Chapter 26

I read through the document on the desk in front of me and then look up at Estrella.

“Are you sure about this?”

She’s sitting behind the large wooden desk, which belongs to another era just like the rest of the room and the lady who owns it. I’ve not been in this room before, but it seems to be an office of sorts. Along with the desk that sits in the centre of the room, there are several chairs, a couch, and four tall wooden cabinets. One of them is glass-fronted and contains a number of trophies. There are only a few photos on the walls here, but there are several framed awards.

Senor Bernat, her lawyer, a small but efficient-looking gentleman, is sitting next to me, but he hasn’t said much apart from being introduced.

“Would it be in the contract if I wasn’t serious?” I wilt a little under her gaze, just a little, as I’ve learned her bark is much worse than her bite and she is actually a very generous person. Letting me stay here in the house is one example of that, and this contract is another.

I’m allowed free access to all her personal diaries and photograph albums. I thought I would have to interview her to get my information, or have some limited access to documents, not to read her innermost thoughts. That is surprising enough in itself. But also that she wants no share of any royalties. There is a requirement that a small percentage go to a charity here in Barcelona, but I don’t recognise the name.

“Is there anything you don’t want me to write about?” I ask. I would respect her wishes if there were a subject that she felt was too private, even though those are usually the parts that really sell books.

“No, that’s written into the contract, too. I don’t have any really interesting skeletons in my closet.” She laughs, and I double-check the document to find it.

To me, it looks all in order, but I’m not an expert. I know who can help me, though.

“Do you mind if I get this checked?”

“I would think you were lacking if you didn’t,” she says in her blunt way.

Senor Bernat also answers.

“Of course, have anyone you want to look it over. Shall I return tomorrow?” This last question he directs to Estrella. “I will bring the other papers for you to sign.”

He rises and we shake hands before he takes his leave of Estrella.

“Now that I’ve got used to the idea of this biography, I think I’m going to enjoy it,” she says. Getting out of her chair, she finds her walking stick and goes to one of the cabinets. She beckons me over.

“I wanted to show you these.” She pulls a set of keys out of the pocket of her light cardigan and unlocks the door. Inside are row upon row of notebooks, journals, and diaries. There are hundreds of them, all neatly shelved.

“These are my diaries,” she explains and then points to a row of larger tomes. “Those are all my press cuttings.”

“I, um.” It’s incredible and exciting but also a little overwhelming now I’m looking at them. “I thought I’d be interviewing you.”

“You can, but I don’t have the time or energy to tell you everything, so you can read these and then ask me what you need to. I think it will be quicker this way, don’t you?”

A thought strikes me, one I hadn’t considered before, but now seems glaringly obvious.

“Are they all in Spanish?”

“Of course.” She looks at me with a beaming smile, while a knot forms in the pit of my stomach. I’m not sure about quicker. I’m going to have to really work on improving my Spanish. She’s eyeing me as if she’s waiting for my reaction and I can’t help but wonder if she deliberately set me the challenge.

“Can Florencio and Constantin help me translate?”

“If they want to.” I gain another smile from her. I hope they’ll be willing to assist me. I’ll ask them as soon as I’ve sent the contract off. I collect it from the desk and head straight to my room.

I carefully scan each page with my phone and then email them off, following it up with a phone call to my father.

“Hello son, this is a nice surprise.” I pull a face at his tone, acknowledging my own failings in not getting in touch very often, glad it’s not a video call. Also, I’m calling him at work rather than in the evening when I would normally phone for a catch-up.

I fill him in quickly on the project and the email I sent him.

“Are you sure this is wise?” he asks, and I bite back a terse reply. I know he asks out of concern, but I’m tired of always feeling like I have to justify myself to him. Urgh. So I clamp my jaw and count to five.

“It’s a great project, Dad. It’s what I want to do.” Not outright lies, but I’m used to giving them contorted versions of the truth. I hear a little sigh, and I don’t think for a minute he believes me, but he agrees to look over the contract for me that evening and call me back. Having a lawyer as a father does have its advantages.

I thank him and ring off. Now for the more difficult conversation.

“You’re doing what?” Helen’s shrill voice almost pierces my eardrum and I hold the phone away from my face. It’s the response I expected, though, so I’m not surprised.

“Yes, as soon as the contract has been checked, I’m making a start.”

“Have you gone completely mad?”

“I don’t know, have I?” It’s perhaps not a question I should ask, but it does take some of the wind out of her sails and she stops yelling.

“I don’t know what’s got into you,” she says more in her normal tone. “It’s like you’re deliberately trying to be the most unsellable author on my books.”

“This isn’t about you, Helen,” I reply. “It’s about doing something that feels right.” This is really all I’m trying to do in my life.

“I can’t sell this, Rafe,” she says, her disappointment clear. I skip the part where I could point out that she couldn’t sell my Blackwater series either. I’m not that mean, but I’m also not going to back down on this.

“Maybe the problem isn’t me then,” I say and ring off, aware I might just have lost my agent. The thought doesn’t bother me as much as it would’ve a few months ago. For now, I’m going to concentrate on writing this book and worry about trying to sell it later.

My stomach rumbles, and I realise how late it’s getting. I also haven’t seen Florencio and Constantin for most of the morning. I miss them and want to ask for their help with the diaries.

I go in search of them and find Florencio in the kitchen, turning what look like small pasties in a cast iron pan.

I snake my arms round him, and he turns his head for a kiss. It feels easy and I’m happy Flo initiated the talk we all had this morning. I’d got caught up in the expansiveness of my own horizons and was careless about how the others would deal with it. That they haven’t told me I’m being ridiculous is a huge relief, and the large feeling in my chest keeps growing even if they have brought me back down to earth.

“They smell delicious,” I say, reaching around him to try to sneak one out of the pan.

“Hey!” He hits my hand with the spatula.

“I can’t help it. I’m starving, and they look so good.”

“Give me five minutes and they’ll be ready.”

“Hmm, if I have to. What are they?” I grumble.

“Empanadas.” They still look like little pasties to me .

“You know I’d pay good money for your cooking, though I’m glad I don’t have to. I’m already poor.”

He spins round. “Say that again.”

“I’m poor.”

“No, not that, the other thing.”

“I’d pay for your food?” I ask.

“Yes, that. Would you? Do you think people would pay? For my food?”

“Absolutely. I’m not an expert, but it’s miles better than most of the food I’ve had since I’ve been here. Lucky me.”

“Maybe that’s it!” he says excitedly. “My way of not having to rely on my father.”

“That’s great,” I reply, and his excitement is infectious. “But how?”

“I don’t know yet, but there has to be something I can do.”

“Um, what about doing something with those?” I point to the pan, which is smoking slightly, just as a burning smell hits my nostrils.

“Puta madre!” he exclaims, rescuing the empanadas, which are only a little burnt around the edges. “Look what you made me do.”

“Me?”

“Yes, distracting me with your good ideas.”

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t do anything.”

He eyes the empanadas cooling on the plate with a look of distaste, as if their presence offends him. I pick one up and take a bite, blowing over the filling to cool it enough to eat. It’s amazing... if I ignore the very slightly burnt bits.

“Noooo. You have to dip them.” He almost takes it out of my hand, but I whisk it out of his reach. He’s not taking my food from me. “Here in the chimichurri I made.”

I dutifully dip it in the herby sauce.

“Mmmmm, okay, that takes it to a whole new level.”

“Told you.” He looks smug .

“So, what was it you said when you burnt them? Put mad where?”

He laughs. “Puta madre.”

“Puta madre,” I repeat. “What does it mean?”

“ Madre is mother, and puta basically means whore.”

“Oh, I’m definitely using that. I’ll remember madre and puta ... she puts out for money.” I laugh and Florencio giggles.

“What’s so funny?” Constantin enters carrying a box of beer, which he sets down near the fridge.

“Flo is teaching me swear words in Spanish.”

“Is he?” He comes over and leans down for a quick kiss before turning to Florencio for the same. I like this greeting much more than the traditional cheek kiss.

“Yes, today I’ve learnt puta madre .”

Constantin snorts a laugh then spies the plate of empanadas and makes to grab one. He gets the spatula across the hand treatment as well.

“Get off, these are for lunch.”

“But I’m hungry now and it’s almost lunchtime,” Constantin grumbles.

“You know I’m starving,” I say and Florencio sighs.

“All right, give me ten minutes to cook the rest of them and we can have lunch.”

Whilst he finishes them off, I help Constantin put the beer in the fridge and ask him how the repairs to the bar are going.

“There’s been a delay. The builders have been let down for some of the materials so they are trying to get them from elsewhere. They hope it won’t take too long, but it’s frustrating and there’s nothing I can do about it,” he says glumly.

I guess he’s not used to having no control over all aspects of his bar. I hope I can take his mind off it with the diaries.

The second batch of empanadas didn’t get burnt and are even tastier than the first—if that’s possible—and they all get eaten, even the blackened crispy ones.

Florencio eyes the empty plates with a mixture of pride and dismay.

“I was hoping to save some of those. How do you both eat so much?”

“I can’t resist your cooking.” Constantin sits back and pats his stomach.

“I seem to recall you had just as many as us,” I protest and get a grin from Florencio. He knows it’s true. “Perhaps you didn’t make enough,” I say, but in truth, I’m glad he’s happy to cook. We’d soon all get bored with pasta every day if I had to cook.

Over coffee, I tell them about the contract for the biography and the diaries. They both readily agree to help me with the translations. They also offer to read some of them when I explain how many there are. I think they’re keen to find any juicy gossip, but I’m just grateful for their assistance. I can’t wait to get started.