Under the Spanish Stars (36 page)

Shaking her head to dissipate the apprehension building within, Charlotte pulled out the sheet of paper Abuela had given her. When she'd opened it last night it was just a name written in Abuela's beautiful swirly letters, but now, as Charlotte was about to commence research for the resting place of this person who meant so much to her grandmother, he became more real. Raul José Sierra Abano was a man with a history, a man who knew her grandmother, and she owed it to both of them to deliver this letter.

Since last night, she couldn't help wondering who this Raul was and why he'd had such a significant role in Abuela's life—obviously he was significant enough to send her granddaughter to the other side of the world with a letter. Was he the reason she never talked about Spain? Casting her mind back to the conversation she'd had with her grandmother, Abuela had never once mentioned any romantic links to this Raul person. But why would she hold onto a letter all these decades if there hadn't been a strong connection? Did Charlotte's grandfather know of his existence? What would he have thought?

Charlotte stifled the indignation on behalf of her grandfather because, without knowing the full story, she couldn't cast any judgement on Abuela
or Raul or even her grandfather. Abuela had promised to tell everything upon Charlotte's return to Melbourne and so she had to accept this for now.

Logging onto the search page, Charlotte raised her fist in victory when the page gave an offering in English. Carefully typing in the first name, date of birth and place of birth she waited while the database did its thing. The stupid connection timed out and she tried again. And again.

‘Bloody idiot computers.' Charlotte squeezed the pencil in her hand, supressing the urge to stab something. She refreshed the page and had another try. This time, the rotating wheel spun rapidly and she held her breath, not daring to breathe in case it stopped again.

It didn't.

The screen flickered and the details filled the page.

Full name – Raul José Sierra Abano

Occupation – Small business owner

Date of birth – 04/12/1919

City of birth – Moclín

Date of death – 09/08/2015

City of death – Granada

Burial place – Cementerio de San José

Spouse – Lucia Gracia Baez Abano (deceased)

Children – Felicidad Hermina Baez Abano

Charlotte blinked and read the information again, not quite trusting her eyes.

Date of death – 09/08/2015

Grabbing her phone she checked the date. Raul had died not so long ago.

‘No way,' she said as she scribbled down the details then double-checked she had them correct. Keying in
Cementerio de San José
on the computer, she realised it was right near the Generalife and Alhambra. Images of her time there with one lovely Spaniard rushed before her.
Oh Mateo.

Refusing to get distracted by reminiscing, she pulled out the letter in her satchel and studied it through the ziplock bag, wishing she knew what was written on those pages. The envelope had yellowed and Abuela's swirly writing had bled into the parchment. The way Abuela spoke it had sounded like he'd died when she was in Spain, so how could it be that he
passed away a short while ago? Perhaps Charlotte had the wrong person.

She entered the information again and the same details came up.

‘This does not make sense,' she mumbled as she typed the name of Raul's surviving daughter into the search window. She smiled as the page filled with newspaper articles written by Felicidad Baez Abano for
Fuerza
, one of Granada's digital newspapers. Some of the stories contained a photo of the journalist, who looked to be in her early fifties. Charlotte jotted down the address of the newspaper and found it on the digital map, and she made a note of where to go.

Gathering her things, she shoved them in her handbag then closed the browser. Charlotte slung her bag over her shoulder and hurried out the front door of the library and as soon as she got to the top of the steps, she pulled out her phone and dialled Mateo.

‘I'm leaving the library and have a few errands. I hope you're doing okay and, please, call me as soon as you can.' She didn't mention again that she was worried—she didn't want to sound like a mother or, worse, a possessive girlfriend, because she was neither. She had no idea what her relationship was with Mateo and today's lack of communication made it even more confusing.

Tapping out a text to Steve, she wrote:

Have found out information for Abuela but makes no sense. Am off to find the sense. C xxx

A moment later, Steve's name flashed up on the screen and she answered the call. ‘What are you talking about? What sense? You're not making any sense!'

She hesitated, realising she'd almost broken Abuela's confidence. ‘Never mind. Abuela asked me to look into a couple more things.'

‘Listen,' Steve said, breathing deeply through his nostrils, ‘Abuela's memory appears to be affected now. It's like something's switched off and can't be turned back on.'

‘And her hip?'

‘Mending well.'

‘What about her heart?' she asked, scared about the answer.

‘Strangely, it has improved rapidly so they want to move her into respite care now. And then after that …' Steve cleared his throat. ‘Dad thinks it's time.'

The minute she heard his words she knew what that meant. The idea had been bandied about these past few years but Abuela had steadfastly refused because, after all, she was more like a woman in her sixties, not nineties.

‘You can't do it. She'll wither in a nursing home.'

‘We're not doing it yet but it's not far away. Dad wants to wait until you return. You're the only one she'll listen to so you better get back here quickly so you can break the news.'

‘I'm not breaking any news until I speak with the doctors. She's still coherent. Why can't she stay at home and have nurses visit? If need be I could move in for a while and look after her until she gets better.' Leaning against a brick wall, she adjusted the handbag strap on her shoulder.

‘That's the problem, sis. She needs constant monitoring and medical care. And you're in a foreign country, doing what?'

‘I … I … it's not for me to say. Abuela asked me to keep it between us.'

‘Hmmm …' Steve paused, no doubt realising he wasn't going to get any more information from Charlotte just now. ‘You have many great qualities, but doctor is not one of them. Just get back here quickly and we can get her settled in a suitable home.'

‘If she loses her independence—'

‘She's already lost it.'

‘I don't want to talk about it.' Charlotte dug her thumbnail into the crack between the bricks of the wall.

‘You need to face reality, just like Abuela.'

‘You need to give me time to finish what I started on her behalf.'

‘I can't give you much. A decision has to be made soon.'

‘Then I will be there—soon—with answers for Abuela. That might help her accept what you all think is inevitable.' Hot tears welled in her eyes. ‘Talk to you later, 'k?'

‘Sure.'

She ended the call and stared at the phone. Damn the family electing her as the bearer of soul-crushing news. Charlotte had already given Abuela the news about her possible relationship with Syeria and now she was going to have to tell her this Raul person had only a short while ago. How would she cope with that along with her family wanting to put her into a nursing home? And why did everything have to happen now, when Abuela was at her weakest? Pushing out a sigh, Charlotte made her way
down the stairs and across the plaza.

The digital newspaper was only three blocks south of the library, which didn't give Charlotte long to figure out what she would say. The buildings didn't have obvious numbers so she had to stop passers-by and ask for directions. She received a few shrugs while others shook their head then hurried along.

The only way to find the place was to start doorknocking—something she hadn't done since she was a Girl Scout selling biscuits. The long, slow process began and as she made her way along the street her frustration grew when many doors remained unanswered. She came to a shiny, apple-green door and raised her hand to knock, but it opened before her body had a chance to register. Her closed fist landed smack-bang in the middle of a woman's chest.

Felicidad Hermina Baez Abano's chest to be exact.

‘I'm so sorry!'

The tall, thin woman peered over her chunky, purple-rimmed glasses. She fired off a flurry of words so fast Charlotte couldn't grasp what Felicidad said, but Charlotte understood enough to know the woman was none too pleased with a stranger playing knock-knock on her breasts. Charlotte didn't blame her.

‘
Lo siento
.' Charlotte's apology sounded like she had marbles in her mouth but that's the way she sounded every time she attempted Spanish. The poor woman probably thought she was mocking her native tongue. Worried Raul's daughter might shut the door before Charlotte had a chance to ask anything, she pulled out the notebook with Raul's details. Hesitating before handing it over, Charlotte hoped Raul's name didn't send his daughter into a valley of depression or hysterical sobbing.

Felicidad took the book, read the words, her poker face impressive. A moment later she asked, ‘
Inglés
?'

‘
Sí
. Do you speak English?'

Felicidad beckoned for Charlotte to enter and she climbed a couple of stairs, then entered a small foyer. Moorish tiles in blue, white and yellow spread across the floor and flowed down the hallway that led to who-knows-where. The air was thick with the smell of citrus and Charlotte spied an oil burner sitting on the hallstand, the tealight candle flickering in the gentle breeze.

Felicidad held up her hand and Charlotte halted obediently. The tall
woman walked down the hall, her beautiful sapphire-blue shoes clicking against the tiles. Her hips swayed in an easy rhythm and Charlotte wished she'd been born with supermodel genes like Felicidad. In the distance she heard the woman speak to a man with a gruff voice and a moment later a short, round gentleman with pushed-up shirtsleeves strode down the hall, Felicidad following behind on her ladder-high heels.

‘What is it you want?' the man asked in a tone that didn't relay any emotion—just a simple question.

‘My name is Charlotte Kavanagh and I'm very sorry to bother you, but I was hoping to speak with Señorita Baez Abano. Unfortunately, my Spanish isn't very good and—'

‘
¿Señorita?
' Felicidad opened her hot pink lips and a silky laugh emanated. She turned to the man and fired off more Spanish.

‘She says she likes you because no one has called her Señorita for many years.'

Charlotte mentally slapped her forehead for forgetting Señorita was generally used for much younger women. However, the faux pas appeared to have worked in her favour.

‘She wishes to know why you have her father's name written down. Are you a journalist?'

‘A journalist? Oh no, I'm a risk assessor for an insurance company. The thing is, my grandmother was friends with her father many years ago, but they … fell out of contact due to the war.' If she was this good at making stuff up then maybe she should be a writer. ‘My grandmother is very sad about his passing and would like to know a little more about his life.' She didn't like stretching the truth but it was the best she could do on short notice.

The man and Felicidad exchanged more words then she crossed her arms and pursed her pretty lips into a cat's bum.

The gentleman said, ‘She said it is nice your grandmother is concerned, but she does not wish to share personal details.'

‘I understand, it's too raw. Please tell Señora Baez Abano I'm very sorry for her loss.' Charlotte worked hard at remaining calm on the inside, even though her mind whirred like a hamster on a wheel. How to get the information without this poor woman feeling like she was being interrogated?

The trio stood in the foyer, the orange scent growing thicker. Not sure what to do next, Charlotte hoisted her handbag on her shoulder and said, ‘My grandmother is very sick and she regrets losing contact with Señor Sierra Abano. She just wants to know if he had a peaceful life.'

Felicidad cupped her hand over her mouth and whispered in the man's ear, then he asked, ‘What is the name of your
abuela
?'

‘Katarina Sanchez.'

Felicidad's eyes opened wide for a moment then she looked down as she smoothed her skirt. Sticking her chin in the air, she said very clearly, ‘
Te vas
.'

‘Why do I have to go?' Panic shot through Charlotte as she clutched the notepad.

More words tumbled from Felicidad's mouth and the man held up his hand to stop her tirade. ‘There are many reasons, she says, but she does not want you in her presence. It is time for you to go and please, do not return.'

‘But—'

‘Please, do as she asks.' The man held the door open and gestured for her to exit.

‘I just want to understand—'

‘She will not explain. Go. Now.'

Charlotte looked back at Felicidad, who now dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. Her heart went out to the woman and a pang of guilt shot through Charlotte at having been the one who upset her. Whatever the relationship was between Abuela and Raul, Felicidad appeared to know the history and it caused immense angst.

‘I'm sorry to have bothered you.' Charlotte exited the building and took the steps slowly. Had she really believed it would be so easy to track down Raul's daughter and get her to open up about his life? What fantasy world did Charlotte live in?

She checked her phone. Still no message from Mateo. If it wasn't concussion then what was holding him up? Unless … she shook her head. No. She didn't want to go to the place in her mind that suggested he was angry with her for suggesting clan members do a DNA test. She didn't blame him, though. It was out of line but what could she do? She couldn't let Abuela down and now with these developments about Raul Sierra
Abano, Charlotte's main reason for returning to Spain was probably for naught.