Blood in the Valencian Soil (Secrets of Spain) (5 page)

“What?”

“I love you. Every time I look at you, I know I love you. I want to be with you. I want to be with the boys. I love everything you do, every time we are together, no matter what you’re doing. I want you. When I am away for work, I want you to come with me. I am in love with you.”

Luna leaned forwa
rd and kissed him just once. “I want you to show me where we go from here,” she whispered against his lips.

“I don’t want to push you.”

“I want you to push me.”

Darren
swamped her lips with his, and brought her body on top of his. He placed one hand on the back of her head and gave her a furious kiss. It was the woman he had yearned for, at last letting him follow his desires. She kissed with all the power he imagined. She was no shrinking violet under his spell, and her strong will was behind every move. He got his hand up under her shirt, but just as his fingertips dipped into her bra cup, the television roared, and it broke the spell.

“Cayetano is
down!” the presenter yelled at the top of his lungs. “He’s injured, this is incredible!”

“He got gored!”
Darren exclaimed. He looked past Luna at the screen. “Typical, all these years of watching fights and now a guy gets gored, and we missed it!”

“His name is Cayetano?”

“Yeah, Cayetano ‘El Valiente’ Beltrán Morales.”

Luna scrambled from
Darren and stared at the screen. Sure enough in the close up shot, there was Cayetano. Her Cayetano. Works at the bullring, he said. Helped with the bulls, he said. Cayetano was a torero, a matador. Not just any bullfighter, but the best. Her eyes could barely keep up with what she saw. The replay was of Cayetano doing the faena, the display with his red cape and sword. He was dressed in a red and gold traje de luces, his suit of lights. It was so well-fitted to his muscles. That was the man she had been with last night; only now he was a whole new person. His face was stone cold with concentration, his curly hair slicked back. She watched the replay as the bull rammed its horn into his thigh, and blood spilled onto the dusty earth beneath him. She watched as the bull was chased away by the cuadrilla, Cayetano’s entourage of fighters, but he lay in agony. The medic crew had rushed to his aid. “Oh my God,” she muttered.

“He will be al
l right,” Darren said. “It looks as if the bull grazed him. It’s not a full goring.”

“I cannot believe it!” the Spanish presenter cried, as excited as a starving dog who could see dinner. “Never has Beltrán suffered a loss of concentration like that!”

“He has paid for it!” the other presenter said. They had to yell over the cries in the full arena. “Rumour had it this morning that he was late to his preparations, and was out last night. He could be tired out there in the ring today.”

“That is not behaviour typical of Beltrán,” the first presenter said. “But if it’s true, he has paid dearly.”

“How would they know he was out last night? How would anyone find that out?” Luna asked. Oh shit. He had been tired from last night and messed up, and it could have killed him.

“Maybe they guessed,”
Darren shrugged. “If you watch the replay, he does seem a little slow out there.”

In the replay, all Luna had seen was the fire in his eyes, the honey brown filled by the flecks of green, just like she had seen the night before when they had sex. This whole thing no longer seemed like a stolen moment. Now it had a consequence.

“His wife is down at the ringside,” the presenter said. “She will be able to see him once they take him from the ring.”

“His wife!” Luna cried. “This guy is married?”

“Yeah,” Darren said. “To that woman on Tele 5, who fronts that lifestyle programme. María something. María Medina? Why?”

“Nothi
ng,” she snapped. “He’s a fool. A fuckwit who kills animals for entertainment.”

“Are you okay, Lulu?”

Luna turned in her seat and faced Darren. Now the mistake she had made was a thousand times worse. Stupid fucking girl. “I’m not good enough for you,” she shot out in an abrupt subject change.

“What?”
Darren frowned. “Why would you say that?”

“I’m an idiot. You ne
ed a woman who will treat you the way you deserve.”

“That sounds like a bullshit way of giving me the brush off.”

“It’s not. I just… why would you wait for me to make my mind up about us?”

“Because I love you,” he shrugged. “It’s pretty simple.”

Luna glanced back at the television for a moment. She would have felt sorry for Cayetano if he hadn’t been married. She turned back to Darren, who sat there full of expectation. To tell him about the night before wouldn’t to do any good. She did feel guilty, and she wouldn’t feel that way if she didn’t have feelings for Darren. “I love you, you know that, right?”

Darren
inched across to sit next to her again. “I know, but maybe not the same way that I love you.”

“Maybe it’s time I stopped feeling guilty. Fabrizio is dead. I’m not sure
how much he loved me when we were married.”

“He loved you
, but not as much as I love you, and he knew it,” he whispered, and brought his lips to hers. Darren had been in love with Luna for a long time, and he hadn’t imagined what was between them.

From the time they first met as kids until now, there had been something there, but they had missed their chance. Fabrizio had appeared at the wrong time. He was gone now, and neither of them had any reason to hide their feelings. Fifteen years of trust, love, respect, friendship, and now it was meant to be more. They had all the hallmarks of a great r
elationship, so why couldn’t Luna just take the leap?

5

Madrid, España ~ septiembre de 2009

Luna took a deep breath and turned the handle to the office at the Madrid Registro Civil. The stark and disorganised government building was awful on its best days, and today, another Friday, it was busy with couples there to get their wedding licences. The last thing Luna needed was to see happy couples with their families, all dressed up for their momentous day. That day wouldn’t come for her. She shouldn’t have felt mad at others for their fortune in love, but she did.

The noisy building was one thing, but the sight that greeted her on the other side of the door was quite another. The room she had visited two weeks earlier, a windowless beige room with about 30 chairs, was empty. The desk where a single staff member worked was unattended.
Oh, for Christ’s sake. She had fucked up. The door closed itself behind her while she looked at the piece of paper with the date and time written on it.

Viernes de 1 septiembre. 14:30. Nacimientos y muertes de la oficina de matrimonios.
No, she was in the right place. Birth, Deaths and Marriages. Last time it had been full, and now it was dead.

“Luna Montgomery?”

Luna looked up to see someone at the desk, an irritated-looking woman in her mid-thirties. She was attractive, but her obvious disdain for having to be at work during siesta clouded her pretty face. “Sí, soy Luna.”

“I’m Sofía, I can help you,” the woman replied. “Who do you need to find?”

“I need Cayetano Ortega. Born in or around 1914.”

“Full name?”

“Not sure.”

“No date of birth?”

“No.”

“Birthplace?”

“No. Maybe Cuenca?”

“Parents names?”

“I don’t know.”

“Occupation?”

“I don’t know that either.”

“¿Por qué mi hermano quiere que le ayude?”
Sofía muttered. “Wait here, I will go and check the records.”

Luna frowned as the blunt woman left the room. Why did her brother want to help? That was a good question. The door behind her banged open, and Luna turned, surprised that Sofía would be that quick. No such luck. There stood Cayetano, the Cayetano she knew anyway, with his left leg bandaged. The man’s strong body now relied on crutches. He looked awkward as he got himself through the heavy door, and hobbled over towards her. “Luna,
buenas tardes. Has Sofía met you here?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Enchufe, remember? I asked Sofía to stay and help you. I thought it would help you to find your abuelo.”

“How is your leg after the accident?”

“You saw?”

“I saw the whole
‘El Valiente’ Beltrán fight. How has your wife coped with your injury?”

Cayetano swallowed hard. He hoped
to come in here and see Luna again. He didn’t have the courage to ring her after lying about who he was. He hoped that if he helped her today it would maybe ease some of that. He wanted to ask her out again. Now it would be ugly. “Can I explain?” he asked.

“No.” She raised her hand in his direction. “There’s no need.”

The door opened again, and Sofía was back. “Cayetano! How did you get up here on your own?”

“I can walk,” Cayetano replied in his sister’s direction.

“This woman is a friend?” Sofía gestured towards Luna.

“More of a casual acquaintance,” Luna said coolly.

“I’m not much help to you, Luna,” Sofía said. “There are no records. I suggest you go to Registro Civil office in Cuenca for original documents.  Anything else I can do?”

“No, thank you so much,” Luna said. “Thank you for staying late to help me. I won’t bother you anymore.”

“Luna,” Cayetano said, and reached out for her. She stepped around him, and he was unable to reach her, and stumbled on his crutches. She was gone from the room in a heartbeat.

“What did you say to her?” Sofía asked her brother. “Did you just get me to do a favour for a girl you’re interested in?”

“Would it matter if I said yes?”

“Imagine what Mamá and Papá would say - the golden child has betrayed his wedding vows.”

“Since when do you ever talk to our parents?”

“I don’t want to have that conversation. Do you need a ride home?”

“No.” He turned himself on his crutches in the direction of the door. “Thanks, Sofía. I need to go and apologise to Luna.”

“So you did say somethi
ng to her,” Sofía commented and opened the door for her brother.

“It’s more what I didn’t say,” he sighed. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Maybe you could come to family lunch on Sunday?”

“Would they want their family’s disappointment there?”

“You’re not, not to me,” Cayetano said. “I have to go.
Hasta luego.”

Luna stood on the narrow cobbled path and pondered her next move. The next train from Atocha station back to Valencia wasn’t for another hour. When she had got a call from Sofía’s office, she had thought they had something of interest for her. Why couldn’t they have just called her? Cayetano also had her number, and he could have used it. But he didn’t. He didn’t call her. He lied and slept with her behind his wife’s back. So why lure her here under the pretense of having some information, when, in fact, Cayetano Ortega may as well not exist?

“¡Luna,
espere!”

Luna shut her eyes and felt a deep ache in her stomach. Wait? For what? She didn’t want to see Cayetano again. She needed to make a run for it. She had thought about him for the last two weeks, about how much she had liked him, and then how dirty she felt when she found out he was married. The man she saw just now was the man she knew, Cayetano
Morales, the scruffy man in the bullfighting bar. The guy who took her to dinner. The man who spent the night in her hotel room. But he wasn’t real. She heard his deep, robust voice say her name again, now much closer. With great reluctance, she turned around and there he was behind her on his crutches, his breath laboured. He must have dashed after her on those things. “What?” she spat out.

“I… I just… how are you?”

“Hot. Annoyed. I came today under the impression that there had been an appointment for me because something I had requested had turned up. Only it was your sister who felt obligated to stay after closing time in her office. Why would you do that?”

“I like you.”

“Well, I don’t like being made a fool of.”

“
Señor Beltrán? Cayetano Beltrán,” a man’s voice interrupted, and they turned to see an older gentleman approach them. “Señor Beltrán,” he said again. “What an honour! I am such a fan of both you and your father. How is the leg? I hope you recover soon.”

“Gracias,
my leg is healing well,” Cayetano said, and watched the man pull a pen and piece of paper from the old satchel he carried. “Would you like an autograph?”

“Por favor.
I got one from your father at a fight back in 1967. What a magnificent performance it was. My name is Manuel. I never thought there would be another great like your father, but here you are.”

“Dear Manuel, thank you for the well wishes and support. Regards, Cayetano Beltrán
Morales,” he said out loud as he wrote on the paper. “Here you go.”

“Gracias,”
the grateful man said, and gestured with his hat. “I’ll let you charm the lady again.”

“A
torero’s work is never done,” Cayetano joked, and the man laughed as he walked off.

“So,” Luna said and
folded her arms, “your father was a bullfighter, was he? So all night you lied to me about who you were, your job, your family, everything. Not just about your wife.”

“Can I at least explain myself?”

“What for? We had a cheap one-night stand, and that doesn’t need explanations. We will just never see each other again. We don’t need to share private information.”

“I would have thought we have already shared a lot of private things. I think I already know you very well. In fact, I know every inch
of you in a very weak moment.”

Luna’s eyes flared. Flames were ready to shoot from them. “You
don’t know me. You may have seen me, but that is not the same thing. Leave me alone.”

“Hey, who said we were a one-night stand?”

“I don’t know, your wife maybe?”

Cayetano reached out and grabbed her arm when she spun away from him. “Damn it, Luna. Let me explain!” This time when she spun back she looked even more irate. “Please.”

“No, I need to catch the train back to Valencia.”

“They have trains all day. What’s the rush?”

“I would like to get back to see my children.”

Cayetano dropped his hand from around her arm.
Mierda. Shit, there was a revelation.

“What do you know, in an instant he has no interest,” Luna said with a sarcastic smile. “Are we done now?”

“I love kids,” Cayetano replied. “I just don’t have any.”

“Well, at least that makes me a little less of a home wrecker.” Luna turned
and left. It didn’t matter how much she liked him, there was no need to drag this out. She heard him call her name out again, this time in anger, but she didn’t turn back until she heard him call out in pain. She looked over her shoulder; he was in a heap on the path. She cringed, that must have been extremely painful for him. His bandaged leg stuck straight out in front of him on the uneven cobbles. The dozen or so people between the two of them rushed to his aid, but he looked up at Luna. She came back over and picked up his crutches for him.

Cayetano thanked the people who had helped him, and he sighed. “That was not how to win over a lady,” he said to Luna. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you all right?”

“No.”

She looked at the defeated look on his face, lined with the pain that came from his leg. She realised she quite liked the cheeky smile that usually graced his face. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I need to get a taxi home.”

Luna helped Cayetano into a nearby taxi outside the building, and she was genuinely concerned at how much pain he seemed to be in. She could imagine what the wound he had looked like. How many ways could she mess up with the man?

“You aren’t coming with me?” he asked. He
sat in the taxi with his crutches over his lap. “Please? It’s not far.”

Luna glanced from hi
m to the driver, who seemed rather proud to have Cayetano Beltrán in the back of his car. Cayetano would need help to get inside his building at the other end. With some reluctance, she got in the taxi, and they set off through the busy Madrid streets. The driver wouldn’t shut up, and he barely even looked at the road. It seemed he had caught every second of Cayetano’s performance in the ring, and was more than happy to offer suggestions on how to fight next time. Cayetano sat there and spoke to the man, despite the discussion being about how much he had fucked up in the ring. She may not have known who Cayetano was, but everyone else in Madrid did.

The day was one surprise after another. When the taxi pulled up outside Cayetano’s building, she couldn’t believe it. So he was wealthy. Of course he was. The restored building was a marvel, only a few blocks away from the hotel that Luna had been a few weeks ago. It was one of Madrid’s treasures. The grey and white stone work was as beautiful as the day it was built. The moment they stepped out of the car, the portero came out to help. Cayetano didn’t want the aid of the doorman, and he told the older man that his friend would help him upstairs.

Luna sighed and got in the elevator with Cayetano, and watched the doorman slide the metal door shut
and hit the button for the sixth floor. The old elevator was slow as it took them up the centre of the winding staircase to the top of the building. 

“Thank you,” Cayetano said when Luna pulled the metal lattice gate across, and helped him ove
r the gap onto the white floor of the dark hallway.

“If you’re fine now, I will leave you. I need to catch my train.”

“You won’t come in?”

“Yeah, your wife and I can have coffee,” she scoffed.

“My ex-wife lives across town with her parents,” Cayetano said. “Which you would have already known if you had let me talk.”

“I’m sorry! Look, this isn’t even about you. I’m embarrassed by my behaviour enough.”

“I see, you used me and now you don’t want to see me again.” A smile spread over his face while he unlocked the front door to his apartment.

Luna couldn’t help but return it. “Cayetano, I’m sorry. I’m just
outside my comfort zone here, for a lot of reasons. Reasons you don’t talk to strangers about.”

“Then why don’t you come in and not be a stranger anymore?”

“Is your leg even sore?”

“Yes, I have 36 stitches. Every one hurt
like hell when I fell over like a fool.”

“Does it hurt enough that you needed me to help you up here?”