Under the Spanish Stars by Alli Sinclair Page A

asking the impossible. Anyway, no one is truly free these days.’ She didn’t need to say any more, because Salvador knew her thoughts about Franco. Salvador was the only person she could ever trust to keep his mouth shut. Picking up a glass and filling it with water, she said, ‘I felt a little off tonight.’
    â€˜I had an inkling that was the case. Is something bothering you?’
    â€˜It’s April twenty-six.’ Her voice was barely above a whisper.
    Salvador’s eye widened. ‘I’m so sorry. I forgot.’
    â€˜Don’t be. You have enough on your mind.’ Preferring to change the topic, she asked, ‘How is Paulito?’
    Salvador’s grin spread quickly. ‘He is doing wonderfully. It’s hard to believe he’s already two weeks old and every day I fall a little more in love with my wife and son. How is that possible?’
    â€˜I imagine it’s easy to do. I’m so very happy for you all.’ She finished her water and before she had a chance to ask for more, Salvador presented the jug and poured in the cool liquid. ‘You’re so fortunate to have found your personal duende , Salvador.’
    â€˜I don’t know if duende can be used to describe one’s own happiness, but if it can be, then yes, I have found it.’
    â€˜You’re a lucky man.’
    â€˜It would be nice if you could find yours.’ He ran his fingers through his hair, a habit he’d never broken.
    â€˜It would. But I’ve yet to find duende when I dance so how could I ever find it in love?’
    â€˜Don’t you have Julieta in your ear, reminding you the only way to get duende is to make a commitment to experience every aspect of life—including love? Even heartache?’
    â€˜I’ve experienced the heartache of losing my father.’ Her lips pursed together, then she added, ‘And of losing the only chance I’ve had at romantic love.’
    â€˜You told me you had deep affection for him but it wasn’t love.’
    â€˜It was love,’ her eyes didn’t meet his, ‘I just didn’t realise it at the time because I didn’t know how to let go enough for it to happen. I still find it next to impossible but I’m working on it.’
    â€˜Good.’
    A knock at the door halted further conversation.
    â€˜Enter!’ Salvador boomed, as if he’d been expecting a visitor.
    A tall, lean man in an ill-fitting but beautifully-pressed shirt and suit strode in, his presence filling the room. Like Salvador, he had a natural air of confidence.
    â€˜Ah! Federico! So nice to see you!’ Salvador slapped his friend on the back. ‘Sit! Sit!’
    â€˜Not before I introduce myself to this beautiful specimen. Señorita Sanchez, it is an honour to meet you.’ He held her hand gently and placedhis warm lips on her clammy skin. ‘To watch you dance is to witness a miracle.’
    Katarina forced a smile, wondering how a man this smooth could be genuine. ‘Thank you, Señor …?’
    â€˜Señor Basa Trujillo. Please, call me Federico.’
    His name sounded familiar but his face wasn’t … Oh! Federico Basa Trujillo had managed the most successful café cantante in Seville, then he’d gone off the radar a few years ago. Rumours had run rife about whether he’d joined the army, deserted, or fled to greener pastures in the Spanish Protectorate in Morocco, but no one knew for sure. Yet here he was now, waiting for a response from her. ‘You may call me Katarina.’
    â€˜Katarina, I hope you do not mind me getting straight to the point. I am the manager of a new opera flamenca and I would like you and Salvador to be the main drawcard. I would also ask Hernán, your guitarist, but I am informed he is leaving to pursue other endeavours. Is this correct?’
    â€˜Yes,’ she said, glancing at Salvador who lowered his gaze. She was not happy about