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“When you’ve freshened up, we’ll eat lunch in the patio room.”
“That sounds lovely. For the first time in several days I’m actually hungry.”
She followed him down a passageway of glazed, multicolored tiles to the right of the arched foyer. They had to be four hundred years old yet still retained their brilliant colors of blue, red, orange and green. Fabulous!
He came to a set of carved double doors with brass studs and opened them, revealing a magnificent room befitting a nobleman’s house.
“The bathroom is through that door on the left. Make yourself at home. I’ll be back with your suitcase. In case you’ve forgotten, it’s time for your eyedrops.”
He left her standing there bemused by her surroundings. In the midst of this kind of splendor, she had forgotten. A huge chandelier with real candles hung from the stalactite ceiling. At her feet lay an intricately inlaid wood floor in a striped Moorish design, making it difficult to know where to look first.
The big canopied bed of white lace would have dominated a smaller room. Her fascinated gaze passed from the brass wall sconces to the massive armoires and writing desk. The dark wood had been inlaid with mother-of-pearl, a long lost art.
In one end of the room she spied a round table of an unusual shade of yellow wood tinted with darker veining. Several ornately upholstered chairs in jewel tones surrounded it. At the other end she saw a grouping of damask love seats and an ottoman arranged around a fireplace.
Above the elaborately carved mantel hung an immense oil painting of a mature olive tree in full flower, its trunk gnarled and twisted. There was a plaque at the bottom. She moved closer to read it.
Gat Shemanim. The words were in Hebrew. What did they mean?
Her gaze flicked to the olive groves she could see from the window, then shifted back to the painting again. She could almost hear its silvery leaves rustling in the breeze, never realizing how fascinating an olive tree could be.
Senor Goyo had been tending them from boyhood, extracting the rich oil from their fruit revered by men over the centuries. The thought of him engaged in something so important throughout his whole life had a strange effect on her, moving her to tears for a reason she couldn’t comprehend.
To her dismay he’d come back in the room with her suitcase and his flowers, catching her in another emotional moment.
She heard him pause before he lowered her bag to the floor and walked over to her. “What am I going to do with you?” he asked in a husky tone.
Jillian knew what she wanted him to do, but that would be the worst thing she could do for herself, and it would only embarrass him.
“Great beauty always makes me emotional.” She tried to resist looking at him. “Tell me the meaning on the plaque of the painting.”
He studied her face briefly before he said, “The Garden of Gethsemane. Several olive trees still growing there would have witnessed the Lord’s suffering. My grandmother, devout in the faith, had it painted as a first anniversary gift for my grandfather. He insisted it hang in their bedroom. My parents kept up the tradition.”
“So this was their room, too.”
His dark head nodded. “Five generations of Goyos have slept in here.”
She stared at him. “Does that mean you, too?”
Lines broke out on his hard-boned features alerting her she’d stepped onto sacred ground. That was the trouble with asking questions that were none of her business. In her need to learn more about him, all she managed to do was upset him.
“I live in the house to the north of the courtyard.”
Not in the main house?
What terrible history had gone here to bring an end to traditions he clearly loved?
“Do you need a few more minutes alone?” he asked in a deceptively mild voice, but she wasn’t fooled.
“Give me five minutes to put in my drops and I’ll join you in the patio room. Where is it?”
“When you leave the bedroom, go left and you’ll soon come to it.” He put the flowers down on the bedside table and started to leave.
“Remi…” His black eyes swerved to hers. “Do you mind if I put the roses on that yellow table?”
“Why would I mind?” Before she could blink he’d done it for her.
“Thank you. It’s such an exquisite piece of furniture and the flowers look gorgeous against it. What kind of wood is it?”
His eyes scrutinized her. “Can’t you guess?”
“You mean that’s from an olive tree?”
“Sí, Senora.”
“I had no idea.”
“When I was little my grandmother told me God loved the olive tree best of all the trees He created. To hide its beauty from the other trees so they wouldn’t be jealous, He gave it a flaw in the form of a gnarled trunk.
“She was a wise woman always trying to teach me, but I’m afraid I didn’t appreciate the greatness of her wisdom until very recently.”
Once Jillian was alone she pulled the drops from her purse to treat her eye. Throughout the process his haunting words refused to leave her alone. That was the way with riddles.
Like every riddle, it wanted solving…
CHAPTER FOUR
JILLIAN LEFT THE BEDROOM a few minutes later and followed the passageway to the end. It opened up into an exquisite garden. Palm trees surrounded a rectangular pool of azure blue, decorated with colorful tiles. A latticed roof of Ottoman design sheltered it from the full brunt of the sun.
She felt like she’d come upon an oasis in the middle of the desert, yet it was deep inside this great casa. Charmed beyond words, she moved closer toward the inviting water.
Once again her lungs constricted, but this time it was because she suddenly noticed Remi’s sleek, powerful body maneuvering like a torpedo close to the floor of the pool. She watched in fascination while he did several laps before surfacing. He shook his head, sprinkling her unintentionally before he levered himself to the patio.
Jillian looked away, but it wasn’t fast enough for him to catch her staring. His black trunks rode low on his hips, revealing most of his well-cut physique to her vision.
He reached for a towel hanging over the back of one of the chairs to dry off. The whiteness of the material looked exaggerated against the dark gold of his olive skinned body. His house might be a great work of art, but so was he.
“I would have invited you to join me, but Dr. Filartigua says no swimming, at least until he sees you again.” He tossed the towel aside and shrugged into a short-sleeved cotton shirt he left unbuttoned. “Come and sit down.” He pulled a chair away from the square-tiled table to help her.
“Thank you.”
No sooner did he pull another chair around for himself than a dark-haired woman probably Jillian’s age approached carrying a tray of food and drinks. Her curious brown eyes looked at both of them before she set it down on the table.
“Gracias, Soraya. Please meet my guest, Senora Jillian Gray.”
She lifted her head. “How do you do, Senora.”
“Soraya and her husband and children live in the house to the south of the courtyard.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Soraya.”
Remi lifted everything off the tray before handing it back to her. His gaze swerved to Jillian. “Soraya is Paco and Maria’s married daughter. She has two children, eight and six. Before the day is out you’ll meet them and her husband, Miguel.”
Jillian smiled at her. “I have a niece and nephew whom I miss terribly. What are your children’s names?”
“Marcia and Nina.”
“Perhaps you should warn them my eye got poked by some glass so they won’t be scared when they first meet me and think I’m some kind of alien from outer space.”
At Soraya’s puzzled expression Remi translated for her. A smile broke out on her pretty face. She said something back in rapid Spanish. He turned to Jillian. “She says her girls will think you look like Cinderella.”
“You mean from the fractured fairy tale version,” she fairly mumbled so the other woman wouldn’t pick up her words. She had to jest or go a little mad waiting for the result of her checkup next week.
Any light from Remi’s gaze faded before he declared, “Senora Gray says you’re too kind, Soraya.”
Jillian’s bad manners had not amused him. Horrified by her gaffe, she looked up at the other woman and nodded. What else could she do?
As soon as Maria’s daughter left them alone, Remi began eating as if nothing had happened.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“I’ve been wondering when you would vent. It had to happen sometime. You wouldn’t be human otherwise. We can only carry pain inside us for so long.”
Her hand twisted the corner of the cloth napkin into a wad. “But not at Soraya’s expense.”
“She doesn’t know enough English to have understood. No harm done.”
“But you won’t forget. After everything you’ve done for me, I’m ashamed.”
He drank from his water goblet, then leveled his glance on her. “Don’t be. I assume you would have made the same remark to your brother in front of her. Since I promised to stand in for him, it must mean I’m doing an adequate job.”
Ping. Did you hear what he just said, Jillian?
“The next time I talk to Dave, I’ll tell him that being taken care of by Senor Goyo is like having another protective brother around. I couldn’t possibly be in better hands.”
If she truly looked on him the way she did Dave, she wouldn’t have given it a thought, but that wasn’t the case. To be this aware of Remi was pure torture and she still had the rest of the day to get through before someone drove her back to Madrid.
She thought, of course, her comment would have pleased him, but those shuttered eyes revealed nothing to her gaze. He continued to eat without saying anything. Maybe she’d better concentrate on the food before he thought she wasn’t hungry after all.
Trying not to look at him sitting there with a portion of his tanned chest showing, she took her first bites of food. “Um…is this lamb?”
“Sí, Senora. It’s called cuchifrito.”
“And what’s the other dish?”
“Queso manchego, a local cheese specialty made from ewe’s milk.”
“Everything’s delicious.”
“I’m glad you approve.”
Though he seemed to have a healthy appetite, there was an awkward silence between them she didn’t know how to breach. It was her fault. Not knowing what else to do, she ate everything on her plate before putting down her fork.
“Remi?” she said at last. Her nerves were too frayed to sit there much longer like this. “Have you given any thought to my proposal?” He hadn’t broached the subject yet, but maybe talking about business would get them on a better footing.
“Before a discussion can take place, you need to tour the estate. If you’re up to it, we’ll get started. I need to change and will meet you in the courtyard in fifteen minutes.”
He put his napkin down and rose to his feet. She had the impression he couldn’t get away from her fast enough. “Stay here and enjoy the dessert that’s coming. Normally we would serve you oranges, a tradition of the Goyas. However, I asked Maria to prepare something unique for you.”
She flashed him a small smile, hoping to ease the tension. “Another specialty of the region?”
“That’s right. When you’ve finished, tell me if you don’t prefer chocolate mousse made with olive oil rather than butter.” On that parting note he disappeared through an alcove.
It turned out Jillian was late joining him.
The mousse was out of this world. She ended up following Soraya into the kitchen to have a discussion with Maria about how she’d made it. Jillian learned they used olive oil for everything.
“In Spain we’re surrounded with olive groves, not dairy land.” Her explanation made perfect sense.
“Did you put a little almond in the mousse?”
“No. Our olives have a fruity taste.”
Fabulous. Jillian had cooked with Goyo oil many times, but hadn’t realized how that particular flavor would come out in the chocolate. “I’d love to stay in here and talk, but the Senor is waiting. Thank you for the wonderful meal.”
“Thank you for the flowers.” She’d put them on a side table beneath the arched window.
After nodding to both women she hurried through the casa to get her digital camera. Then she ran out to the courtyard. Remi and one of his staff stood against the door of a truck with their heads together. He broke off talking when he saw her and moved toward her wearing jeans and a white cotton shirt his build did amazing things for.
“I’m sorry I’m late, but there was a reason,” she explained nervously.
His worried gaze swept over her. “If you’re too tired or hot, we can put this off.”
“If you must know, I was in the kitchen talking to Maria and the time got away from us.”
At her explanation, the frown lines around his eyes cleared up. “This is her husband, Paco.” He made the introductions.
Jillian shook the foreman’s hand. He had a full head of glistening black hair and was attractive like Diego. The Spanish were beautiful people.
“Your wife is a terrific cook.”
“I know,” he said in a teasing voice, patting his slight paunch. He made a playful fist against the boss’s shoulder. “On this one it doesn’t show.”
No. The Senor was a breed apart from everyone else.
“See you later, Remi.” He made a slight bow to her and walked toward the main house.
“If you’ll get in the truck, I’ll take you around the property so you can see if this is what you’d visualized. We won’t do anything on foot because it’s too hot.”
