could do whatever she liked.. She would rather be dressed casual, tracking down Cayetano Ortega, wherever he might be buried.

“Looking stylish tonight, Mrs. Merlini.”

Luna rolled her eyes. Paul was one of Darren’s lead-out riders during his disappointing Tour de France campaign a few months ago. First-class wanker. “Hello, Paul.”

“You haven’t said a word to anyone,” he slurred. The red-faced Englishman never could hold his drink. “I hear that you’re coming back to work with us.”

“Oh, that is just a rumour.” Luna looked past Paul in Darren’s direction. Now, when she needed his company, he had caught the eye of the girl at the bar?

“You always did such a fantastic job as a mechanic on Fabrizio’s gear. He was always a happy man.”

“He was an excellent, fully-committed rider who rode to his full potential instead of cutting corners and getting drunk too often.”

“Being able to screw the mechanic probably helped.”

“You would have seen nothing but professionalism from me when I worked for Fabrizio.” The guy begged for a kick in the cojones.

“Shame, because I have something that would benefit from your hands, polishing my ‘gear
’.” Paul gave her suggestive cock of the eyebrow with a sleazy smile.

“Come on, Paul. I bet the only time any of your ‘gear’ gets polished, it’s done by your own hand.”

“Don’t be so stubborn. If you aren’t giving it away to Darren, there’s no reason why you can’t share it around.”

“Excuse me?” Luna cried. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“It might hurt a little to start with, but you’ll get used to it.”

“Yeah, I bet rapists say that.”

“Cock tease.”

Luna smiled just a little when she saw
Darren reach out and grab Paul by the shoulder, and yanked him away from Luna and through the crowd. He was just in the nick of time. He returned a moment later, one annoying Englishman lighter. “Thank you.”

Darren
held his fist up, and she jabbed hers against it with a smile. “You’re welcome,” he replied. “Got some food up by the bar, if you like.”

“Close to the girl behind the bar?” she asked with a cheeky smile.

“Ha! Knew I could make you jealous,” he joked as they made their way through the crowd.

Luna sat down on one of the stools
and looked at the plates laid out. Standard tapas fare – patatas bravas, jamón and calamares.

“Another drink?”

“I have had quite a lot already.”

“In that case,” he said in her ear, so she could hear him over the chat going on all over the small place, “an Agua de Valencia it is.”

“Just the orange juice and sugar would be too much, never mind the cava, the vodka and the gin!”

“Oh go on,” he laughed. “I’ll join you.”

“Only if it’s really cold,” she yelled to him as he slid his way down the bar toward the perky young barmaid.

“What the fuck?”

Luna turned and fixed her cold gaze on Paul, who had returned. “¿Qué quieres?” she spat at him.

“Don’t use that shit with me.”

“You’ve lived here for years, dickhead. Surely you speak some of the language. And surely women have yelled ‘what do you want?’ at you before, you dodgy fuck.”

“
Darren just told me to stay away from you… but it’s only because he’s fucking you himself, isn’t he? All this innocent friends shit is just that. Fucking bullshit. Or are you still giving it away to that bullfighter we saw you with in that magazine?”

Luna was off her bar stool in a flash. Paul didn’t move an inch, not ready for the right hook that
swung at him. His nose made a horrid crunch just before his whole frame hit the floor in a heap. Suddenly the group of people around Luna had all turned to see the small woman drop the sportsman to the sticky floor.

Luna pushed her way through t
he crowd and out the front door; the cold air surrounded her the moment she stepped out onto the street, amongst the cheers from some of the revelers. She dodged those smoking on the narrow path and headed away, angry at herself. As she rounded the corner of the old building, she heard Darren call her name, but she didn’t want to talk to him either.

She turned off the street into a small triangular plaza, oddly devoid of people in this bustling and eclectic part of the city. She glanced up at the ceramic street
sign on the building above her. Plaça de L’Angel. She felt so terrible that some divine intervention would be good. It was bloody freezing!  Drunk and out alone in the middle of the night. Still giving it away to that bullfighter. Luna couldn’t even deal with that in private. Everyone looked twice at her since that photo got published. So fucking what if she had an affair. It was about time she was able to do as she pleased. She was entitled to do as she pleased. Luna didn’t realise how much of a burden having an unimpeachable reputation was until she had lost it.

Luna fumbled with cold fingers in her pocket of her jeans for her phone. No amount of wine
would hide that fact she was freezing, but it did have enough power to make her consider calling Cayetano. And say what? She stared at the black screen; weeks had passed and he hadn’t contacted her at all. That hurt.

I miss you

A lousy message, but still, it said all it needed to. She leaned back on the cold wall behind her and looked up at the irritating orange streetlight overhead. Who knew where he was, or if he ever wanted to see her again. But only a moment later the thumping of nearby music got interrupted by the sound of her phone beeping back at her.

I miss you
, too. I love you

You love me enough to never talk to me again?

I want to see you, but I will want you and I can’t have you

He wasn’t alone on that. I don’t think we can be just friends

I don’t know what to do

Are you angry at me?

No! I’m angry at the world. I want to be with you

I kept picking up the phone, not knowing what to say

I don’t know what to tell you

The conversation halted. No more drunk texts;  now he wanted to talk. “Hello?”

“Marry me.” Cayetano’s voice was strong and serious. “I agree that it’s not ideal over the phone… but there it is. Marry me.”

“What?” Luna scoffed. “I’m not ready for that. No… we can’t.”

“We can! As far as the world knows, Ignacio Reyes is my grandfather. Cayetano Ortega is yours. No one will ever know. Come to Madrid with me. It can be the four of us.”

“And the whole country with one eye on you and your life,” Luna said.

“To hell with my career. It doesn’t give me half the pleasure that you do! So what if we’re half-cousins!”

“If it didn’t matter then you w
ouldn’t have had any hesitation in contacting me since your father told us the truth about who we are.”

“I’m in love with you!”

“And I’m in love with you, but the world has gone to hell!”

“What do you want me to say, Luna? If there was anything I could do to change it, I would. Come to Madrid. Or I’ll come to you. I want to see you. We can’t just not speak to each other.”

“I know.”

“Are you going to answer me?”

“What?”

“Will you marry me?” Cayetano heard nothing but a long pause.
“No, then.”

“I… you’re married! I just met you.”

“Either you love me, or you don’t.”

“I do, but it’s not that simple, and you know it.” The two of them said nothing; there was nothing to say.

“I guess I will go back to my meeting then,” Cayetano barked.

“Sorry.”

“So am I.”

Luna looked at her phone; just like that he was gone. She had hurt his pride. He proposed, and she said no. That couldn
’t have gone any worse. She looked up when Darren appeared around the corner.

“Lulu! There you are! What the fuck happened?”

“Oh… that… Paul got a bit mouthy at me, and I got a little… punchy.”

“Punchy,”
Darren chuckled. “Come on, let’s go home.”

Luna was more or less asleep when Darren dragged her up to the apartment and let the babysitter go home. “Right, you,” Darren said as he pulled her down the hallway. “Bed.”

“No,” Luna sighed. “Another night in my marital bed, lying in there alone. I want to sleep with you, in your bed.”

“Is that wise?”

“I’m not doing it to be wise.”

Darren smiled when he watched Luna slump down on his bed. He pulled the covers out from under her and laid them over her still-clothed body when he jumped in next to her. He lay back on his pillow and sighed.

“What are we going to do with you, Miss?” he asked into the dark.

“I’m going to move out,” she mumbled. “I’m going to leave the city. I will get a job, and hope I can get my work permit renewed. It seems my grandfather was probably murdered somewhere and has been forgotten. He’s no help to me. I’m going to get myself together… tomorrow… when the wine goes away.”

“I can still marry you if you need me to, to help you out.”

“Please, the last thing I want is to be married…” she whispered. After all, she would never love anyone again. The thought of loving someone ever again was too much to bear. Luna fell asleep with tears in her eyes, and Darren’s arms around her.

25

Madrid, España ~ octobre de 2009

“
There you are,” Miguel said to Cayetano.

Cayetano tossed his phone on the coffee table that sat in the middle of his living room, and looked around. His father sat there,
with his familiar frown. Miguel sat next to him, and Hector, Eduardo and Alonso were also dotted around the room. All of his cousins were involved in the Morales breeding business. They were the inner circle who made a living off Paco’s legacy, and Cayetano’s fighting skill and sponsorship pulling power. Just what his mood needed – everyone’s opinion on his professional life on a night when he couldn’t be bothered to talk about work at all.

“Can’t a man make a phone call?” Cayetano said, slumping down into his armchair. The bottle of whiskey needed to come a bit closer. Between the six men, a lot of alcohol had already been consumed.

“When do you go back to the physiotherapist?” Alonso asked his older cousin.

“A few days,” Cayetano mumbled. “The leg is fine.”

“Will you come up to Rebelión this weekend?” Miguel asked. “If you like, we can get you into training.”

“Not a good idea,”
Eduardo interrupted his cousin. “I think more gym work should come first. Have you been monitoring your weight, Caya?”

“Yes, Mamá,” Cayetano teased him. “You boys all know I’m an adult,
¿no?”

“And we are your managers, and trainers, and assistants, and stylists…” Paco added.

“Don’t remind me, Papá.” Cayetano gestured to the bottles of Cruzcampo on the table, and Alonso passed him one. Not his favourite beer on the market, but in times like this, you take what you can get.

Eduardo glanced at his watch. 12:30. “Anyone interested in dinner? I know a place that opens at one.”

“Yeah, I know the place you mean. The one you can’t get into unless I make a phone call on your behalf first,” Cayetano scoffed.

“Is it a crime to want to go and hang out with Madrid’s most beautiful?”

“I’m sick of all these early nights since my accident,” he admitted.

“There you go,”
Hector chimed in. “Maybe we need a night out. We haven’t been out in a while.”

“It keeps you out of trouble,” Paco said.

“You’re jealous because tía Inés will be at home, ready to give you trouble if you have a night out,” Alonso said to his uncle.

“There’s a reason why your wife left you, boy,” Paco replied. “I’m the one married for 40 years. You can’t tell me about women.”

“Women… who needs them,” Hector commented.

They all looked
at their gay cousin. “We do!” they all cried back.

“What happened to that woman you were kissing in Cuenca, Caya?” Alonso asked.

“That subject is off-limits,” he said, with a voice full of authority.

“Like the subject of your divorce? How long do we need to keep that a secret?” Eduardo asked.

“Don’t hassle him about the girl. She was pleasant enough but just…” Paco started, unable to think of what to say.

“You know her too,
tío?” Miguel asked Paco. “Must be serious.”

“No, I don’t know her, or her little ones. I just…”

“Wait, kids?” Alonso asked. “Caya, what have you been doing? Never date a single mother. They get serious too fast, having to think of the kids instead of having a good time.”

“And
they want a new Papá for the kids,” Eduardo added. “And they moan about their ex, and want to go on kid-friendly dates...”

“Shows how little you know,” Cayetano said to the group,
and sipped his beer. “Besides, I like kids. Eduardo, I babysit for you and Elena all the time. I don’t want to date some young, single girl who wants a fun time. I’ve had too many of those.”

“So, where is this girl
?”

“Don’t bother my boy,” Paco interjected.

Cayetano threw his father a look. He knew Paco didn’t want to defend him, he wanted make it all disappear. “She’s gone.”

“A
s your image consultant, I think that may be for the best,” Hector said.

“Image consultant,” Cayetano muttered to himself. That was Spain – jobs for
the boys. Finding a job for his gay cousin who hated bullfighting had been tough, until he needed help with his clothing and presentation when promoting for sponsors. That was when his assistant, Hector, came into his own. Alonso and Eduardo had wanted to be toreros once themselves, but that role was for Cayetano, and they were relegated to remaining banderilleros and picadors, Cayetano’s entourage in the ring. They also took over their father’s role in the Morales business, and now worked for their uncle Paco, just like Miguel did.

“We haven’t talked about why we’re here,” Miguel said.

“I thought this whole fight thing in Valencia in March was all arranged,” Cayetano said. “I will make my comeback in the ring then, so what else is there to discuss?”

“Las Fallas is a deeply traditional Valencian
fiesta. Is it wise to have Caya there for that? We are Madrileños,” Eduardo said.

“Las Fallas is popular. I think it’s a powerful reason to be there, no matter where we come from.
Who cares if it’s in Valencia?”

“Watch out; next he will be marching in support of autonomous regions of Spain.”

Cayetano rolled his eyes. “Oh calm down. It’s not as if I said I want to go into the Basque Country, or in Catalonia were they are about to ban fighting. Valencia isn’t like them, they’re not pushing to be independent as much as other places. Spain is Spain. We’re always going to argue amongst each other. I love Valencia, and I see you lot all lying on the beach at El Saler just south of the city every summer.”

“I holiday there,
” Alonso said. “I’m proud to be from Madrid.”

“So am I.” Cayetano put his empty beer bottle on the floor next to his chair. “But I like Valencia.”

“When was the last time you were there?” Miguel asked.

“Not long ago, but I don’t get out there as often as I would sometimes like.”

“Maybe there is nothing there for you anymore,” Paco said. His voice was loud and clear.

“No, Papá, you may be right,” Cayetano sighed,
his eyes downcast. Not when you propose, and Luna says no! What the fuck? “Look, if you want to go to that place for dinner, I can make a call for you, but I will stay here.”

“You al
l right, Caya?” Hector asked.

“No. I’m not. I have a headache and a sore leg. And nothing is going to help, so don’t ask.”

Dutifully, Cayetano’s four cousins left the apartment, happy to give their boss his space. Paco also left without a word to his son. The pair hadn’t spoken at all since the explosive evening out at Rebelión. Inés had called her son and told him how upset Paco was to have to admit the truth about who his father was, and also upset to have ruined things with Luna, no matter how much he disapproved. But Paco was a man of few words, and it would be a while yet before he could talk to Cayetano on any subject, let alone something that shamed him.

After a few hours alone in his chair, Cayetano could swear that he could hear clap of thunder every time he closed his eyes. It may have had something to do with the bottle of whiskey and all the remaining beers. But more likely it had to do with the fact that he had never been so miserable in his whole life. His head continued to pound, just like the pain in his leg, day in and day out. His recovery had gone backwards. He was back to needing to use the cane all the time, even around the house. The loss of his beautiful angel in his life meant his whole body had begun to fail him. She said no. He proposed, and she said no.

Luna Montgomery is your cousin. Luna,
la chispa, the spark that set the world on fire was related to him. Wow, that sounded cheesy… but she was! Oh how she was the spark of life that he needed! Maybe the whiskey filled him with clichés and melodramatics. Probably.

Cayetano slumped back in his armchair a
nd listened to the clock tick across the room. The clock at Luna’s apartment in Valencia couldn’t be heard. Her home was full of family and laughter, children and games and love. He would never be part of that. To think he had been running around at Rebelión with Luna and the boys a few weeks ago, wondering what it would be like to be married again, and now he was locked up in his city apartment, his leg aching, and he knew that he couldn’t have Luna after all. Proposing was stupid, but it was too late to take it back.

The phone was silent. There was no need for Luna to call back. The argument with Paco had been compelling – they were related
and couldn’t be in a relationship, especially a physical one. Sure, they could be friends perhaps, discuss in more depth their connection, but to be with her and not touch her, not kiss her, not make love to her? No, it couldn’t be done. He couldn’t ring her again, and she probably felt the same. But what if Paco was wrong? Maybe they needed DNA tests.

The sound of the
doorbell interrupted the tick of the clock, and Cayetano groaned. It didn’t matter who wanted to see him, he didn’t want to see anyone, especially not his cousins who would now be drunk. They had no idea that Cayetano was going through hell. His heart jumped for a moment – maybe it was Luna. But the pain in his gut said no.

“Buenas noches, querido,”
María said when he opened the door.

“I’m not your darling,” he replied. “And it’s not a good evening. It’s yet another shit evening.”

“Are you going to let me in?”

The size of Cayetano’s sigh left María in no doubt of his frustration at seeing her, but she went in anyway. “You stink of alcohol,” she commented as they went into the living room.

“Yeah… well… I’m single, and if I want to get trashed on my own, I can do that.” Cayetano fell back into his ugly armchair again and stretched out his sore leg.

“You’re single?” she commented and placed her expensive handbag on the couch next to her. “Where’s girly?”

“At home, in Valencia.”

“A long way from here,” María mused. “How are things?”

“None of your business.”

María raised her bleached eyebrows well over her purple glasses. If he and girly were going well, then he would have rubbed it in her face. “Did you split up?”

“Luna and I are closer than ever before,” Cayetano bluffed. It wasn’t quite a lie. “What did you come over for?”

“Just to say hello, see how you were doin
g,” she shrugged.

“How’s Paulo?” Cayetano asked her. “Still fucking my wife?”

María threw him a glare over her glasses. “At least you acknowledge that I’m your wife.”

Cayetano leaned over and pulled the handle to open the footrest on his chair and rested his legs. “In name only, my dear, in name only. I take it that you have the divorce papers.”

“I do,” she mumbled.

“Signed them yet?”

“No.”

“I could change it, petition for divorce for just one party. That could look ugly. Not appropriate for your ever so false ‘nice girl’ image.”

“I have a lot of conditions for the divorce, Cayetano. My lawyer will send a list.”

“Hmmm… so you have disputed the divorce, yet have terms and conditions. Obviously you don’t want me back as much as you have claimed to in the past. You just want a divorce that looks reasonable to the wider public, who, of course, don’t know you or me at all. That’s twisted logic.”

“We had a strong marriage…”

“No, we didn’t,” Cayetano cut in. He had his arms folded over his chest, and looked up at the plain white ceiling above him as he spoke. “I never saw you, you worked every evening. I was out every day. We simply came and went from this apartment that we both lived in. We scheduled seeing each other. That isn’t a healthy marriage.”

“What would be a healthy marriage then?”

“When you love someone so much that you can’t breathe.”

“Oh, please, that doesn’t exist,” María scoffed.

“Not for you and me it doesn’t.”

“We were close once, Cayetano. We were madly in love once.”

Cay
etano glanced away from the ceiling to his ex-wife across the room. “We were young.”

“We’re not exactly old now. We belonged together.”

“Doesn’t mean to say we still do, or could get those feelings back.”

“Yeah, I know,” María sighed.

“How is living with your parents again? How is your father?” Cayetano asked, and unfolded his arms.

“Okay,” María shrugged. “Papá asks about you. I pretend that I have had more contact with you and have something to tell him. He has worried since your accident.”

“Does he still have all that stuff on the Medina family history?”

“H
e wouldn’t part with it. Why?”

“Just curious. Did he ever find anything about the mystery baby of Pilar Ortega?”

“No,” she shook her head. “The family lost so much when they went to live in France, so any details or letters or anything must have been lost. The identity of the baby and his real father were probably never recorded.”