And nothing anybody could say or do seemed to make a difference. Not when every time he looked out of his window he saw the vines that were no longer his, and he was reminded all over again of all that he had lost.
She stopped at the edge of the estate, where the recently erected fence marked the new border between her grandfather’s remaining property and the neighbouring Esquivel estate. Here, where there was a break between the rows of vines staked and trellised high above her head, she could look down over the spectacular coastline of northern Spain. Below her the town of Getaria nestled behind a rocky headland that jutted out into the Bay of Biscay. Beyond that the sea swelled in brilliant shades of blue that changed with the wind and with the sun, a view so unlike what she had at home in Australia that it took her breath away every time she looked at it.
She inhaled deeply of the salt-tinged air, the scene of terraced hills, the tiered vines, the ancient town below all too picture perfect to be real. It wouldn’t seem real when she was back home in Melbourne and living again in one of the cheap, outer-city student flats she was used to. But Melbourne and her deferred university studies would have to wait a bit longer. She’d come expecting to stay just a few weeks between semesters. Then Felipe had fallen ill and she’d promised to stay until he was back on his feet. But after this latest news, it was clear she wasn’t returning home any time soon. Because there was no way she could leave him now.
Dying.
Hadn’t there been enough death lately without losing Felipe too? She was only just getting to know him properly—the long-term rift between him and his daughter keeping the families apart ever since she was a child, Felipe and his wife here in Spain, their wayward daughter, her forbidden lover and their granddaughter living in self-imposed exile in Australia.
All those wasted years, only to be reunited now, when mere months remained.
How could she make those last few months better for Felipe? How to ease the pain of all he had lost? She shook her head, searching for answers as she gazed across the fence at the acres of vines that were once his and that now belonged to others, sensing the enormity of his loss, his guilt, his shame, and wishing there was some way she could make things better.
For there was no way to bring back his wife or his daughter and son-in-law.
There was no money to buy back the acreage he had lost.
And given the long-running rivalry between the two neighbouring families, there was no way the Esquivels were going to hand it back when they had seized such a powerful advantage.
Which left her with only one crazy option.
So crazy there was no way it could ever work.
But was she crazy enough to try?
‘You sacked her!’ Alesander Manuel Esquivel forgot all about the coffee he was about to pour and glared incredulously at his mother, who stood there with her hands folded meekly in front of her looking as cool and unflurried in the face of his outburst as a quintessential Mother Superior. Her composure only served to feed his outrage. ‘What the hell gave you the right to sack Bianca?’
‘You were gone the entire month,’ Isobel Esquivel countered coolly, ‘and you knew what a dreadful housekeeper she was before you left. This apartment was a pigsty. Of course I took the opportunity to sack her and engage a professional cleaner while you were gone. And just look around you,’ she said with a flourish of her diamond-encrusted fingers around the now spotless room. ‘I don’t know how you can possibly be so irritated.’
His mother thought him irritated? Now there was an understatement. After a fifteen-hour flight from California, he’d been looking forward to the simple pleasure of a hot shower before tumbling into bed and tumbling a willing woman beneath him in the process. He suppressed a growl. During her brief tenure, Bianca had proven to be particularly willing.
Finding his mother waiting for him in Bianca’s place had not been part of his plans. And so he dredged up a smile to go with the words he knew would irritate his mother right back. ‘You know as well as I do, Madre querida, that I didn’t employ Bianca for her cleaning skills.’
His mother sighed distastefully, turning her face towards the view afforded by the large glass windows that overlooked the Bahia de la Concha, the stunning bay that made San Sebastian famous. ‘You don’t have to be crude, Alesander,’ she said wearily, her back to her son. ‘I understand very well why you “employed”
‘Oh, I assumed finding me a wife was your job.’
Her head snapped back around as the seemingly cool façade cracked. ‘This is not a joke, Alesander! You need to face up to your responsibilities. The Esquivel name goes back centuries. Do you intend to let it die out because you are too busy entertaining yourself with the latest puta-del-dia?’
‘I’m thirty-two years old, Madre. I think my breeding potential might be good for another few years yet.’
‘Perhaps, but don’t expect Ezmerelda de la Silva to wait for ever.’
‘Of course I would expect no such thing. That would be completely unreasonable.’
‘It would,’ his mother said speculatively, her eyes narrowing, but nowhere near enough to hide the hopeful sheen that glazed their surface. She took a tentative step closer to her son. ‘Do you mean to say you’ve come to your senses while you’ve been away and decided to settle down at last?’ She gave a tinkling little laugh, the sound so false it all but rattled against the windows. ‘Oh, Alesander, you might have said.’
‘I mean,’ he said, his lips curling at his mother’s pointless hopes, ‘there is no point in Ezmerelda waiting a moment longer when there is no way on this earth that I’m marrying her.’
His mother’s expression grew tight and hard as she crossed her arms and turned pointedly back towards the window. ‘You know our families have had an understanding ever since you were both children. Ezmerelda is the obvious choice for you.’
‘Your choice, not mine!’ He would sooner choose a shark for a wife than the likes of Ezmerelda de la Silva. She was a beauty, it was true, and once in his distant past he had been tempted, but he had soon learned there was no warmth to her, no fire, indeed nothing behind the polished façade, nothing but a cold fish who had been raised with the sole imperative to marry well.
Whether married or not, he would settle for nothing less than a hot-blooded woman to share his bed. Was it any wonder he had populated his bed with nothing less?
‘So what about grandchildren then?’ Isobel pleaded, changing tack, her hand flat over her heart. ‘If you won’t consider marrying for the sake of the family name, what about for my sake? When will you give me grandchildren of my own?’
It was Alesander’s turn to laugh. ‘You overplay your hand, Madre. I seem to recall you don’t like children all that much. At least, that’s how I remember it.’
The older woman sniffed. ‘You were raised to be the best,’ she said without a hint of remorse. ‘You were raised to be strong.’
‘Then is it any wonder I wish to make my own decisions?’
His mother suddenly looked so tightly wound he thought she might snap. ‘You cannot play this game forever, Alesander, no matter how much you seem to enjoy it. Next week it is Markel de la Silva’s sixtieth birthday celebration. Ezmerelda’s mother and I were hoping that you might accompany Ezmerelda to the party. Couldn’t you at least honour the friendship between our families by doing that much?’
To what end? To have the news of their ‘surprise’ betrothal announced the same night as some bizarre kind of birthday treat? He wouldn’t be surprised. His mother was particularly fond of concocting such treats. She would love to put him on the spot and force the issue.
‘How unfortunate. I do believe I’m busy