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“Can’t you condense it a bit? It’s been a long day.”
“It’s a Spanish story,” she said. “These things take time to unfold. Didn’t you read Spanish literature for your degree? The Spanish can’t be rushed. Neither can the ex-pats, who like to think they’re more Spanish than the Spaniards.”
“And where do you see yourself?” I asked, unconsciously slipping back into her tones.
“As someone up to her neck in a shit storm, and if you don’t help me, I might just get buried, literally, which doesn’t seem like a pleasant way to go.”
My tight muscles were beginning to loosen, just as Bella’s tongue was. I reached out for the smallest slice of pizza, brushed off some of the inferior green and black olives, and took a bite. As good as ever. “You might as well get started, my precious,” I drawled in her voice, hoping to bring a smile to her pensive face. “For starters, why haven’t you been back to Mariposa for five years?”
She took a deep breath, then another swallow of the wine. “A number of reasons. Breaking it off with Marcus didn’t please anyone, not Granda who foresaw a dynasty, not Marcus, not our so-delightful cousins, even stick-in-the-mud Ian was pissed at me. Needless to say, decamping with a big chunk of my trust fund didn’t further endear me to anyone. In fact, I was planning to keep away for as long as I could, but fate decided to take a hand.”
“What hand is that?”
“Granda’s, of course. He’s dying,” Bella said flatly.
“So what else is new?” I was unimpressed. Granda was always dying.
“No, this time it’s for real. So real that the forces are gathering. Ian’s been off at a seminar in South Africa, Marcus has been schmoozing with clients in the Pacific Rim, and God knows what the cousins are doing, but they’ve been called home. As have I.”
As I have not, I thought ignoring the familiar pain. “So?”
“Kitty, I can’t. I simply can’t. I’ve got something to take care of—I don’t want to involve you, but you need to take my word for it. It’s a matter of life and death. It’s not that I need Granda’s inheritance; you know I have plenty of money of my own. I just don’t want to break the old man’s heart.”
“Are you sure he has a heart?”
Bella cast me a worried look. “Of course he has a heart. He did what he thought he had to do. You know Granda, he’s always been too full of pride. He couldn’t admit that he missed you or that he’d made a mistake. Even now, he’s afraid to reach out to you. But you should be there. You need to be able to say goodbye. He needs to know his family loves him despite all the bad things he did.”
“How many bad things did he do?”
“More than his fair share, I expect. But he’s afraid he’s going to go to hell.”
I laughed heartlessly. “I expect he will, given his hard-core beliefs. As an Anglican, he’s more Catholic than the Catholic.”
“You’re right, of course. You always saw him better than the rest of us. If he could buy his way into heaven he would, but despite all the money he’s pumped into the churches of Andalusia, he knows it’s not enough. He needs to see me before he dies, and he needs to see you.”
“And how is he going to do that when I’m not welcome at Mariposa?” I fought down my grief and longing. It was my world, he was my family, and I’d been banished. I could never go home again.
“Simple,” Bella said easily. “You go in my place. He gets the benefit of making his peace with me and saying goodbye, plus, without knowing it, he’ll be making his peace with you.”
I stared at her. “You must be out of your mind,” I said.
“You know you want to go back to Mariposa, at least one more time, and don’t deny it. And you’ll make an old man who once loved you very happy.”
“But what if I’m still holding a grudge?”
“Oh come on, Podge,” she said. “You’re not the type to hold a grudge. You are the best of all of us, genuinely nice and loving. He needs your forgiveness, whether he can ask for it or not.”
“You’re insane. I’m not going anywhere,” I said flatly, believing it.
“I haven’t told you everything,,” she said, and for the first time I noticed the faint lines of anxiety in her face, the whiteness around her mouth, the tight muscles on her forehead. Isabella Whitehead was afraid of something, and that fear was more important than her beloved grandfather’s deathbed. I hardened my heart.
“You have to go, Bella,” I said sensibly. “He always adored you. When I would go to visit, he would talk on and on about his glorious grandchild and how brilliant she was at everything. You are his favorite—you can’t abandon him when he’s dying and needs you most.”
“I don’t have any choice in the matter. This business I have to take care of—it won’t wait. And no, I can’t explain it to you. Suffice it to say I got in with the wrong sort of people and I’m paying the price for it. I’ve been stupid, Kitty, really, really dumb, and I need to get myself out of a big mess or...” She let the words trail off.
“Too melodramatic by half, cousin,” I said in her voice. Except that I suspected she was telling me nothing more than the truth.
And she knew me well enough to know I was being drawn in. She pounced.
