There was a deep frustrated sigh at the other end of the line that spoke volumes. It said, If you don’t do this for me then it proves you’ve let this family down again. It also said, I thought you were my sister? I thought you cared about me? Now I can see that you obviously don’t.
A stab of unhelpful guilt wove its nefarious way down Isabella’s already suffering spine and she bit her lip to stop herself from automatically changing her last statement to a more agreeable one.
Stealing an agitated glance at her watch, she lifted her eyes to the small, winding stone staircase where her plain, peaceful room tantalisingly beckoned. She hadn’t even unpacked her rucksack yet. She’d been about to do just that when she’d had the call from Emilia. Isabella had given all the phone numbers of where she’d sometimes be staying ahead of her travels to her mother. That was on the odd occasion when she was staying in small cheap hotels and not the refugios and monasteries widely used by the pilgrims. Now after this call from her sister, Isabella had cause to wish she’d told nobody in her family where she would be.
‘I’d sell my house to get any information I could on Leandro Reyes, Isabella! When I found out from Mum that you were due in the Port of Vigo today I got so excited! I only heard last night that he was going to be there and I’ve got several crucial meetings lined up this afternoon or else I would have flown out there to try and see him myself. It’s too late now even if I could get a flight …as far as I know he’s only planning on being there for the evening. This means so much to me, sis …to my career. Leandro Reyes is a God amongst art-house film directors! Most feature writers would sell their soul to interview him! Please try and get to meet him …please! Even if you get only one or two sound bites it wouldn’t matter. At least you’d get some good impressions of the man himself that I could embellish for the magazine!’
Isabella’s heart sank. Emilia worked for a supposedly respectable upmarket glossy, but they still weren’t above ‘dishing the dirt’ on a star or a celebrity if the opportunity arose. That kind of sensationalist tabloid journalism was despicable in Isabella’s opinion. She knew it was naïve, but couldn’t they leave these people alone? Everyone was entitled to some privacy …even much-lauded and sought-after film directors, in her opinion. Especially ones like Leandro Reyes who—she’d heard somewhere or another—had a reputation for being almost spectacularly reclusive and enigmatic. Her heart bumped a little at the idea of even being in the same sphere as a man like that—never mind trying to get him to talk to her! Swallowing over the dryness of her parched throat and quite desperate for a drink, Isabella caught the curious gaze of the elderly plump Spanish matriarch bedecked in black behind the small reception desk and politely smiled. ‘I have to go now, Emilia. I need a shower and a drink and then I—’
‘I’m begging you, Isabella! Leandro will be at the Paradisio. It’s one of the more discreet places in the Port and he’s meeting a colleague there for a drink.’
‘I suppose I’m wasting my time asking you where you get your information from?’
‘If you must know I was at a film première last night and at the party afterwards I overheard a conversation between a couple of Americans in the film business who’d just done some work with Leandro. They happened to mention that he had a speaking engagement today at a local college and was meeting a mutual friend of theirs afterwards in the Port of Vigo for drinks. He’ll be there from seven o’clock onwards. Ring me at home tonight after you’ve seen him. I’ll wait up to get your call. Thanks, sis …you’re an angel! I knew I could count on you!’
‘Don’t you know that it’s not ethical to eavesdrop on other people’s conversations?’
‘Oh, get real, Isabella! You and your high-minded principles!’
Letting that comment ride, Isabella lifted up some hair from the back of her heated neck where it coiled damply in silken black strands. ‘But how will I know what he even looks like?’ Reclusive art house directors weren’t photographed with the constancy of someone like Stephen Spielberg, Isabella was sure.
‘He’s six foot one of pure trained muscle with dark hair and eyes the colour of polished slate and not surprisingly the most sought-after bachelor in the business. Trust me …you won’t be able to miss him!’
Before Isabella could draw another breath, the receiver at the other end was swiftly replaced and the line ominously hummed its disconnection signal in her ear instead.
As Leandro Reyes glanced round at the almost empty bar, the back of his neck crawled with slight unease. Alphonso should have shown up half an hour ago …that had been their arrangement. His fellow director and friend had wanted to meet urgently, he’d said, to discuss a project he had been offered and wanted Leandro’s professional opinion on. When he’d discovered Leandro would be in the vicinity today—en route to his house in Pontevedra after his speaking engagement—he had suggested they meet at the Paradisio to talk. It was a quiet, out of the way place where no one would bother them and the owner of the small bar had promised to provide food if they were hungry. At the thought of food, Leandro’s empty belly obligingly grumbled. He might as well sit it out until Alphonso finally showed his face—if he was going to show it at all—and in the meantime he could have something to eat and think about his own overloaded schedule for the next six months. A waiter appeared almost as soon as Leandro got to his feet and it left him wondering if the man had been spying on him. He smiled secretly at his own paranoia then placed his order for some seafood—something that the port restaurants and bars naturally excelled in.
‘Sí, Señor Reyes. It will be my pleasure.’
‘Grazias.’
Slightly inclining his head, Leandro made his way slowly back to the table he’d briefly vacated. An elderly man a few tables away from him looked up from his newspaper and smiled courteously. The edges of Leandro’s mouth moved only infinitesimally upwards in a return gesture. He wasn’t accustomed to giving his smiles easily. Glancing out through the arched stone windows that overlooked a small neat patio area with various plants dotted around—some better tended to than others—he noticed a woman approach in the twilight. Something about her seemed hesitant …unsure—as if she wasn’t entirely certain that she had found what she’d been searching for. Aside from the fact that she was more than pretty enough to command his full attention, Leandro speculated on her reason for being there. Was she meeting her lover, perhaps? His stomach tightened with a surprising flash of jealousy at the thought.
As she came in through the opened doorway he saw that her beguiling attractiveness pleasurably increased on close quarters. As far as he could tell, her eyes were dark as Columbian roast coffee—with long sable hair in a pony-tail to match—yet her complexion was surprisingly fair. Something told him that she was not Spanish. A tourist perhaps? She was dressed in faded jeans and a loose white shirt—not dissimilar to Leandro’s own garb—and her presence brought a distinct breath of cool, fresh air into the small overheated bar. Waiting to be served, she frowned when the bar’s owner did not immediately appear. Glancing round, she settled her somewhat anxious gaze with startling intent upon Leandro. He felt the impact of that searching gaze ignite a powerful little flame of want deep inside him—this time Leandro’s smile was not so reticent.
Alphonso was either late or not coming at all and so what would it hurt to entice this raven-haired beauty with her big dark eyes into having a little conversation with him to help while the time away?
‘The bar owner is busy,’ he offered in flawless Spanish. Then, when she frowned, Leandro quickly deduced she didn’t understand. ‘Are you meeting somebody?’ he asked, switching effortlessly to English.
‘No …I mean …I mean perhaps.’
Twin circles of scarlet added fetching colour to her otherwise pale beauty. So she was a tourist …an English tourist since there was no trace of any other accent in her soft appealing voice. Leandro’s attention was trapped as thoroughly as a lynx caught in a snare.
‘You