CAROL MARINELLI - Spanish Escape - The Playboy of Puerto Banús / A Game of Vows / For the Sake of Their Son

‘You’d better get dressed.’

Usually Raúl was telling her she was overdressed.

‘The press may be there. The cream dress,’ he told her. ‘And have Rita do your make-up.’

As easily at that he demoted her, reminded her of her place.

Back on dry land he took her hand. But it was just for the cameras that he put his shoulders around his new wife.

It was in case of a long lens that he picked up her and carried her into his apartment, back to the reality of his life.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

IT WAS A life she could never have imagined.

Raúl worked harder than anyone she knew.

His punishing day started at six, but rather than coming in drained at the end of it he would have a quick swim in the pool, or they’d make love—or rather they’d have sex. Because the Raúl from the yacht was gone now. A quick shower after that and then they’d get changed for dinner. Meals were always eaten out, and then they would hit the pulsing nightlife, dancing and partying into the early hours.

Estelle couldn’t believe this was the toned-down version of Raúl.

‘I can cook,’ Estelle said, and smiled one night as they sat at Sol’s and waited for their dishes to be served. ‘It might be a novelty…’

‘Why would you cook when a few steps away you can have whatever you choose?’

It was how he lived: life was a smorgasbord of pleasure. But six weeks married to Raúl, even with a week off to visit her family, was proving exhausting for Estelle—and she wasn’t the one working. Or rather, she corrected herself as the waiter brought her a drink, she was working, twenty-four-seven, because no way would she be dining out every night, no way would she be wandering along streets that still pumped with music well after midnight on a Tuesday.

It had been Cecelia’s cardiology appointment today, and Estelle was worried sick and doing her best not to show it. But she kept glancing at her phone, willing it to ring, wondering when she’d hear.

‘How’s your new PA?’ Estelle asked as she bit into the most gorgeous braised beef, which had been cooked over an open fire.

‘Okay.’ Raúl shrugged. ‘Angela trained her well…’

He looked down at her plate, stabbed a piece of beef with a fork and helped himself. Estelle was getting used to the way they shared their meals; it was the norm here.

‘It is much more difficult without Angela,’ Raúl admitted. ‘Only now she is gone are we seeing how much she did around the place.’

‘When will she be back?’

‘She won’t,’ Raúl said. ‘She is taking long service leave to nurse my father. Once he dies and it gets out about her she won’t be welcome there.’

‘Oh, well, you’ll only have to see her at the funeral, then.’

Raúl glanced up. He could never be sure if she was being flip or serious. ‘When are you going to see your father?’ she asked him.

She was being serious, Raúl quickly found out.

‘He chose to live in the north—he chose to end his days with his other family. Why should I….?’ He closed his tense lips. ‘I do not want to discuss it.’

‘Angela called again today.’

‘I told you not answer to her.’

‘I was waiting for my brother to ring,’ Estelle said. ‘It was Cecelia’s cardiology appointment today. I didn’t think to look when I picked up.’ Estelle could not finish her dinner and pushed the plate away.

‘You’re not hungry?’

‘Just full.’

‘I was thinking…’ Raúl said. ‘There is a show premiering in Barcelona at the weekend. I think it might be something we would enjoy.’

‘Raúl…’ She just could not sit and say nothing—could not lie beside him at night and sleep with him without caring even a bit, without having an opinion. Surely he could understand that? ‘I was riddled with guilt when my parents died.’

‘Why?’

‘For every row, for every argument—for all the things we beat ourselves up about when someone dies. Guilt happens whatever you do. Why not make it about something you couldn’t have changed, instead of something you can?’ On instinct she went to take his hand, but he pulled it back.

‘You’re starting to sound like a wife.’

She looked at him.

‘Believe me, I don’t feel like one.’

Estelle pounced on her phone when it rang.

‘I need to take this.’

‘Of course.’

It was Amanda, doing her best, as always, to sound upbeat. ‘They’re going to keep Cecelia in for a few nights. She’s a bit dehydrated…’

‘Any idea when she’s going to have surgery?’

‘She’s too small,’ Amanda said. ‘They’ve put a tube in, and we’re going to be feeding her through that. She might come home on oxygen…’

Raúl watched Estelle’s eyes filling with tears but she turned her shoulders and hunched into the phone in an effort to hide them. He heard her attempt to be positive even while she was twisting her hair around and around her finger.

‘She’s a fighter,’ Estelle said, but as she did so she closed her eyes.

‘How is your niece?’ Raúl asked as she rang off.

‘Much the same.’ She didn’t want to discuss it for fear she might break down—Raúl would be horrified! Seeing that he’d finished eating, Estelle gave him a bright smile. ‘Where do you want to go next?’

‘Where do you want to go?’ Raúl offered.

Home, her body begged as they walked along the crowded street. But that wasn’t what she was here for. She’d been transferring money over to Andrew since he’d gone back to England. The first time she’d told Andrew it was money she’d been saving to get a car. The second time she’d said it was a loan. Now she’d just given him a decent sum that would see them through the next few months, telling Andrew that she and Raúl simply wanted to help.

It was time to earn her keep.

They passed a club that was incredibly loud and very difficult to get into. It was a particular favourite of Raúl’s. ‘How about here?’

* * *

Estelle woke to silence. It was ten past ten and Raúl would long since have gone to work.

She sat up in bed and then, feeling dizzy, lay back down.

How the hell he lived like this on a permanent basis, Estelle had no idea. All she knew was she was not going out tonight.

He could, she decided, dressing and heading out not for the trendy boutiques but for the markets. She just wanted a night at home—or rather a night in Raúl’s home—and something simple for dinner. There must be some subclause in the contract that allowed for the occasional night off?

Marbella was rarely humid, the mountains usually shielded it, but it struggled today. The air was thick and oppressive and the markets were very busy. Estelle had bought the ripest, plumpest vine tomatoes, and was deciding between lamb and steak when she passed a fish stall and gave a small retch. She tried to carry on, to continue walking, tried to focus on a flower stall ahead instead of the appalling thought she had just had.

She couldn’t be pregnant.

Estelle took her pill at the same time every day.

Or she had tried to.

All too often Raúl would come home at lunchtime, or they’d be in a helicopter flying anywhere rather than to his father’s—the one place he needed to be.

She couldn’t be pregnant.

‘Watch where you’re going!’ someone scolded in Spanish as she bumped into them.

‘Lo sierto,’ Estelle said, changing direction and heading for the Pfarmacia, doing the maths in her head and praying she was wrong.

Less that half an hour later she found out she was right.

* * *

Raúl didn’t get home from work till seven, and when he did it was to the scent of bread baking and the sight of Estelle in his underutilised kitchen, actually cooking.