October in Madrid dripped with sunshine, snug beneath a cloudless sky that was a quintessential blue. This time they were met at the airport by Seve Marques.
In direct contrast to Twekesborough, there was nothing endearing about Marques. Ann watched him approach, feeling herself stiffen. He was thin and sharp-edged, with a pencil-slash of a mustache. His hair was full and perfectly black despite the fact that Ann knew he had at least twenty-five years on her.
He stepped between her and Jonathan when they passed though the gate, shutting Jonathan out as insignificant to the equation. He might well be, Ann thought, but it was still disrespectful. “Welcome. Your trip was good?” Marques caught her hand and kept holding it. They took four, five, six steps into the concourse before Ann managed to slide her fingers free.
“Madrid is our third destination in as many days,” she answered. “You know how it is.”
“Ah, you should relax then before we talk business. Let me take you to lunch.”
Ann thought of wine at mid-day, of four courses and paella. Her stomach lurched at the thought. She was exhausted, but she knew Spain was going to be tough. There was no sense antagonizing Marques by refusing his offer. “Wonderful,” she murmured.
They piled into a small black sedan with seats as soft as butter. Ann wanted to draw her feet up beneath her, snuggle in, but she and both men were cupped together like triplets in a womb, and there wasn’t enough space. Marques sat between her and Jonathan. He shifted his weight until his hip slid closer to hers.
“Jonathan, how are you doing over there?” Ann asked to forestall any cute or caustic comment he might have. His behavior with Twekesborough was still fresh in her mind.
“Real peachy, cara mia.”
“Any particular reason you’re speaking Italian in Spain?” she asked.
“We’re in Spain? When did we get here?” he responded.
Ann smiled. She knew what he was feeling. The three days they’d spent in Europe felt like twice that amount. She eased her weight against the door, trying to escape the press of Marques’s body. The car inched up in front of a restaurant that offered al fresco dining. Wrought iron tables under a red canopy. Flower boxes spilled leaves and petals over a barrier rail.
“I’m sorry—what?” Ann glanced at Marques. He had said something to her while they were being seated.
“May I see the doll?” he repeated. “Perhaps I am being premature. We should wait until after we dine. But you’ve piqued my curiosity.” His hand moved to her thigh to coax her.
Ann crossed her legs the other way to avoid his touch. She reached for the box she’d placed under her chair.
“You’re a skittish American lady.” His voice was an undertone, meant only for her ears.
She wanted his business. Desperately. But her thigh wasn’t part of the deal. Ann crossed her legs again when his hand came back.
She was shaking a little. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. She was too tired to deal with this sort of thing right now.
Jonathan reached across and took the doll off her hands. “She’s a barracuda,” he said.
Marques shifted in his chair, more or less acknowledging him for the first time. “Your baby doll?”
“No. The American lady.”
“Ah.” Marques’s grin showed teeth. “She is your lady?”
“Do I look suicidal? But you’re not buying her, right? You want this little girl.” Jonathan held up the doll.
“Yes, of course.”
He went through Baby Talk N Glow’s routine, going so far as to add a few of his own improvisations.
He’d picked it up well, Ann thought. In spite of herself, she was almost grateful to Jonathan for taking over, and she smiled slightly at the sight of him, the macho artist, with a doll in his hands.
When Marques asked about the doll’s battery and location, Ann found Jonathan’s foot under the table and pressed down hard to warn him not to answer. To her astonishment, she felt him kick her. She winced with pain, but before she could field the question herself, he answered.
“It’s a secret.” Jonathan reached and took the doll back from Marques’ hands. “It’s tucked up so neat and tidy, even I don’t know where it is.”
“And who are you?” It finally occurred to Marques to ask.
“A genuine, bona fide Morhardt.”
Marques looked to Ann doubtfully. “So who knows where the battery is?”
She suddenly felt playful. “I do,” she said, “and if you commit to a hundred thousand pieces, I promise to tell you.” Ann knew where Marques was going with this.
“One hundred thousand pieces? For that amount, I would need a sample. I have associates. I cannot make such a decision myself.”
“Sorry. No sample,” she said, knocking his hand off her knee again. He looked startled, then frowned.
The waiter came for their order. For the next thirty minutes, Ann sipped wine and picked at the rich paella which, under different circumstances, she would have enjoyed immensely. She declined desert and when the meal was over, she stood to stretch and found she was suddenly woozy. She started towards the ladies’ room when she felt a hand on her elbow and tried to jerk it away. The hand held fast.
It was Jonathan next to her, steadying her. “You okay?” he whispered.
“Just peachy, cara mia.”
He noted the look in her eyes. “You’re buzzed,” he said. Then he added, “Let’s get out of here. We’re wasting our time.”
Ann shook her head. “We’ve got Lothario’s car—which, I might add, contains our luggage. And we have to preserve appearances with him for the next time around. There’s a future beyond this doll, Jonathan.”
“Is there?”
She thought about it for a fraction of a second. “Well, actually, maybe not.”
“Okay then. Lothario can kiss my ass.”
He kept her elbow and steered her toward the street. He found a cab and pushed her inside, then he went back to get their luggage from Marques’s driver. Marques was still in the restaurant, taking care of the bill.
“Where are we going?” he asked Ann when he got in the cab.
“Damned if I know,” she muttered. “Old Seve made our hotel arrangements.”
She leaned into him a little when the cab turned a corner. Jonathan caught her shoulder and shoved her upright. “Okay. I know Madrid pretty well.”
That surprised her. “You do?”
“Of course. What do you think? I’ve never traveled before? I was here last spring. A group of artist friends decided it was time to stir the muse in all of us.” He turned to the driver. “To the Melia, por favor.”
Ann settled back in her seat, rubbed her forehead and stared straight ahead. “We’ve got a great product. This stop shouldn’t have gone so badly.”
“You’ve got Markie-Poo in London wrapped around your finger.”
“And I just lost Spain.” She thought about it. “No, I didn’t. Marques never intended to give us a commitment.”
“Is that why you wouldn’t let him have a sample?”
“If I had, within ten weeks every store shelf in Spain would have been stocked with a Baby Talk N Glow replica. They’re famous for their knock-offs. He was trying to angle something out of me that he could copy.”
“Or you bailed,” he said.
“No, I didn’t. I wanted to stay. Except for the fact that he was groping me.”
Jonathan felt something hard prod him in the chest. “Where?”
“In the restaurant. Under the table.”
“No, I meant which part of your … anatomy.”
She cut him another look. “This interests you for some reason?”
“Yeah.”
“My leg.”
“And you let him?”
She elbowed him lightly in the ribs.
“This is bad, right?” he asked finally. “Losing Spain.”
“It’s bad.”
The car stopped in front of their hotel, but he didn’t open the door. “What are you going to tell Felicia?”
She never hesitated. “Not a word.”
“You’re going to lie to her about it?”
“Of course not. I’m going to evade her.”
“Can you do that?”
“Until I have some good news to tell her, yes.”
Her skin seemed stretched over her cheekbones and wore an almost bluish cast. Then her eyes sparked again with that familiar grit. “Are you going to sit here staring at me all day or can we go inside?” she snapped.
There, he thought, was the Ann he knew. “Where are we off to tomorrow?”
“It’s a secret,” she teased. “You’ll have to wait and see.”
“I think I’m going to pour more liquor into you tonight and get your secrets out onto the table.”
“After I sleep. I need a second wind, then maybe I’ll dance on a few tables for you.”
She pushed on her door and got out of the car. Jonathan retrieved their luggage. He kept his gaze slanted her way as she strode into the lobby. Her legs were steady enough but there was definitely something off in the set of her shoulders. It was the kind of detail his painter’s eye would catch. The arrogance was gone, he thought.
She was scared, he realized. What had she said? Spain shouldn’t have gone this badly?
Yeah, he thought, he’d ply her with liquor and dig into her for details. But was that all he really wanted? Details of their itinerary? An explanation of why she was so worried? Or was he hiding the truth of his true motives, even from himself?