* * *
The grounds of the building Raul had purchased to rehome Poco Rio were filled with overgrown weeds dying in the heat and parched grass. Charley didn’t care; all she saw in her mind’s eye was how glorious it would be when the renovations were complete.
The architect, a middle-aged man with a shock of white hair called Vittore, had travelled from Barcelona with them. Other than Raul’s introduction, the two men had conversed between themselves during the short helicopter trip and even shorter car journey, discussing other business projects they were working on together. If Vittore was bothered about travelling to Valencia on a Saturday morning there was no sign of it in his relaxed demeanour.
She itched to get back inside the sprawling one-storey building; she had been dreaming of this moment for two long months. Of course, her dreams hadn’t involved Raul buying the place in his name. In her dreams it had been in her name and, when all the renovations were complete, she’d intended to sign it over to Poco Rio so they never need worry about losing their home again.
He’d said he might give her the deeds if she proved herself to him. All she could do was try.
The main thing was that so long as she kept her side of the bargain and stayed with him for four months, Raul would keep his and Poco Rio would have a new home. That much she trusted him on.
The interior of the pretty red stone building, which was so much nicer than the institutionalised building Poco Rio was currently homed in, was as ramshackle as she remembered, but that was only decoration. The rooms were large and, once new windows had been installed, would be airy.
‘I’m going to look around and see what my money has bought,’ Raul said, leaving her with Vittore.
The moment he was out of sight, Charley sat on the dusty floor, opened her briefcase and pulled out her plans. ‘Please don’t feel I am treading on your toes,’ she said, speaking in hesitant Spanish, ‘but here’s a guide to what the centre needs.’
Vittore squatted beside her and took the plans. After he’d perused them for a while, he said, ‘Is there a reason the doorways need to be so wide?’
‘A lot of the children have wheelchairs,’ she answered carefully, scared of things being lost in translation.
He nodded thoughtfully, then asked her some more questions.
They were deep in conversation, Charley pointing out where she thought a wall should be knocked down to make a large soft-play area, when Raul rejoined them.
Her Spanish died on her lips.
He regarded her for a moment, his eyes drilling into her with something that looked like cold suspicion, before turning to Vittore. ‘Has Charlotte explained the brief?’
Vittore nodded and stretched back up. ‘Her plans are very impressive.’ He turned his attention to her. ‘Be proud. You have done well.’
Charley’s cheeks flushed at the unexpected compliment.
She hadn’t expected that.
She became even more flustered when Vittore carefully refolded her plans along the seams she’d made and tucked them into his large carry-case. ‘Next time, you roll them.’
‘Sorry?’ She didn’t have the faintest idea what he was talking about.
‘Next time you create plans, roll them, don’t fold.’
She bit into her bottom lip to stop the smile that fought to spread over her face. Vittore was a renowned architect with over twenty years’ experience and he was complimenting and advising her as if she were, if not an equal, then a promising student.
So stunned was she that the rest of the conversation passed her by, right until the moment came for them to leave.
While Raul and Vittore headed outside, she gave the place one last look, imagining how bright and fabulous it would be when the renovations and subsequent decoration were complete. Her heart swelled to think of the children’s faces when they saw it for the first time.
The humidity outside hung heavy like a damp cloak and Charley was grateful to get back in the helicopter, where the air conditioning ran at full blast. She caught the tail end of the men’s conversation and Vittore saying he would bring a team over on Monday. He smiled encouragingly at Charley and added to Raul, ‘Your wife’s plans have made our job much easier.’
‘You are going to follow them?’
‘As much as we can. They make a lot of sense.’
Raul’s gaze caught hers. ‘My wife has hidden talents.’
His tone and expression were so inscrutable she didn’t know if he was being serious or mocking her.
SOON THEY WERE back in Barcelona making the short drive to the villa. Saturdays in the city were always busy, especially in summer, and today was no exception, so, while traffic was calmer during the weekend, the number of pedestrians more than made up for it.
The villa was empty when they got in; the household staff all took weekends off.
During their marriage Charley had lived for the weekends. Sharing a home with staff was something she’d never got used to. One of many things she’d struggled with. Going from a tiny two-bedroom flat in a high-rise block of flats in south-east London to an eight-bedroom villa by the sea would have challenged anyone.
She thought of Raul’s parents’ household with a shudder. They had live-in staff on call seven days a week.
‘Vittore was impressed with your plans,’ Raul commented as he headed into the kitchen and found the capsules to slot into the coffee machine.
She managed a nod, still stunned at the praise she’d received from the architect.
Other than entertain kids, she’d never done anything in her life that warranted praise before. It was a heady feeling to know she didn’t have to fail at everything she set her mind to.
She thought back wistfully to the businesses she’d tried so hard at but for which she’d never been able to find the magic quality Raul possessed with all his businesses. She’d so badly wanted to make him proud and for him to see her as his equal, and all she’d done was mess it up, over and over again. The pressure had been too great to bear.
‘Where did you learn how to do it?’ he asked.
‘I did a search on the Internet on how to create plans. The estate agent did a scale floor plan so I worked from that.’
He pulled two china cups out of the cupboard, placing one in the slot of the machine. ‘I’m sorry I dismissed your plans the other day.’
Her heart jolted at this unexpected apology. She hadn’t thought the word sorry was in his vocabulary.
‘That’s okay,’ she said with a shrug. ‘I’m used to it.’
He
