‘It was a long time ago when such things weren’t spoken of, especially amongst people like my family. Personal problems were kept behind closed doors. We both suffered at the hands of our parents and we tried not to repeat that with you and Marta.’
He laughed without any trace of humour.
‘You think your father was hard on you?’ his mother said, a sharpness in her voice. ‘Nestor would beat him when he failed at anything or disappointed him in any way. I accept we didn’t always get it right with you but it’s those mistakes you will try to avoid when you have your own children. But know, you will make mistakes. We all do.’
The irony almost made him laugh again.
His own children? The only person he wanted to have children with was Charley, and he’d damaged her. Just as his father had damaged him.
Looking back at his father, he could see a whole heap of emotion playing in his eyes and suddenly he knew exactly what the expression meant.
His father wanted to apologise.
A part of him wanted to turn around and walk away and leave the unsaid apology unacknowledged.
Instead, he leant over and covered his father’s limp hand and squeezed, then pressed his lips to his cool cheek.
Life had punished his father enough. What kind of man was he to condemn him for eternity when his own actions had driven away the woman he loved?
For the first time he had an understanding of what his own parents had lived through and, while it was too soon to speak of forgiveness, he knew the road to healing—for all of them—had begun.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
LOT NUMBER FIFTEEN, a week’s holiday on Aliana Island, donated by Pascha and Emily Plushenko, went for a hundred thousand euros—but that was by no means the highest-selling lot of the evening. That honour went to lot number twenty-one, a portrait by the artist Grace Mastrangelo, which sold for a quarter of a million. Those of an artistic bent nodded wisely and said the winning bidder had got themselves a bargain.
The numbers were enough to make Charley dizzy. In one evening, they had raised over a million euros, and that was without adding the ticket sales. Looking at the dazed faces of Seve and the other Poco Rio staff, she could tell they were having trouble processing the figures too.
Now the auction was over and everyone was free to do as they pleased, be it head to the nightclub to dance or go to the casino to gamble or to make their way to the theatre where a top musical was being shown with the original cast...or they could head outside as she had done and stand at the railings looking out at Barcelona in the distance, a mountainous city illuminated magically under the black sky. She squinted, trying to remember where on the shoreline their old home had been. When she looked up, a million stars twinkled down at her.
She inhaled the salty air and tried to capture her thoughts. What she wanted, more than anything, was to find Raul and talk to him. She’d planned it all out, everything she wanted to say, but the look on his face after she’d raised the toast to him had stopped her in her tracks. He’d looked furious.
Doubt and her old friend fear had crept back in.
What if he rejected her? What if...?
What ifs didn’t matter. She would speak to him before the night was out. She had to.
‘May I join you?’
She turned her head with a jolt, her heart immediately racing off at a canter to find him standing there behind her, dazzling in his black tuxedo, carrying two glasses of champagne.
He held one out to her. ‘I thought you might be thirsty after all that talking,’ he said drily.
‘Thank you.’ As she took it from him her fingers brushed against his and her stomach somersaulted.
He stood level with her, his body almost touching hers, and gazed out at the same view.
‘You were wrong, you know,’ he said.
‘About what?’
‘That speech you made, toasting me. I didn’t deserve that. You did.’
‘No...’
‘Yes. Without you none of it would have happened. This was your vision, your passion. All I did was put your hard work into motion.’
‘But without you doing that it wouldn’t have happened.’
‘Without you doing all the hard stuff at the beginning there wouldn’t have been anything for me to do.’
‘We can argue over who should receive the praise all night,’ she said softly. ‘How about we accept it needed both of us to make it happen?’
A faint smile crossed his face and he raised his champagne flute. ‘To teamwork.’
‘Teamwork,’ she echoed, chinking her flute to his. She didn’t drink any of it.
‘You look beautiful.’