The Island Villa_The perfect feel good summer read Page 20

  ‘And Alba – my grandmother?’

  ‘Oh yes. She was very happy. Of course, she was always ambitious, though; she wanted more of an adventurous life. She was a fine artist, did you know that?’

  I nodded. I did. I still had some of her paintings. It was only now that I knew it had run in the family.

  ‘Why did she not come back? Did you have a fallout? Was that what it was?’

  ‘The short answer is yes. The long one is that life was hard during the Franco regime. People like us were persecuted. It was a very difficult time. The Inquisition was long over, yes, but when the war broke out in 1936, there was an almost complete breakdown of the secret Jewish community that had lived here and on Ibiza for many years. Many who fought died, and the socialists found themselves in concentration camps. Shortly after the war ended, the Second World War began and German soldiers flooded the shores, taking note of Jewish residents. It became prudent once again for families to convert to Catholicism.

  ‘Alba had a particularly tough time as an unmarried woman. She was harassed by Nazi soldiers—’

  I gasped. ‘Nazis! But that must mean that she was here during the Second World War!’

  Maria nodded. ‘She was, yes.’

  ‘But she told me that she left during the civil war, to escape.’

  Maria looked grave. ‘Yes, that is what she told you, I suppose to protect her secret, her past. She left here in 1944, when she was twenty-four years old. Beautiful but damaged, perhaps beyond repair. I am not sure what they did to her, if they raped her or not. I can only hope that they did not. Though you can rape someone without ever harming their body.

  ‘What I do know is that she was interrogated at length, that she was kept inside a cell and half-starved and beaten, while they attempted to get her to confess.

  ‘You see, we had been secret Jews for so long that when the Nazis discovered this, they took special satisfaction in trying to get us to admit it. She didn’t confess. I think because by the time they were finished with her, she had decided in her heart that she wasn’t Jewish any more.

  ‘When she was finally released, she discovered that she was now on a list. There were rumours reaching us from afar of what was happening to people who were on lists like this. It was a small island after all, and they’d started to build a concentration camp here.’

  I gasped. ‘Here, on Formentera?’

  Maria nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘She left in the night, taken to safety through the old Ibicenco pirate network – they helped rescue quite a lot of Jewish people, I believe. It was on this ship that she met your grandfather. I don’t know the details of why he was on board or what part he played. I do know that he wasn’t Jewish though.’

  I took a seat on the bed. Rocked to my core. ‘But you said that the two of you had a fallout? Why?’

  ‘When she got to England, she decided that she never wanted to be reminded of her past ever again. The only trouble was that I was a living, breathing reminder.’ She started to cry then. ‘And I’d failed her. Failed to protect my little sister, because at the time they’d taken her for questioning I wasn’t here.’

  I held the old woman in my arms. I didn’t know what to say. My heart felt broken for her, for my grandmother too. I could understand, now more than ever, why she never wanted to speak about her past, about what had had happened to her. I could perhaps even understand why she’d given up her faith: in the end it had seemed to ask so much of her and her family.

  But I knew one thing, and that was that Maria couldn’t blame herself for what had happened to her. ‘It’s not your fault. If you’d been here, they would have just taken you too. You couldn’t have prevented it.’

  She looked at me, her eyes so haunted and sad. ‘But maybe I could have.’

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Formentera, 1718

  Esperanza entered the finca with the intention of getting her things and leaving. She was planning to stay at Riba’s until she was married. But one look at her mother stopped her in her tracks.

  Cesca got up fast, and came to her side. There were tears in her eyes. ‘Señor Garcia thinks it will be soon,’ she whispered, her lips wobbling.

  Tears pooled in Esperanza’s eyes, but she stepped away when her sister made to take her hand.

  Cesca blinked. ‘’Spranza, what is it?’

  Esperanza shook her head, then went and sat with her mother. They’d made a bed for her in the corner, as she could no longer sit at the table. Her face was pale, and she was so frail. Esperanza felt a stab of guilt that she’d been gone all night when her mother was like this.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Mare,’ she cried, clutching her hand.

  Her mother gave her a weak smile. ‘Don’t cry, my pet. And don’t fight with your sister. Not now. You need each other.’

  Esperanza kissed her check, but she didn’t respond. She would never forgive Cesca, not after what she had done – not after she had come to her with her heart laid bare, telling her of how she felt about Benito, only to watch her sister throw herself at him a few short hours later. She could never forgive her that.

  Their mother died just before dawn, with Esperanza asleep at her side. She woke up to the sound of her sister’s sobs.

  She looked at her mother’s dear face, and kissed her. She had never felt more alone in all her life.

  The week passed slowly, with Esperanza barely saying a word to Cesca. The day after the burial she moved into Riba’s house, and shortly afterwards she told Don Santiago that she wanted to get married as soon as he could arrange it. She didn’t want to wait until her brother arrived, when he would be able to prevent it.

  Don Santiago was happy to oblige. He arranged for a local fisherman to row them to Ibiza and, hearing that her brother was still at sea – the one person who could potentially object the most – he decided that it would be a good idea to get married straight away too, mostly because he was afraid she would change her mind.

  By that afternoon, they were husband and wife.

  Esperanza told him that she would join him later at the governor’s house, where they would be staying until he could make other arrangements, but that she would face her sister alone, to tell her the news. He had wanted to come, too. ‘I can’t let you do this alone,’ he’d said, touching her face, and she’d given him a thin smile. ‘You must – she won’t understand. We can speak to them later about it, properly. But for now I think this way would be best.’

  ‘If you think so – I will be waiting for you.’

  She nodded, forced a smile and made for her home, realising with a pang that it would no longer be her home.

  But the news had travelled fast and by the time she got to the finca, intending to fetch Flea and pack her things, her sister had heard.

  ‘What have you done?’ she asked as soon as Esperanza stepped inside. Her voice cold, her face furious. She was sitting in the kitchen with Señor Garcia and Benito, whose face also couldn’t hide its shock. Esperanza couldn’t look at him. It hurt too much.

  Cesca snapped. ‘Is it true?’ she said, standing up so fast the kitchen chair toppled over, hitting the flagstone floor with a crash. ‘Mare’s body is not even cold and you betray all of us like this by marrying a stranger – someone who will ask questions about all of us, our secret community?’

  Esperanza’s eyebrows shot up into her hair. ‘I betrayed you? It wasn’t the other way round? Because the way I saw it, I came home the other night to find my sister wrapped up in the arms of my betrothed!’

  Cesca gasped and looked swiftly from Benito to Señor Garcia, her face colouring.

  Señor Garcia’s face flushed. He looked at Cesca. ‘Is that true?’

  ‘I—’

  ‘It is,’ said Esperanza. ‘She has been going behind both our backs, the filthy little—’

  ‘Esperanza,’ said Benito, stopping her.

  ‘Oh yes, heaven forbid I say anything against my perfect sister,’ she said, then turned to go and fetch her thin
gs from her room.

  Cesca followed after her, with Benito at her heels. ‘So that’s what this was about – revenge?’

  Esperanza stared at her as she shoved her things into a basket. There wasn’t much.

  ‘No.’

  Cesca shook her head. ‘I hope not, for your sake.’

  ‘Why – why do you care if it was?’

  ‘Because the only one you’ll end up hurting is yourself.’

  Esperanza shook her head. ‘Don’t pretend that you care about me now.’

  Cesca crossed her arms. ‘After you put us all at risk by marrying Don Santiago – no, I won’t pretend to care about you.’

  ‘Well, at least you’re being honest. I know after keeping your little affair a secret for so long, the truth is a strange concept to you, so thank you for that at least,’ she said, then she turned and left.

  When she got to Don Santiago’s house that night he welcomed her in, kissing her as she came inside, Flea at her side. He eyed the dog in some surprise. ‘You brought this fellow, did you?’

  She nodded. ‘I hope that’s all right?’

  He smiled at her, touched her cheek. ‘Of course it is.’

  He called for his servant, the same young girl as before. ‘Daniella, please take this dog into the kitchen, make a bed for him – he is the señora’s special pet.’

  Daniella blinked, then looked at Esperanza. The two had often seen each other on the island, had grown up not far from each other, and Esperanza was shocked when she curtsied.

  ‘Oh, and Daniella, please draw a bath, and bring our dinner to the chamber. My bride and I will be dining in tonight.’

  Daniella nodded and hurried away. Esperanza watched her leave, feeling her cheeks flush. She looked at Don Santiago, who put an arm round her and led her to the bedroom, and Cesca’s words raced through her head: ‘I hope that you haven’t done this out of revenge.’

  She bit her lip, and tears filled her eyes. There was no turning back now.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Formentera, present day

  ‘One more sleep,’ texted Sage, and I grinned as I lay in bed and stared at the phone. I couldn’t wait to see her. She wasn’t the only one counting the days.

  ‘I can’t wait for her to see it,’ I told James’s ashes as I started cleaning the kitchen, making a list of all the things I would need before she arrived.

  The spare room had fresh bed linen, and a vase of wildflowers, and I’d hung one of Isla’s beautiful seascapes on the wall.

  Sage would be coming for two whole weeks, a proper break after a very long year.

  I couldn’t wait.

  That afternoon, I took a trip to a local jeweller to fetch something I’d had made. Something for Sage. My finger came up to touch my bare thumb.

  On the way back I cut through the dry scrubland and went to visit Maria, where we sat outside in the sunshine and she told me more about Esperanza. I still couldn’t believe that it was her that we were descended from – I couldn’t help it, a small part of me had been a little disappointed to hear that. Maria had laughed when I told her that. ‘Things always seem darkest before the dawn, you know that – and for Esperanza there was a very long night before the dawn.’

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Formentera, 1718

  Esperanza had everything she’d once wished for. A grand home, servants and a husband who was part of a world she’d only ever dreamt about. The only trouble was that she was more miserable than she’d ever been in the whole of her life.

  Don Santiago was eager for them to make a new start in Barcelona, for him to present his new wife to his family.

  The house that he was staying in wasn’t a home and he thought that now they were married it was time for him to return to his old life.

  With her mother gone, and things between her and Cesca so strained, there seemed no reason for her to want to stay on the island.

  Except that for the first time in her life she understood the danger she was in. Especially when he started to ask questions – questions he hadn’t asked her before.

  ‘Your family – are they originally from Ibiza?’ he’d asked one morning.

  ‘I… yes.’

  ‘From where?’

  She named the village where her cousin had lived.

  He looked at her strangely. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, why?’

  ‘It’s just that area was one of the old Jewish settlements.’

  She blinked in shock. He smiled. ‘It was a long time ago – I mean, they’re all gone now.’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, of course. My family came from the capital too – and then came here to help with the salt trade.’

  There were other things too – things she didn’t think of. Like her habit of lighting a candle on a Friday night.

  ‘You know you do that every week?’ he asked. ‘On the same night.’

  She turned to find him in the doorway. ‘I… um.’

  ‘Why is that?’ He looked curious.

  ‘For my mother. I light it for her.’

  ‘Every Friday? Why not on a Sunday?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I can do it on a Sunday if you prefer?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, it’s fine, it’s just – never mind. It’s your home. If that’s what you want to do then that’s fine with me.’

  She bit her lip as he left the room. It was a habit, passed down for centuries, and she hadn’t thought of why she was doing it till he had asked her – it was only then that she realised it was something that marked her as different, and could lead him to question her background, question her faith.

  How many other of her cultural practices were from their secret faith? Things that could mark her as different without her even realising it? This was why they married their own – these things that announced who they were without them even being aware of it.

  Don Santiago took his wife’s feelings into account when she asked him to delay their departure to Barcelona, even though he was eager to leave the island. He loved his wife and if she wanted to stay for now, he would.

  She’d told him that she wanted some time just for the two of them to get to know each other, while he finished up his report on the salt trade, and he’d agreed. ‘Of course, once we are in Barcelona I’ll have to share you with all the other wives, it’s true,’ he’d said.

  ‘Perhaps we could see this time as a honeymoon…’ she suggested. He seemed charmed by the idea, and she’d breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘You were promised to Rafael Alvarez?’ demanded Don Santiago a week after they were married.

  She looked up from the wildflowers she was arranging in the dining room and felt her stomach clench in sudden fear. There was something in his eyes, something dark and forbidding.

  ‘Yes.’ She attempted a casual tone. ‘I thought you knew that.’

  He frowned. ‘I didn’t realise it was the man staying in your house. But you decided to break your engagement – why?’ he demanded, taking hold of her arm.

  She swallowed. ‘Because of you.’

  He blinked. She could see the small flare of hope her words caused, and felt bad.

  ‘Because of me,’ he repeated.

  She nodded. ‘What we had.’

  ‘So you broke it off with him.’

  His hands were biting into her flesh now, twisting her arm. There would be a bruise there later. There was rage just beneath the surface of his eyes.

  She bit her lip, realising then that she would need to lie. ‘It was a mutual decision.’

  He stared at her, then suddenly his face seemed to relax. It was the answer he was looking for, she realised. ‘Good,’ he said simply. His eyes warmed. She felt her knees give out.

  She should have known that news of ‘Rafael’ and her sister would have spread – especially after she’d confronted them in front of Señor Garcia. She hadn’t thought though of the consequences it would have brought for her – that Don Santiago would want to know why their engagement had
fallen through and that he would wonder if she had fled to him because Rafael had fallen in love with her sister.

  But he seemed satisfied with her answer – pleased even. ‘It worked out quite well actually, them falling for each other,’ he said that night as he handed her a glass of wine while they sat outside in the garden. She was rolling a ball to Flea, who was returning it to her with his nose. ‘If not, we’d never have been able to wed. We should have them over for dinner, celebrate their union, don’t you think?’

  Esperanza shook her head. ‘I’d prefer not to, if you don’t mind. My sister and I had a falling-out.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We haven’t always got on, and after my mother died it seemed there was no point in keeping up the pretence.’

  He frowned as he took a sip of wine, but left it at that.

  Antoni came home in the autumn, tired, with his hair grown long, and devastated to hear the news of his mother’s passing. ‘I should have been here,’ he said, hugging Cesca close.

  ‘There was nothing you could have done.’

  He took a seat at the table, across from Benito. He’d seen the way the man lingered near his sister, the way they looked at each other. The news of their union had greeted him as soon as he’d got off the boat. ‘A lot has changed in my absence,’ he said.

  Benito nodded. ‘I am sorry about that – you invited me into your home, I should have asked for your permission.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Antoni, who was a man of strong convictions and principles; he hadn’t been made one of the salt trade’s youngest captains for nothing. ‘But it is done now.’