That was when the lights, camera angles and sound levels would be decided upon. The best she could hope for was that they would sleep in. She didn’t have much time to strip the set and redress it, but it was important she had an authentic set in place for the rehearsal so there would be little or no change when she recorded the programme. She didn’t like surprises when the red light went on.
Half an hour later she had picked fruit straight from the trees and brought in a basket full of greenery from the shady part of the castle gardens. Each time she’d visited the market in Cazulas Zoë hadn’t been able to resist buying another piece of the local hand-painted pottery, and she now laid out her hoard on a working table along with the fresh produce.
She stared up at the plastic bunting.
Balancing halfway up a ladder wasn’t easy, but, working quickly, she got the bunting down, then moved to the ‘fishing net’ on the back wall of the set to flip out some more tacks. Then she still had to tackle the plastic castanets pinned up with the plastic fruit on the same wall. Proper wooden castanets were miniature works of art. They came alive in the hands of an artist like Maria. These plastic efforts were about as Spanish as chop suey!
Sticking the screwdriver she had found in a kitchen drawer into the back pocket of her jeans, Zoë glanced at her wristwatch and made a swift calculation. If she could get the rest of them down without too much trouble, she might just finish in time.
‘Talk about a relief!’
‘Are you speaking to me?’
‘Rico!’ Zoë nearly fell off her ladder with shock. ‘What are you doing here?’ Her knuckles turned white as she gripped on tight. She watched transfixed as he swooped on the clutch of castanets she had just dropped to the floor.
‘Very nice,’ he said, examining them. ‘Which region of Spain do these represent?’
‘Bargain basement,’ Zoë tried lightly, trying to regulate her breathing at the same time. How could any man look so good so early in the morning after hardly any sleep? It just wasn’t human. ‘How did you get in?’ she said, as it suddenly struck her that she would never have gone to bed and left the front door wide open.
He ignored her question—and her attempted humour. ‘What is all this rubbish?’
Coming down the ladder as quickly as she could in safety, Zoë faced him. ‘The set for my television show.’ Her appreciative mood was evaporating rapidly. She had never seen such scorn on anyone’s face.
‘I gathered that.’ He stared around with disapproval.
OK, so it was a mess—but it was her mess, and she would sort it out. Zoë could feel her temper rising. According to the lease, at this moment Castillo Cazulas belonged to her. She could do with it what she liked. And if plastic castanets were her style, Señor Testosterone would just have to put up with it.
Reaching out, she took them from him. ‘Thank you.’ His hands felt warm and dry. They felt great. ‘Can I help you with anything?’ Her voice was cool, but she was trembling inside.
‘Yes, you can. You can get all this trash out of here.’
‘Trash?’
‘You heard me. I want it all removed.’
‘Oh, you do?’ Zoë said, meeting his stare. ‘And what business is it of yours, exactly?’
Ignoring her question, Rico paced the length of the set, shoulders hunched, looking like a cold-eyed panther stalking its prey. ‘You can’t seriously expect an artist of Maria’s calibre to perform in this theme park?’
‘No, of course I don’t—’
‘Then get all this down! Get rid of it! Do whatever you have to do to put it right—just don’t let me see it the next time I’m here.’
‘Next time? There doesn’t have to be a next time, Rico,’ Zoë assured him with a short, humourless laugh.
‘Oh, forgive me.’ He came closer. ‘I thought you invited me here for Tuesday.’
‘If you feel so bad about all this—’ Zoë opened her arms wide ‘—there’s an easy solution.’
‘Oh?’
‘I’ll just withdraw my invitation, and then you won’t have to suffer another moment’s distress.’
‘That would be too easy for you.’
‘Easy?’ Zoë rested one hand on her head and stared at him incredulously. What the hell was easy about any of this? As far as she was concerned, nothing had been easy since she’d run up against Rico Cortes.
‘If you want Maria to dance, I’ll be here.’
‘Oh, I see,’ Zoë said sarcastically. ‘You own Maria. You make all her decisions for her—’
‘Don’t be so ridiculous.’
‘So what do you think is going to happen here, Rico? As far as I know we’ll be making a television programme. I’ll be cooking, Maria will dance, and everyone in the village will have a great time at the party. Is that so terrible?’
He made a contemptuous sound. ‘You make it sound so straightforward.’
‘Because it is!’ What was he getting at? Why didn’t he trust her?
They glared at each other without blinking, and then Rico broke away to stare around. His expression hardened. ‘You don’t seriously expect me to allow my friends to come to a place like this on Tuesday night.’
‘Oh, so now you own the whole village? I didn’t realise the feudal system was alive and well in Cazulas. I suppose it’s never occurred to you that my neighbours might be capable of thinking for themselves?’
‘Your neighbours don’t know what you plan to do here.’
‘What do I plan to do, exactly?’
‘You don’t respect them.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘You don’t respect their culture.’
‘How dare you say that?’
‘How dare I?’ Rico’s voice was contemptuous as he glared down at her.
He was close enough for her to touch—or attack—but she would never lower herself to that. She wasn’t about to lose control, like every man she had ever known, and let Rico add that to her long list of shortcomings.
‘You come here to Cazulas—Cazulas, of all the flamenco villages in Spain! And you try to tell me it’s just a coincidence? And then you bring Maria into it. Another coincidence? I don’t think so.’
She’d had enough. She wasn’t going to stand by and let him rant. ‘You’re right, Rico. Bringing Maria into my plans was no coincidence. The reason I asked her to appear on my programme is because she is easily the best dancer I have ever seen. She is certainly the best performer in Cazulas. That’s no coincidence; it’s
