Luna Tango (34 page)

His eyes travelled from her to the young woman with thick red hair.

‘She's a friend of yours?'

‘No,' said the Irish woman. ‘She's alone.'

‘Alone?' He turned to Louisa and forced a smile although deep concern clouded his blue eyes. This stranger's presence calmed her slightly, and she tried to sit up. ‘Stay still, darlin'. You're not alone now.'

Louisa nodded and closed her eyes. Pain came in waves as voices in various languages ricocheted around her. She lay on the hot ground with stones digging into her flesh and shivered despite the midday sun burning her pale skin.

Louisa went to speak but a scream escaped when another pain stabbed her abdomen and a warm, sticky wetness oozed between her legs.

‘No!' She pressed her arm against the hard bone of her forehead. ‘No! I can't lose my baby!'

Stifling heat surrounded Dani as she moved out from behind the bushes at the side of the highway. Carlos waited for her in the car they'd hired in Fortaleza, his arm resting casually on the back of her seat, a smirk gracing his lips.

‘Better?'

‘Yes,' she hissed, avoiding his eyes. ‘Too much coffee, methinks.'

‘Do not mind, it is nature, yes?'

‘Hmm.' Oh, but she minded very much, especially since her relationship with Carlos was still on rocky ground. Since they'd met up again in Buenos Aires there hadn't been any hand holding or kissing, not even an accidental shoulder graze on the plane. Peeing behind a bush didn't add to the romance factor, either.

Dani got in and clicked the seatbelt in place and Carlos took off at full speed, cutting in front of a car and missing it by a fraction. She did wonder how he
couldn't
have caused the motorbike accident but with the current tension between them, asking was a sure way to piss him off. With all the other stuff going on, his driving was the least of her concerns—unless they crashed.

They sped inland, away from pristine beaches and into the rural highlands. She bit her lip and gazed at the blurred palm trees.

‘Two hours and we should arrive, yes?' Carlos's smooth voice intruded on her downhearted state.

‘Why did you volunteer to come on this trip?' she asked then wished she could take it back.

‘You needed a person who speaks Portuguese, yes?'

‘And?'

‘Iris does not speak Portuguese. It is best if she stays in Buenos Aires and deals with Diego. You need to know if he has done anything with the information he stole, yes?'

‘I worry about her safety.'

‘Iris is resourceful; she will be fine.'

Knowing she had a captive, albeit possibly reluctant, audience, Dani said, ‘I'm a little confused, because you've been telling me you wanted someone—anyone—to be held responsible for Canziani's death. Now my grandma's landed in your lap as one of two suspects. And—' She cut herself off, too scared to finish the sentence.

Carlos's white-knuckled hands gripped the steering wheel. ‘You want to know what I will do with this information?' he asked in an even tone.

‘Yes.' She hated questioning his intentions but in her excitement and haste upon hearing Stella's confession, Dani hadn't thought about the consequences of telling Carlos. All she'd cared about was being honest. But now she wished she'd been more careful, although it was a little like shutting the gate after the llamas had escaped.

‘If you say she didn't do it then I must take this into my account, yes?'

‘My grandma may have been many things but a murderer she is not.' Dani drew her lips together.

‘And Roberto?'

‘I have no idea but I can't believe Stella would ever be in a relationship with a man capable of killing someone.'

‘People do many things we don't expect. Life is unpredictable. People are unpredictable. Tango—'

‘Is unpredictable. You do like your life and tango references, don't you?' She shifted in her seat and faced him. Butterflies crashed against her belly as she took in his tanned skin, dark hair and perfectly straight nose.
Stupid bloody laws of attraction
.

‘Daniela, maybe now you know your heritage, you might believe me when I refer to this life and tango business. The beauty of the tango is that it is unpredictable. There are no two dances the same, just like there are no two lives the same. Different dance partners, music, dance halls ... they all combine to make the tango experience unique for every person. And it all starts with the tiniest dance step. One little move can change the entire direction of the dance and create an experience we never imagined. Just like life. Ah!' He raised his finger in the air. ‘Your raw talent, I was right! Look at your genes!'

‘Fat lot of good that's done. And anyway, we don't know if Roberto is my grandfather.'

‘You do not know for sure?'

‘Nope. My head was spinning with everything Stella had told me and I completely forgot to ask. How stupid is that? One of the most important questions in my life and I failed to ask it. So much for being a journalist.'

He smiled for a millisecond. ‘You can ask when you call her, yes? Or you could ask Roberto.'

‘Ask him if he slept with my grandma?'

‘Surely a woman of words like you can find a more delicate way of asking this but you do not need to make the decision now. If Roberto is your grandfather you can embrace your true heritage and it will help you understand who you are.'

‘I am who I am because I am me. Like you said,
my
experiences shape
my
life. My steps. My choices. My dances. It has nothing to do with who I'm related to.'

‘It is your heritage. You, my dear Daniela, are showing a sense of family even if you deny it. You are looking after your own, which is what we do for family. I now understand why you lied. I am not happy about it but I appreciate your actions. You were, and are, protecting your family, yes?'

‘I am, aren't I?' Surprised by his observation, Dani turned her attention to the farmlands outside the window and mulled over his words. For the first time in her life, Dani felt part of a family, even though it was more fractured than the leg she'd broken skateboarding when she was twelve.

‘So is this the reason you wanted to help?'

‘Yes.' His smile melted the ice wall between them.

* * *

The car's air-conditioning blew Dani's hair across her face as they zoomed to their destination. Carlos drove in his usual Fangio style and surprisingly, she'd grown used to it.

‘I have a question.'

‘Shall we stop so you can learn a dance step first?' A mischievous glint shone in his eyes.

‘You can't be serious.'

‘I will let it pass today. Please, ask your question.'

‘Is another reason you're helping me because Argentine blood might be running through my veins?' This revelation could explain why it felt like returning home when she first arrived in Buenos Aires.

‘You ask this because of my feelings about foreigners and the Canziani case?'

‘Yes.' She bit her lip.

‘This is a very good question. You are lucky we are not doing the questions for dance steps because I would make you learn something very difficult.' Sniffing, he said, ‘It does help, yes. You may think my patriotism is extreme but maybe one day you will understand.'

‘Maybe.'

They travelled for another twenty minutes and arrived at Rancho do Sonho. Carlos reduced speed and they turned off the main road while Dani tapped her fingers on the armrest as the tyres crunched along gravel. They arrived at a picture-perfect whitewashed house with a veranda and bright red shutters and doors. A fountain out front featured a stone carving of three angels surrounding a small lamb. The angels' outstretched arms formed a protective circle around the young animal and water spilled from the holes near their feet.

Dani and Carlos got out of the car and shut the doors. Carlos placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and her tension dissipated. Now he wanted to get touchy-feely?

The house looked deserted so they made their way over and into the sprawling tin shed that was hotter than the midday sun, the scent of cashews and damp soil filling the air. A group of workers in various states of dishevelment gathered at large tables, sorting nuts by size and throwing them in canvas sacks. They joked as they worked, the lines on their face deepening as they laughed. Each had sun-stained skin that made them look older than their years.

One man, more ancient than the rest, coughed and spluttered into a handkerchief. Even though he was at the back of the shed, his wheeze was audible. He caught Dani staring and offered a friendly smile. Her heart went out to him.

She nudged Carlos so hard he almost lost balance. ‘It's him.'

‘Where?'

‘There!' She pointed at the old man, unable to break her stare.

Forcing her arm down, Carlos said, ‘What makes you say this?'

‘A feeling.' Now, more than ever, she hoped her intuition was spot on.

‘I do not know about trusting this feeling business but I will go ask just for you.'

‘No. I need to do this,' she said.

‘But—'

‘I need to embrace my heritage, right?'

He gave her a lopsided smile. ‘I cannot argue with my own argument.'

‘Wish me luck.' Dani puffed out her cheeks and took a tentative step forwards. As she moved through the shed, the men gave cursory glances but none were so rude as to stare at her outright. The old man continued sorting, oblivious to the fact that his life was about to change.

Drawing up beside him, she studied his cracked fingers deftly sorting the nuts. Glancing up, he smiled then continued with his work. Dani leant in close so no one could hear and in Spanish she said, ‘You're Roberto Vega, aren't you?'

‘
Não, não. Eu só falo português
' he said, concentrating on the nuts.

‘I know who you are and you speak more than Portuguese,' she continued in Spanish. Her heart raced with her daring assumption but the pull towards this man was impossible to ignore.

‘You sent Louisa Gilchrist a letter. I'm her granddaughter and she sent me to find you.'

‘
Não, não
.' He cracked the shells with more power and the veins around his temple throbbed.

‘You're Roberto Vega,' she whispered, leaning in further. ‘Don't lie.'

‘
Não, não!
' he yelled, throwing down his hammer. He stepped away and his wide eyes searched the room for help.

‘You called her Lunita. You—' Fingers wrapped around Dani's arm, pressed into her bare skin and hauled her away, through the shed and towards the car.

‘Ow! Let me go!' The more she struggled, the harder his fingers dug in.

‘Can you not see you were scaring him?' Annoyance creased Carlos's brow.

‘He's scared because I've found him!' She wiggled her body until she broke free. ‘It's him. I know it.'

‘Daniela, please.' Carlos gently placed his hands on her shoulders and looked deep into her eyes. ‘Did you mention the letter?'

She nodded.

‘Then if it was him, he would have no reason to deny his identity. Maybe one of the other men is Roberto.'

‘But I felt a connection with him, like you're supposed to with a family member.'

He pulled her close and he muttered into her hair, ‘I love that you are now understanding this importance of family.'

She stood back, wiping her eyes. ‘I looked at every other man in there and not one of them drew me in like he did.'

‘You are desperate for an answer and maybe you are seeing and feeling things you crave. Perhaps Roberto is not here today.'

‘But ...' Her voice trailed away as the lanky foreman blew a whistle. The men downed tools and dipped cups into large buckets of water. They guzzled the liquid and chatted then someone shouted at the man she thought was Roberto. He nodded, glanced in her direction and shuffled to the corner of the shed. A moment later he returned with a chair and bandoneón case.

‘It's him,' she said between clenched teeth.

‘There are many people who play the bandoneón. You know this, yes?' Carlos cautioned.

The old man dipped his chin and his weathered hands caressed the battered instrument. The workers formed a semicircle and chomped on sandwiches while they waited for their coworker to play. The old man pressed a few notes on the bandoneón and the foreman broke into song. He sang in Spanish, his raspy voice enthralling the small audience while the bandeneón player stared at the ground and played the notes with ease.

Dani moved closer, determined to get in his line of vision. Carlos breathed down her neck, a silent promise that if she forced herself on this old soul again, he wouldn't hesitate to drag her away, kicking and screaming.

The old man closed his eyes, lost in the song as his companion sung every word with passion. Although the wood panelling of the instrument bore gouges and scrapes, the notes floated beautifully through the air and wrapped around her like a cocoon.

‘Shit,' she said under her breath.

‘What?'

‘There's no fingernails down the blackboard.' Carlos frowned and she waved her hand in a ‘not explaining now' manner. ‘Shit. Shit. Shit.'

She sank to her knees, not caring about the stones digging into her skin. A few workers glanced at her but didn't show any concern as their attention quickly returned to the musical pair. Strong hands cupped her armpits and lifted her then the same hands rested heavily on her shoulders. Carlos's warm breath grazed her ear as he said, ‘What is it?'

‘I ... he ...'

The old man's eyes met hers and he gave her a small nod.

‘Did you see that?' She could barely contain her excitement. Resisting the urge to point, she whispered, ‘See? He's telling me he's Roberto.'

‘You cannot know this. Yes, he is very good but there are many excellent bandoneón players. My cousin, he—'