Spanish Escape: The Playboy of Puerto Banús / A Game of Vows / For the Sake of Their Son. Carol Marinelli
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as he examined her face.
‘You know, without all the make-up you slather on…’ His eyes searched her unmade-up skin. Her hair was tied in a low ponytail and she was dressed in a way he would not expect Gordon to find pleasing.
Raúl did.
She looked young—so much younger without all the make-up—and her baggy pyjamas left it all to Raúl’s imagination. Which he was using now.
And then came his verdict.
‘You look stunning,’ Raúl said. ‘I’m surprised Gordon has let you out of his sight.’
‘I just needed some air.’
‘I am hiding,’ Raúl admitted.
‘From Araminta?’
‘Someone must have given her my phone number. I am going to have to change it.’
‘She’ll give in soon.’ Estelle smiled, feeling a little sorry for the other woman. If Araminta had had a fling with him a few years ago and had known he would be here tonight—well, Estelle could see why her hopes might have been raised.
His phone rang again and he rolled his eyes and chose not to answer. ‘So, what are you doing out here at this time of morning?’
‘Just thinking.’
‘About what?’
‘Things.’ She gave a wry smile, didn’t add that far too many of her thoughts had been about him.
‘And me,’ Raúl admitted. ‘It has been an interesting day.’
He looked out to the still, silent loch and felt a world away from where he had woken this morning. He didn’t even know how he was feeling. He looked over to Estelle, who was gazing out into the night too, a woman who was comfortable with silence.
It was Raúl who was not—Raúl who made sure his days and nights were always filled to capacity so that exhaustion could claim him each night.
Here, for the first time in the longest time, he found himself alone with his thoughts—and that was not pleasant. But he refused to pick up to Araminta, knowing the chaos that might create.
It was Raúl who broke the silence. He wanted to hear her voice.
‘When do you go back?’
‘Late morning.’ Estelle stared out ahead. ‘You?’
‘I will leave early.’
He walked to lean over the balcony, gazed into the night, and Estelle saw the huge scar that ran from his shoulder to his waist. He glanced around and saw the slight shock on her face. Usually he refused to offer an explanation for the scar—he did not need sympathy. Tonight he chose to explain it.
‘It’s from the car accident…’
‘That killed your mother?’
He gave a curt nod and turned back to look into the night, breathing in the cool air. He was glad that she was here. For no other reason, Raúl realised, than he was glad. It was two a.m. in the second longest night of his life, and for the first one he had been alone.
‘Can I ask again?’ He had to know. ‘What are you doing with Gordon?’
‘He’s nice.’
‘So are many people. It doesn’t mean we go around…’ He did not complete his sentence yet he’d made his rather crude point. ‘Are you here tonight for your brother?’
Estelle could not answer. She had agreed to be here for Gordon, yet she knew they both knew the truth.
‘Do you have siblings?’ Estelle asked.
There was a long stretch of silence. His father had asked that he not reveal anything just yet, but it would all be out in the open soon. Estelle came and stood beside him as she awaited his answer. Perhaps she would go straight to the press in the morning. Raúl actually did not care right now. He could not think about tomorrow. It was taking all his control to get through the night.
‘Had you asked me that yesterday the answer would have been no.’ He turned his head, saw her frown at his answer and was grateful that she did not push for more detail. Instead she stayed silent as Raúl admitted a little of the truth. ‘This morning my father told me that I have a brother—Luka.’ It felt strange to say his name. ‘Luka Sanchez Garcia.’
From their little lesson earlier, Estelle knew they did not share the same mother. ‘Have you met him?’
‘Unwittingly.’
‘How old is he?’
She asked the same question that he had asked his father, though the relevance of the answer she could not know.
‘Twenty-five,’ Raúl said. ‘I walked into my father’s office this morning, expecting my usual lecture—he insists it is time for me to settle down.’ He gave a small mirthless laugh. ‘I had no idea what was coming. My father is dying and he wants his affairs put in order. My affairs too. And so he told me he has another son…’
‘It must have been the most terrible shock.’
‘Skeletons in the closet are not unique,’ Raúl said. ‘But this was not some long-ago affair that has suddenly come to light. My father has kept another life. He sees his mistress in the north of Spain. I thought he went there so regularly for work. We have a hotel in San Sebastian. It is his main interest. Now I know why.’
Estelle tried to imagine what it was like, finding out something like this, and Raúl stood trying to comprehend that he had actually told another—how readily he had opened up to her. Then he reminded himself why. For his solution to come to fruition of course Estelle had to be told.
Some of it, at least.
He would never reveal all.
‘His PA—Angela—she has always been…’
He gave a tight shrug. Angela had not been so much like a mother, but she had been a constant—a woman he trusted. Raúl closed his eyes, remembered walking out of his father’s office and the words he had hurled to the one woman he had believed did not have an agenda.
‘We have always got on. It turns out the son she speaks of often is in fact my half-brother.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘A lot of my childhood was spent with my aunt or uncle. I assumed my father was working at the hotel in San Sebastian. It turns out he was with his mistress and his son.’ Black was the hiss that came from his mouth. ‘It’s all sorry and excuses now. I always prided myself on knowing what goes on, on being astute. It turns out I knew nothing.’
He had said enough. More than enough for one night.
‘So, in answer to your question—yes. I have a brother.’
He shrugged naked shoulders and her fingers balled into her palms in an effort not to rest her hand on them.
‘Unlike you, I care nothing for mine.’
‘You might if you knew him.’
‘That’s not going to happen.’
She felt a small shiver, put it down to the night air. But his voice was so black with loathing it could have been that. ‘I’m going to go in.’
‘Please don’t.’
Estelle had to get back—back to the safety of Gordon—yet she did not want to walk away from him.
She had to.
‘Goodnight, Raúl…’
‘Stay.’
She shook her head, grateful for the ringing of his phone—for the diversion it offered. But as she went to open the door she heard a woman’s frantic voice coming down the corridor.
‘Pick up Raúl. Where the hell are you?’
He