Spanish Escape: The Playboy of Puerto Banús / A Game of Vows / For the Sake of Their Son. Carol Marinelli

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       CHAPTER TWELVE

      NORMALLY RAÚL'S YACHT sailed into the busiest port, often with a party underway.

      This early evening, though, they sailed slowly into Acantilados de Maro-Cerro Gordo. The sky was an amazing pink, the cliffs sparkling as they dropped anchor near a secluded bay.

      ‘The beaches are stunning here,’ Alberto said, ‘and the tourists know it. But this one has no road access.’ He turned to Raúl. ‘The jet skis are ready for you both.’

      Only as they were about to be launched did Raúl remember. He turned and saw her pale face, saw that she was biting on her lip as she went to climb on the machine, and his apology was genuine.

      ‘Estelle, I’m sorry. I forgot about your brother’s accident.’

      ‘It’s fine,’ she said through chattering teeth. ‘He was showing off…mucking around…’ She was trying to pretend that the machine she was about to climb on didn’t petrify her. ‘I know we’ll be sensible.’

      Raúl had had no intention of being sensible. He loved the exhilaration of being on a jet ski and had wanted to share it with her—had wanted to race and to chase.

      Instead he was taking her hand. ‘It’s not fine. You don’t have to pretend.’

      Oh, but she did. At every turn she had to pretend, if she was to be the temporary woman he wanted.

      ‘Come on this one with me,’ Raúl said. ‘Alberto, take her hand and help her on.’

      They rode towards the bay in a rather more subdued fashion than Raúl was used to.

      The maid who was setting up the dinner table caught Alberto’s eye when he came to check on her progress and they shared a brief smile.

      His bride and the effect she was having on Raúl was certainly not one they had been expecting.

      ‘I think I might go and reorganise his DVD collection,’ the maid suggested and Alberto nodded.

      ‘I think that might be wise.’

      Estelle held tightly onto Raul’s waist as the jet ski chopped through the waves, and because her head kept knocking into his back in the end she gave in and rested it there, not sure if her rapid heart-rate was because she was scared by the vehicle, by the questions she would no doubt soon be facing, or just by the exhilaration.

      Making love with Raúl had been amazing. She was sore and tender but now, feeling his skin beneath her cheek, feeling the ocean water sting her and the wind whip her hair, she could not regret a moment. Even her lie. Feeling his passion as he had seared into her was a memory she would be frequently revisiting. For now, though, Estelle knew she had to play it tough—had to convince him better than she had so far that she was up to the job he had paid her for.

      He skidded into the shallows and she unpeeled herself from him and stepped down.

      ‘It’s amazing…’ She looked up at the cliffs, shielding her eyes. ‘Look how high it is.’

      He did, but only briefly. Estelle was too busy admiring the stunning view to notice his pallor.

      ‘What did Angela say to you at the wedding?’ Raúl asked.

      She had been expecting a barrage of questions about her lack of experience, and was momentarily sideswiped at his choice of topic for conversation, but then she reminded herself his interest in her was limited.

      ‘She wasn’t sure whether or not we were a true couple,’ Estelle said.

      ‘You corrected her?’

      ‘Of course,’ Estelle said. ‘She seems to think that if I love my husband, then I should encourage you to make peace with your father while there is still time.’ She glanced over to him as they walked. ‘She wants us to go there and visit.’

      ‘It is too late to play happy families.’

      ‘Angela said that she doesn’t want you to suffer any guilt, as you did over your mother’s death…’

      ‘Misplaced guilt,’ Raúl said, but didn’t elaborate any more.

      He stopped and they sat on the beach, looking out to the yacht. She could see the lights were on, the staff on deck were preparing their meal. It was hard to believe such luxury even existed, let alone that for now it was hers to experience. It was the luxury of him she wanted, though; there was more about Raúl that she needed to know.

      ‘I didn’t know how to answer her,’ Estelle admitted. ‘You said there was more you would tell me. I have no real idea about your family, nor about you.’

      ‘So I will tell you what you need to know.’ He pondered for a moment on how best to explain it. ‘My grandfather—my mother’s father—ran a small hotel. It did well and he built another, and then he purchased some land in the north,’ Raúl explained.

      ‘In San Sebastian?’ Estelle asked.

      He nodded. ‘On his death the business was left to his three children—De La Fuente Holdings. My father and mother married, and my father started to work in the family business. But he was always an outsider—or felt that he was, even though he oversaw the building of the San Sebastian hotel. When I was born my mother became unwell. In hindsight I would say she was depressed. It was then he started to sleep with Angela. Apparently Angela felt too much guilt and left work, moved back to her family, but they started seeing each other again…’

      ‘How do you know all this?’

      ‘My father told me the morning I met you.’

      It was only then that Estelle fully realised this was almost as new to him as it was to her.

      ‘Angela got pregnant, the guilt ate away at him, and he told my mother the truth. He wanted to know if she could forgive him. She cried and wailed and screamed. She told him to get out and he went to Angela—the baby was almost due. He assumed my mother would tell her family, that she would turn to them. Except she did not. When she had the car accident and died my father returned and soon realised no one knew he had another son. Instead they welcomed him back into the company.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘Soon they will find out the truth.’

      ‘Angela said that you blamed yourself for your mother’s death?’

      ‘That is all you need to know.’ He looked over to her. ‘Your turn.’

      ‘I don’t know what to tell you.’

      ‘Why you lied?’

      ‘I didn’t lie.’

      ‘The same way my father didn’t lie when he didn’t tell me had another son? The same way Angela didn’t lie when she failed to tell mention her son, Luka, was my brother?’ He did not want to think about that. ‘Okay, if you didn’t outright lie, you did deceive.’

      He watched her swallow, СКАЧАТЬ