It shouldn’t matter to her. In the days after she’d left she’d gone through her wardrobe and removed every item that had been purchased for its suitability for Raul Cazorla’s wife and not for personal style or comfort. She’d donated ninety per cent of her wardrobe to charity and vowed never to wear anything again that wasn’t her.
All the same, Lucetta and Marta had always been good to her, especially Marta, who, when Charley had first come into Raul’s life, had been tasked with the job of turning Charley into a mini version of herself. Under Raul’s directive, Marta had taken her to Barcelona’s most exclusive shopping arcade and had taken great delight in finding a brand-new wardrobe for her.
Although not as direct in her enthusiasm for Raul’s new bride, Lucetta had gone out of her way to make Charley feel a valued member of the family. Charley had never been able to shake the feeling that Lucetta’s friendliness towards her was motivated by what she thought to be an acceptable way to behave towards a daughter-in-law, rather than out of any real affection. She would have treated the Bride of Frankenstein with the same graciousness. But she had done her best to be welcoming and, for that, Charley would always have affection for her.
Dressing up and looking the part was something that mattered greatly to both Cazorla women, and for them Charley would have put on a dress and heels. Not silly heels that would leave her feet begging for mercy though. Three inches would have sufficed. Something to show she’d made an effort.
As it was, both faces lit up to see her walk through the door. If either was disappointed in her outfit or at seeing her again, it was hidden under a wave of perfumed embraces and air kisses.
An Adonis, a dry-sherry-based cocktail that was wonderfully moreish, was thrust into her hand by Marta, who linked her arm through Charley’s with a grin.
‘It is so good to see you,’ she said, resting her head on Charley’s shoulder. ‘I always knew you’d see sense and come back to him.’
Charley met Raul’s eyes and read the warning contained in them.
‘It’s lovely to see you too,’ she answered, brushing aside the comment. She didn’t want to lie to Marta, who had become a good friend, the two of them keeping in touch secretly after Charley had left Raul.
She took a sip, the taste reminding her of the time she and Marta had drunk so many of the cocktails before a meal they’d been unable to eat a bite, collapsing in giggles on a sofa much to the amusement of Raul and Marta’s fiancé at the time, Fabio. Lucetta had been away, which had no doubt explained Marta’s low inhibitions.
Raul had really taken care of her that night, she remembered. In the morning he’d handed her a glass of water and a couple of painkillers without a word of reproach, then climbed back into bed and held her, making sure not to squeeze her too tightly.
The tender memories sent a jolt through her.
Sometimes it was easy to only remember the bad stuff but there had been good times too, especially at the beginning.
Watching him now, chatting with his mother, she noticed the physical distance he kept between them. There was respect there but little affection.
After a few minutes of small talk, the wide dining-room door opened and Eduardo Cazorla, Raul’s father, was wheeled through.
He looked exactly the same as when she’d last seen him, the left side of his face sagged and his hands arranged for him on his lap. Only his eyes, the same blue as his son and daughter’s, showed any sign of life, letting you know that behind his infirmity lay a mind as sharp as the day the stroke had robbed him of his body.
When he caught sight of Charley, his eyes flickered to Raul, who did nothing but stare at his father with an expression that sent a shiver running up her spine. Goosebumps broke on her skin to see the same expression mirrored in his father’s eyes.
Lucetta broke the ice, strolling to her husband and speaking to him in Spanish, her words too fast for Charley to understand anything but the gist of it, which seemed to be something along the lines of, ‘Raul and Charley are back together.’ As she explained the situation the butler entered the room to announce that dinner was ready.
Charley was placed opposite Raul and next to Marta, Lucetta next to her son. Eduardo sat in his usual place at the head of the table, his nurse, a young, dark-haired woman, by his side feeding him.
Seven courses were served in total. That was nothing; if Lucetta hosted a ‘proper’ dinner party, a minimum of a dozen courses would be served. They started with gazpacho, which was followed by calamares en su tinta, squid in their own ink, which was far tastier than it sounded. As they ate, Raul, as he always did at these family meals, gave them a rundown on what was happening with the family business, the staff he had hired or fired, the hotel he’d closed for decontamination after an outbreak of the norovirus, the profit from the air fleet that was almost double the projected estimate...