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Libby took that for a yes, left and then returned to the porch with Anita Lujan. Santos had to talk the housekeeper into sitting down with them. “Anything you could tell me about my mother would be a help. I want to write something about my father, and I need to begin with when I was born.”
The housekeeper folded her hands in her lap and looked away to gather her thoughts. “Rosa was very beautiful, petite, with long, black hair that floated on the breeze when she ran. She and your father loved to play tag through the garden, and they were always running somewhere when they were little, or racing their ponies. They went to school together in Zaragoza. Your father was a couple of years older, but Rosa was the better student.
“They used to do their homework together on the dining room table and spent more time laughing than studying. When your father entered high school, your grandmother announced Rosa was an unwelcome distraction and separated them whenever she could. She couldn’t see how much they loved each other. She sent your father to college in Arizona hoping he’d like American girls better. You know the rest.”
“I do, but what happened to Rosa’s parents? Did they leave after she died?”
Mrs.
Lujan sighed unhappily. “Your grandmother never spoke of them?”
“Never, but she always regarded me as a bastard and unworthy of her attention, and Augustin wasn’t a loving grandfather either. You and my father raised me.”
She reached over to touch his knee “It was a joy. Rosa’s mother worked in the kitchen, and her father was one of the hands. When Rosa killed herself, they blamed your grandmother for sending Miguel away. They adored you, but when they wanted to raise you, Augustin threatened a court battle for custody, and there was no way they could fight the Aragon wealth. Augustin paid them off, and they returned to their home, some little town near Zaragoza. I saved photos of you but never heard from them and couldn’t send them. I’m sorry this is such a sad story. They were so heartbroken after losing their only child and you, I doubt they lived long in their new home.”
“That’s a pathetic opening for a book,” Santos responded. He checked the laptop, and Libby had written it all down. “Do you remember their names?”
“Rosa’s mother was Mercedes and her father Eduardo. Lalo, we called him.”
“Thank you, Anita. I may not be able to write anything worth reading, but I knew you’d remember everything.”
The housekeeper left her chair. “There is one other thing. I saw your father with many women, but he never had the same love in his eyes as when he had been with your mother. Something died in him when he lost her, and I’ve always blamed your grandmother for sending him away.”
The housekeeper returned to the house, and Santos sighed unhappily. “I don’t think I can do this. What the public loved about my father isn’t what I know of him. Maybe he would have been a different man if my mother hadn’t died. He was a magnificent matador, and that’s how he should be remembered.”
“Can you write the book from that perspective?”
“Yes. There are records, written accounts of his fights and photos. Sylvia can organize it. I’ll put a family tree at the end of the book showing his marriages and children. All I need now is to know whether or not to add Victoria Rubio’s son.”
Victoria sounded as though she resembled Rosa, and she was certain Santos had recognized it too. “Maggie could still work with you.”
Santos pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “I’ll talk to Juan. The publisher wanted the family story, but too much of it is sad, and I can’t write it, so there may not be a book after all.”
She stood up to stretch while he made the call and left the porch to walk toward the garden. It was huge, not a patch with tomatoes and green beans for a single family. She bet Santos had run through it as a child just as his parents had. There were herbs planted near the house and long rows of squash, beans, lettuce, cabbages even eggplant. The corn was tall and the ears ripening. She saw some strawberries, plucked one and brushed it off with her hands. She’d just taken a bite when Santos walked up behind her. She turned and gave him the last bite.
“These are so good. Do you have fruit trees too?”
“Those belong on a farm, but we ought to plant a few almond trees. They grow well here in Spain and are pretty in the spring when they flower. I’m sorry if Anita depressed you. I should have spoken to her in private.”
“I’m all right even though the story is a sad one, but even if your father lost the love of his life, he had you.”
“And your mother, and Vida, and Marina, and Margaret, and those are only the ones he married. One woman was never enough for him. I don’t know if he was simply weak or completely amoral, and I’d rather not put that in print for the tabloids to pick over.”
“That’s undoubtedly wise. Are you tired, want to take a nap?”
He welcomed the suggestion with a sly grin. “Siestas are very popular in Spain. Go on up to your room, and I’ll find someone to help me up the stairs.”
“You’ve no elevator here?”
He nearly snorted. “This is a working cattle ranch, not a resort.”
She kissed him lightly and went on up to her room. After looking at the chair, she rocked it back and forth. It was as sturdy as it looked. When Santos came into her room, she sat astride it wearing only her bra, panties and an inviting smile.
“If I fall off the chair and wreck my other knee, you’re going to be in big trouble,” he warned. He closed and locked the door, unbuttoned his shirt and unfastened his belt. “Just a minute.” He went into his room and came back with a small radio with a rounded shape that looked as though it had been made in the 1950s. He put it on the dresser, plugged it in and turned it on low. He leaned his crutches against the wall. “I don’t know how wild we might get, but I don’t want anyone to knock on the door and ask if we need saving.”
She licked her lips. “Help!” she whispered. She stood to help him ease off his shoes and socks and ran her hands up his legs. “If we brace the chair against the wall, it won’t fall over no matter how wild you get.”
“I’m not the wild one.” His smirk said otherwise.
