From Barcelona, with Love (33 page)

“We have to leave right away,” Sunny said, but looking at Lorenza's troubled face she suddenly felt sorry for her.

“I know how much you love Paloma,” she said, catching the glimpse of panicked tears.

“I need to go with her,” Lorenza said. “I can't just let her go like this God knows where, out into the night…”

“It's okay. Allie and I will take care of her.”

“But Mac should be here.
Where is
Mac?”

Allie prayed Sunny wasn't going to blurt out that Mac was with Bibi. She needn't have worried, because Sunny said something completely different.

“I know this is not the right moment, when everything is so urgent,” she said carefully. “But I want you to know I understand how much you loved Mac. And I know how in love he was with you. I envy you that time, being young together, and I know first love is the one you never forget. But time has moved on, Lorenza, for all of us. We're at the same place in our lives. We're more than simply lovers, we are a team. He thinks for me, I think for him. I know him better than anyone and he knows all my faults, all my vanities, all my insecurities…”

Lorenza nodded. “I understand,” she said, lifting her chin high so her dark hair clouded round her lovely face. “And I was wrong. When Mac came here I thought, perhaps…” She shrugged and her lovely white chiffon gown slid farther off her smooth shoulders. She put up her hand again, seeking for Juan Pedro's pearls. “I loved my husband the way you love Mac,” she said. “I read his thoughts, anticipated his needs, helped with his daily business problems. And we were lovers. In the best possible way, I loved my husband physically. The way I see you do Mac. There was always that bond between us, and it had nothing to do with the lovers I'd had before Juan Pedro, and has nothing to do with the lovers I've had since Juan Pedro. For me, my husband will always be my love. It's as simple as that. When Mac came here, I was a woman clutching at straws, hoping to find something we once had but that no longer existed. I was a fool, Sunny Alvarez. And a guilty fool because a woman always knows there is a moment, a single moment when it could have moved forward, I could have done the wrong thing.…”

She was thinking of that long night with Mac in his room down the hall, her knowing he was there, his presence like electricity transmitting itself to her, her sexual longing for him, for his arm around her.

“Thank God, it never happened,” she said, meeting Sunny's frank gaze.

Sunny had to admire her, for baring her soul could not have been easy. And she liked her for her honesty.

“I know,” she said gently, thanking Mac in her heart for being strong against the temptation of a lovely woman, an old lover, who had wanted him so much. He had remained true. The bonds of truth had not been broken.

Woman to woman, now she and Lorenza faced each other, in that beautiful hall with the scents of jasmine and the big bouquet of flowers and old wood smoke from the big fireplace.

She remembered Paloma. “We must leave at once,” she said, coming instantly to her senses.

“But where will we go?” Lorenza asked.

Allie caught the “we.” “You must stay here,” she said. “Ron told me Mac's putting guards on the bodega in case Peretti shows up, though he doesn't believe he will. Lev Orenstein's taken care of it.”

“Paloma's not leaving without me,” Lorenza said fiercely. “She's
my
grandchild.”

Of course Sunny knew Paloma was really Juan Pedro's granddaughter, but this wasn't the moment to go into that, and besides, she could see Lorenza cared deeply.

“Can I come down now?” a small voice said suddenly. Paloma was at the top of the stairs, clutching a small Barbie-pink bag, stuffed to overflowing with important things, like a special whistle she'd won at the funfair in Malibu, the cardigan Sunny had given her that day on the beach when she'd almost drowned, as well as the Missoni scarf, plus video games and her iPhone, a very old baseball cap commemorating Barcelona's Olympic Games in 1994 that had belonged to Juan Pedro, and a plastic bag of junk jewels she'd decided she absolutely couldn't live without.

“Anyhow, where are we all going?” she asked, chirpily, longing to run down and hug Sunny and Allie, but waiting obediently for Lorenza to give her the word.

Lorenza looked at her, then she said fiercely to Sunny, “I know
exactly
where we'll go. And I'll drive. Wait here while I get changed.” And lifting her skirts, she took the stairs two at a time, stopping only to hug Paloma and tell her she could wait with Sunny and Allie downstairs.

“Where are we going? Sunny?” Paloma asked again, wrapped in a bear hug.

“Lorenza said she'd take us somewhere special. I'll bet you're going to like it.”

“I know we're leaving because of Peretti, he's coming to get me, and you and Mac and Lorenza are not gonna let that happen. Right?”

“Right, baby,” Sunny said, just as Lorenza came dashing back down the stairs. She'd changed into black leggings and a white sweater and, like Paloma, clutched a bag overflowing with hastily packed necessities. Her hair was pulled back in a bun and she wore Juan Pedro's pearls. She needed them for moral support.

She'd already warned Buena what might happen and Buena had gone to stay with Cherrypop's family, out of any danger.

“We'll take my car,” she said, herding them quickly to the big BMW SUV. “And I'm driving. I know the way,” she added, catching Sunny's worried look.

Telling Paloma to sit in the back with Allie, and making sure she fastened her seat belt, Lorenza got behind the wheel. Sunny climbed in next to her and Lorenza started up the powerful engine.

“So,” Sunny said, as the headlights cut the darkness of the country night. “Exactly where
are
we going?”

“I've always found,” Lorenza said, negotiating the turnoff onto the road leading to Barcelona with practiced ease, “that the best way to get lost is in a crowd. That's why we're going to the biggest, grandest hotel on the sea, right here in Barcelona. We're going to eat paella at one of those waterfront restaurants where Paloma can watch the boats coming in and out. It's always music and bustle there at night, people eat so late.”

“You're kidding me,” Paloma cried, thrilled with this sudden treat.

“No, she's not,” Sunny said, smiling at Lorenza. “Your grandmother knows exactly how to make you happy.”

And she knew Lorenza was right, they could get lost in a crowd.

 

Chapter 52

Barcelona

For Bibi, the Ramblas house
had always been “home.” She was born there, had been Daddy's spoiled little girl there, and had returned, a woman, to attend her father's funeral. True, her life was separated from the de Ravel family's; her home had become Hollywood, her life meant being on the road for months, touring, or long periods of solitude, writing; of recording, and managing things, or being managed by others. And it had meant being mother to Paloma.

They were in the car, at the gates, and while Bibi hid her face, Rodolfo talked to the old man
guardien.
She remembered him being younger, a proud man always with his ratty mixed-breed Jack Russell, of which the current one, already poking its nose up at the car window, was probably a descendent.

Rodolfo knew the
guardien
too, from all those years visiting Juan Pedro. Now he explained they needed access to the house, that other people would be arriving and he was to let them in. He called off his dog and gave Rodolfo the key, touching his blue beret in respect.

When Rodolfo opened that massive front door and turned on the lights, for Bibi it was like stepping back in time. She could almost hear her own shrill childish voice calling for her sisters, hear herself yelling
Papa, Papa,
when her father returned home in the evenings; hear the maids singing in the kitchen as they prepared for a dinner party; hear her sisters squabbling over their homework. She could smell the churros Floradelisa always sneaked in after school; see the sunlight slanting over the old wood plank floors, breathe the hot sweet smell of summer jasmine, and the appley scent of crackling winter log fires. Closing her eyes she saw her father's face as clearly as if he were there with her. Now, at this very moment, when she needed him. It was then she knew she had done the proper thing, in coming “home.”

“You know something,” she said to Rodolfo, who was looking anxiously at her. “In all the years I lived here, we children were never allowed to go into those old theater boxes. The boiserie doors were kept locked and a maid was permitted in once a week, to dust and polish. I always wanted to see what my small world looked like from up there, from that box, looking down to where the tiny stage was before it was destroyed centuries ago by fire.”

She smiled as she turned to look at him. “I always thought if only I could get in there, I might see the ghostly ‘diva,' in her big swooping hat, maybe catch the glitter of her diamonds, even a smile.”

“It's an old wives' tale,” Rodolfo scoffed. “No one ever really saw the diva, she was invented because with a house this old, with its history, naturally it should have a ghost. I think now we can lay that myth safely to rest.”

“Let's go up there anyway,” Bibi said, taking his hand for safety because nothing he, or anyone else, could say would ever convince her there was no ghost.

The boiseries were the painted wooden doors and they were not kept locked anymore, since there was no longer any need to keep out inquisitive children, who might have leaned over the balcony and fallen. The old plush upholstery on the banquettes emitted a puff of dust when Bibi sat down, leaning her arms along the padded rail, beneath which the tiny golden cherubs with wings waved their golden trumpets. The dust smelled of old perfume and cedar sachets to keep out the moths; of fancy paper programs announcing the evening's players, many of whom Bibi had heard were scandalous young women wearing little but tights and a corset half hidden under a tumble of hair. If she closed her eyes she could see them now, strutting prettily to the music … and, now she thought about it, not so far off from what she herself had done on stage. Perhaps, after all, she had inherited something of the old house's past and its ghosts, and brought it with her into the present. And now, with Jacinto's new recording, maybe even into a future she had not dared to believe she might possess.

And if it were not for Paloma, she would not. She would not even be here. She would have stayed alone at her castle, keeping to herself, just her and Amigo. She would have always been within reach of Paloma in an emergency. “A matter of life and death,” she had promised herself. And now that matter of life and death was here. Mac Reilly said Peretti was on his way to take Paloma. Her daughter was in danger.

She was brought abruptly back to the present when Mac Reilly walked into the hall, without knocking. She leaned into the shadows, taking him in, as he stood, glancing round.

Rodolfo hurried to introduce himself and the two talked quietly, then Mac glanced her way.

Bibi thought he had a particularly penetrating look, it was as though when his eyes met hers, he instantly knew her, knew all the thoughts going through her head.

He gave her a small bow, respecting all her confusion and fears, and the fact that she was finally home again, in this house where she had lived as a child, and that now was hers.

“I want you to know there's no need to be afraid for Paloma,” he said. “She's on her way to somewhere safe, with people I'd trust with my own life, as well as hers.”

Bibi sagged back with relief. “I believe you,” she said.

*   *   *

Mac thought he
would never have recognized Bibi Fortunata, this slightly built woman in jeans and a black sweatshirt, mouse-brown hair dragged into a ponytail, pale un-made-up face. But there was something compelling about her, a quality that forced you to look at her, to take notice, and of course the clear direct gaze of her lake-green eyes would always tell you this was the star, Bibi Fortunata.

She threw her arms round him and he smiled. Like mother, like daughter; impulsive and warm and generous with her hugs.

“Where is Paloma?” Bibi asked, still afraid.

“It's better you don't know. Later, we'll talk about her.”

Rodolfo took Bibi's arm. “Come on,
querida,
let's go sit in your father's study. I'll get some drinks and we can talk there.”

Bibi took a seat next to Mac. She hadn't taken her eyes off him. “You said you could help me.”

“I can, on condition you'll agree to return to the States and face up to the police. Only this time I'll be with you, and I've already told them what I believe happened.” He put up a hand when he saw her panicked face. “No. I did not tell them you were here in Spain, nor that I was meeting with you. Only you can give that go-ahead. But first let me tell you that Paloma is well, she's a great girl, and a credit to her mother.”

He filled Bibi in on his first encounter with Paloma on the beach in Malibu, and about Jassy's phone call, and then his meeting with Lorenza.

“The Matriarch,” Bibi said, managing a smile, because it had always seemed such a ridiculous thing to call a woman in her forties “the Matriarch.”

“Coincidentally, she was an old friend,” Mac said, because he thought he'd better put Bibi in the picture for future reference. “Paloma is living with her at the bodega.”

“I know,” Bibi said. She always knew where Paloma was.

“You mind if I ask how?”

“Jassy,” Bibi said simply. “We never saw each other, Jassy and I, and she never knew where I was, but she talked to Rodolfo and he told me. Jassy cared. I'll never forget the day she came and took Paloma away, the look in Jassy's eyes. She knew she had to do it and it hurt her almost as much as it hurt me. But it had to be done.”