Chapter 16

I notice movement in my peripheral vision and lazily turn my head to see Constantin sink onto the sun lounger next to me.

It’s been a few days since his ceiling collapsed and he’s starting to lose the lost look he’d had at the beginning. I think he now feels like he has some control, and it’s not quite as bad as he feared. Once the building was made safe, we spent two days clearing up the mess. Now, it’s been handed over to the builders. He says it will take a month to rebuild and get it passed for inspection so he can reopen. Much sooner than he hoped for, and he won’t lose the whole of the tourist season. He’s come to some arrangement with Alena, so she’ll come back when it’s ready. That he’s able to relax is a good sign, as he’s been edgy for days.

“?Cómo te sientes hoy?” I try out the Spanish I’ve been learning by asking how he’s feeling today.

“Muy bien,” he answers and I give him a look because I wasn’t expecting that answer. He laughs.

“Are you sure?” My Spanish doesn’t extend to asking that.

“No, I’m feeling so-so today,” he replies. “But your Spanish is very good. Muy bien, Rafe.”

I stretch languidly; the way he says very good in Spanish makes me do that. He says it like a soft caress and I’m like a cat being stroked. I want to learn more and use my words to push against his hand so his words can caress me again. I’ve never felt this way before. I don’t understand it. It’s similar to when Florencio praises my dancing, but that’s less a slow caress and more of a tingling on my skin. Maybe I never received enough praise as a child, but I’m loving it now.

There’s something about hearing Spanish that I can’t get enough of, especially if Florencio and Constantin are talking. More than once, I’ve feigned sleep whilst I’ve lain out in the sun, just so I can lie and listen to them. Their voices and intonation send my bones to jelly and my organs to mush. Of course, I can’t understand what they’re talking about—not more than an odd word here or there, and not enough to even derive context—but I don’t care what they say, just the cadence of the language makes me feel untethered to my corporeal self. It’s almost sensual.

“?Quieres un café?” Constantin asks, rising from his lounger, and I smile up at him. This one I do know, and there’s no way I’m not going to want a coffee, but I answer anyway.

“Sí, por favor.” Partly to practise and also just to get him to say “very good” again—which he does with a slow smile that reaches his eyes. My breath hitches a little as he says it, the anticipation becoming part of the experience.

He returns a short time later, with the coffee and Florencio in tow. Florencio throws himself down on another lounger with a grunt. He looks very pissed.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“Families are the worst.” He flings an arm over his face as if blotting out the sun will help.

“My father isn’t happy with my progress reports .” He spits out the last two words.

“What are you supposed to be reporting on?” I ask.

“My aunt.” He sighs. “I’m supposed to give him daily updates on her health. I refused. I said I wasn’t going to do that. It’s not my business, and truthfully, I don’t know. She wouldn’t tell me even if I asked her. Do you know what he told me to do?”

We both watch him, knowing that we’re not required to answer the question.

“Snoop, that’s what. I’m not going to do that. And then he said that I should go home for a while, back to Argentina.” The last comes out with a cry. “Like he has any use for me back there!”

“Can he force you to go back?” Constantin asks.

“He can’t physically force me, but he could stop my allowance, so I’d be homeless and without enough money to live on. I don’t make enough to live in Buenos Aires just teaching.” He sits up and turns to look at us. He looks genuinely distraught, and I’m thankful that my family isn’t complicated.

“Has he threatened to do that?” I ask.

“No,” Florencio sighs. “Not yet, but he has hinted at other measures. He’s a callous bastard who just has his eyes on what he’ll be getting. Knowing him, he already has plans for it. Well, I hope Auntie lives forever.” He throws himself back on the lounger and lapses into silence.

Suddenly, Constantin starts chuckling. I haven’t heard him laugh since he got here... well, not much at all, really. We both turn and look at him.

“What’s so funny?” Florencio demands, his face darkening.

“Well, aren’t we a pathetic trio?” He’s still laughing.

“How so?” Florencio looks like thunder, and I wonder what he’s like when he’s really angry. Is it another trait he’s inherited?

“Well, here we are, all of us homeless, or potentially so, with no money or little income. And yet we sit here on the terrace of what must be one of the most expensive houses in Barcelona.”

“Yes, it is pathetic.” Florencio’s face loses its fury, but he doesn’t look like he sees any humour in the situation, unlike Constantin, which is a strange sight as it’s usually the other way around.

I’m not sure I find it funny either. I find it damn scary, if I’m honest. We’re here by the grace of a lady who is, by her own admission, dying. It seems a perilous situation to me.

“Well, what are we going to do about it?” I ask, though I have no clue. I guess if it comes to it, I can go home. But the thought of that feels like a bitter blow just when I think everything is going well.

“I don’t know.” Constantin lies back down. “But right now, I’m going to do nothing but enjoy lying here in the sun.” He doesn’t even react when Florencio throws a cushion at him, but that he does is a sign Florencio’s getting back to his normal self.

I rise and leave them to it. I’ve had enough rest today, and it’s getting a little too hot for me. I’m not sure I’m well equipped for a summer in Barcelona. I’m not used to high temperatures. Instead, I walk through the house, which is wonderfully cool. I look at the art on the wall, wondering if Estrella collects it personally or even knew some of the artists. I spy a door I’ve not seen before, standing slightly open. I don’t like to pry, but we haven’t been told that anywhere is off limits, just which part of the house Estrella’s suite of rooms is so we don’t disturb her if she needs to rest. I look round the door, but the room is empty. It’s not a large room, just a small lounge. It’s lavishly furnished with velvet drapes and gilded furniture, but what attracts my attention are the pictures. Hundreds of photographs hang on the walls, all of them of Estrella and every star imaginable. I see her with Lawrence Olivier and Richard Burton, Joan Crawford and Rita Hayworth. I can only stand and stare in awe at her incredible life and career. I think back to the stories she’s told us and realise we’d only been scratching at the surface. As every new picture catches my eye, an idea starts to form, and I feel an excitement that has eluded me for months. I know what my next project will be.