Luna Tango Page 17

  Bingo.

  Iris was about to get a nasty shock. Until now, her mother had gotten away with her actions scot-free but her luck had run out. Iris Kennedy had to face her reality.

  The time had come.

  CHAPTER

  18

  1953 – Louisa

  Louisa arrived at the port with twenty minutes to spare. The stench of rotting seaweed penetrated the salty air but the calm waters lapping against the pier pylons soothed her. The scenario reminded her of arriving in Buenos Aires: she was lost, lonely and desperate to find her place in the world—the exact feelings plaguing her now.

  Louisa gave a small sigh and tiptoed to a dark corner where she was hidden from the dockworkers but close enough to observe people entering the gates. She pulled down the brim of her hat to obscure her eyes, her most distinctive feature and the one all Argentines recognised. She’d done a terrible job with cutting her locks but the black hair dye she’d used looked convincing. Louisa squinted and adjusted the glasses on her nose. She doubted anyone would notice a pair of glasses missing from Eduardo’s extensive collection, although using Eduardo’s possessions to cover her trail didn’t sit well with her.

  She sat on the small case packed to the brim with the same clothes she’d arrived with in Buenos Aires. They were simple designs in coarse material, unlike the designer clothes Eduardo had bought her over the years.

  Checking the large clock on the wall of the shed, her heart fluttered. Ten minutes until the boat’s departure.

  ‘Come on,’ she muttered, staring at the entrance.

  A dark figure strode through the gate, stopped, looked about and continued straight ahead. He was tall like Roberto but his shoulders were broader and steps longer. Héctor.

  Stepping out of the shadows, she approached him. She could barely speak. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He’s not coming.’

  Inhaling deeply, she took a moment before asking, ‘Why?’

  ‘I did find him.’ Héctor paused, as if willing his mind to give him the right words. ‘He’s in a state.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He can’t string a sentence together. I found him three blocks away from his house, in a gutter.’

  ‘What happened?’ Guilt ripped through her. She should have gone back to him, made sure he was safe.

  Héctor shrugged. ‘I do not know.’

  ‘Maybe he had concussion. Perhaps he got confused ...’ Her hands flew up to cover her eyes. ‘It’s all my fault.’

  ‘No, it’s not.’ Héctor squeezed her shoulder gently.

  Dropping her hands to her side, she looked at him. ‘I can’t go without Roberto.’

  ‘Louisa, you have to. Roberto’s in safe hands. A doctor friend is looking after him at his surgery and is getting him through the worst part. He’ll be well enough to travel shortly.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Look.’ He nodded towards the sky, which was changing into pre-dawn grey. ‘It’s getting too light and there’s no way he’s going to make this boat. Tonight, I promise, he’ll be on the first sailing after sunset.’

  She glanced at the boat. Lights silhouetted a lone figure who hadn’t taken his eyes off her and Héctor.

  ‘You need to go. Find the Hotel Flamenco and do not move until I contact you.’

  ‘I—I can’t.’ Her feet were rooted to the ground. How could she be sure Roberto would get on the boat tonight? As soon as the public heard about their affair—and they would—he’d be a victim of their witch hunt. ‘I’m not leaving without him.’

  ‘I promise you, Louisa, he will meet you in Montevideo tonight. After dark. You need to leave. This is the only way for me to save you both.’

  With trembling hands she bent over, grabbed the case and straightened, holding it close to her chest.

  Héctor shoved his hands in his pockets and looked away. ‘You need to go.’

  The boat blew its horn and she dropped her case and threw her arms around her friend, kissing him on the cheek. He embraced her in return, so tight she could barely breathe. Eventually he let go and she grabbed her case, spun and hurried away before she changed her mind.

  Silently making her way along the gangplank, she tried to convince herself everything would be all right. If she didn’t believe this with her whole being, she’d change direction and run into the city to knock on the door of every doctor’s surgery until she found Roberto. But she trusted Héctor. He’d never let her down and he’d kept Roberto and Louisa’s relationship quiet for such a long time. She had no reason to doubt he wouldn’t get Roberto on board and into her arms by day’s end.

  The captain nodded a hello and held out his hand to help her on board. The boat had seen better days, with rust on every surface, a deck that hadn’t been scrubbed since the vessel was built and grime on every window. It didn’t matter, though. This was her ticket out, and as the boat pulled away from the dock, she held onto the railing, cold wind whipping hair against her face. Pushing the stray curls from her eyes, she watched the red dawn break over Buenos Aires and the streetlights twinkling throughout the city she loved so dearly. Somewhere, in the maze of alleys and anonymous houses, was an injured Roberto. She closed her eyes and prayed it wouldn’t be long until she could remain in his arms forever.

  * * *

  It took less than one day for the news of Eduardo Canziani’s death to reach Uruguay. Mourners poured onto the streets, their heads hung low, carrying candles and marching slowly to gather in plazas and parks. When Eduardo’s mentor, Carlos Gardel, had died in a plane crash in 1935, riots had spread like wildfire across Latin America. With Canziani’s death, the crowds were calm in their grief but Louisa had lived in South America long enough to know people’s temperament could change in a flash.

  She’d spent hours trudging to the public phone at the cabina, battling with the pathetic phone system, trying to contact Héctor. Checking the clock on the bedside table, Louisa prepared to make yet another trip down the street. Hopefully, this would be the last time she’d need to; Roberto was due at the port in four hours.

  Closing the door behind her, Louisa passed the unmanned reception and slipped through the doors that led outside, where a light evening breeze danced through the streets. It wasn’t cool enough to dampen the rising heat of the growing crowds, though. A boy of about fifteen travelling in the opposite direction collided with her, his head banging into her shoulder.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said.

  His wide eyes fixed on her, taking in every detail. People surged around them as he stood and stared. Discomfort and panic sent her running into the mob and she rounded a corner and dashed into an alley. Leaning against the wall, she panted, her heart racing.

  The place reeked of decaying fish and vegetables, and when she looked around, she found a row of six bins, full to the brim with rotting food. She almost gagged but didn’t want to leave the hiding spot as she needed to calm her frayed nerves. Of course the boy would stop and stare at a woman with blue eyes—they weren’t common in a country where most residents’ eyes were brown. But it was his flicker of recognition that spooked her. If a teenager could recognise her, then she’d have no hope of hiding her identity in Latin America. If word got out she was in Montevideo and not in Argentina mourning for Eduardo, people would track her down and point the finger. No news had come through about love triangles. Not yet, anyway.

  Now that she’d had time to process the events she wasn’t so sure heeding Héctor’s advice had been the wisest decision, but she couldn’t risk returning to Buenos Aires. She had to wait for Roberto to arrive then they could move on with their lives.

  A slow murmur gathered momentum as people stopped and clustered in small groups, talking among themselves. Some gasped and others placed hands over their open mouths, eyes wide. Louisa emerged from the alley just as a young woman rushed past.

  Louisa grabbed the woman’s arm. ‘What’s happening?’

  The woman waved a newspaper. ‘They know who murdered Edua
rdo Canziani!’

  ‘Who?’ Louisa’s voice came out hoarse.

  ‘Eduardo’s muse and protégé. This is them, here.’ She pointed to the newspaper’s front page. The press had used a photo of Louisa and Eduardo taken at a recent concert and someone at the paper had placed an X across Eduardo’s face. Next to that was a photo of Roberto. She’d never seen the photo before and had no idea how the press had got hold of it.

  ‘Have they found them?’ Louisa’s hands trembled and she adjusted her hat, using the brim to shield her eyes. Her pulse raced and she licked her lips, trying to diminish the sudden dryness.

  ‘Not yet. They’re in hiding, but the police have offered a reward for information.’ She let out a low whistle. ‘The reward’s large enough to support a king for life.’

  The woman took off, waving the paper above her head and shouting about the latest development. Louisa’s knees threatened to buckle but she managed to get to the hotel, up the stairs and to the safety of her room. Sitting heavily on the bed, she wrapped her arms around her stomach, ill to the core. In theory, Roberto was due to arrive shortly but that hinged on whether Héctor had helped him avoid detection.

  She grabbed her clothes and threw them into her bag. Despite her urge to run, she casually walked down the stairs, sauntering past the empty reception and out on to the darkened street. The crowds had subsided slightly and she picked her way through, careful to avoid eye contact. Arriving at the port, she hid in the shadows, almost unable to contain the rising panic in her belly.

  After what seemed an eternity, the boat arrived. She stood in the shadows as the men unloaded cargo but not a single passenger disembarked. Anxious, Louisa watched and prayed to see Roberto’s long legs carrying his beautiful frame off the boat.

  She shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, dread coursing through her veins. After another half-hour, her hopes crashed like the sea against the rocks. Collapsing in the dark corner, she fought the urge to fall into an inconsolable, hysterical mess. She removed her glasses and placed her palms on her eyes to stop the tears from breaking free.

  Moments later, heavy footsteps stopped near where she sat on the cold, dusty ground. Opening her eyes and sliding on the glasses, she spied dirty work boots, around the same size as Roberto wore. Smiling, she looked up, only to find the bearded captain gazing at her.

  ‘Oh, I thought you were—’ Tears burned her eyes.

  ‘Who?’ His smooth voice didn’t match his rough exterior.

  ‘How did you know I was here?’

  ‘I work at night so I’m used to seeing things, and people, in the shadows. You are bad at hiding.’

  Her hand automatically fingered the short, dark hair poking out from under her hat. She had no idea whether he was talking about her disguise or her lurking in the shadows.

  ‘I was waiting for your passenger,’ she said.

  ‘What passenger? The gentleman who helped you on the boat last night? He chartered a boat to Paraguay after you left.’

  Her hand flew to her heart. ‘What?’

  ‘My colleague, Captain Ruiz, left with your friend about one hour after we sailed to Montevideo. I heard about it this afternoon when I showed for work. It stuck in my mind because I thought it strange he would send you on a boat to Uruguay then leave for Paraguay.’

  ‘No, the captain must be mistaken. Héctor—the gentleman— was helping a friend of mine, after he had an accident, to get on a boat tonight. He ...’ She let the words fall away. Why would Héctor have lied to her? Perhaps he—Oh no.

  ‘May I make a suggestion?’

  She nodded. The captain’s kind eyes didn’t make holding back her tears an easy task.

  ‘Do not stay here waiting for someone who will not show. Héctor, your friend, if that’s what you still want to call him, is long gone. He bought a one-way ticket and paid a hefty price for the passage.’ The captain looked over to his boat, where a sailor waved at him. ‘I must go. I am sorry to tell you this news.’ The captain returned to the boat, started the engine and puttered off into the wall of black sky.

  Alone again, Louisa sat on the cold hard ground, pain gripping her tense muscles. A solitary question bounced around her mind and even though she tried to quash it, she found it impossible. What if Héctor had killed Eduardo but framed Roberto?

  Darkness swallowed the lights of the boat and she stood, moving to the edge of the dark, empty dock. Sea mist wrapped around her frozen body. She’d never felt more alone.

  She shook her head and tried to clear the tiredness messing with her mind. She needed to work out how to reunite with Roberto. The bells on the buoys rang in the distance, warning of danger ahead—she hoped they didn’t foretell her future.

  CHAPTER

  19

  Dani’s slumber was ripped away by someone pummelling on her door. She squinted at the bedside clock and a bright green 10.03 p.m. glared at her. Stumbling to the door, she opened it then rubbed her bleary eyes.

  Carlos stood there clutching a bunch of wilted gerberas, a cloud of alcohol hanging over him in the doorway. His hair, shirt and pants were dishevelled and his eyes were as red as hers felt.

  ‘I am sorry.’ He remained in the hallway, not moving.

  She touched his arm and said, ‘Come in.’

  ‘No.’ He looked at the ground and shook his head.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Come in and I’ll send for coffee. You look like you could do with a feed as well.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Carlos, look at me.’ She put her finger under his chin and tilted it upwards. ‘Have a shower, eat and drink something, and I promise, you’ll feel better.’

  ‘I am sorry.’

  ‘Tell me you’re sorry in here.’ She stuck her head out the door. A few metres away, an elderly couple stared. She grabbed his arm, hauled him in and shut the door.

  He thrust the flowers in her direction. ‘For you.’

  ‘Thanks. You need a shower.’ She placed the flowers on the table. He didn’t put up a fight as she unbuttoned his top and undid his pants. He stepped out of them with difficulty, leaning against the wall for balance. Even though they’d been naked together before, Carlos had taken great pains to conceal his damaged leg, but as she knelt before him, he allowed her to look at his scarring and the large depression in his knee. Normally faint-hearted when it came to injuries, this time Dani didn’t flinch. Instead, she ran her fingers gently along the damaged flesh and looked up at him.

  ‘It does not make you sick?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘No. It is a part of you.’

  ‘I have never allowed anyone apart from doctors to see it this close.’

  ‘Not even Cecilia?’

  He shook his head.

  Standing, she gently guided him to the bathroom and he stood in the middle of the room, looking lost. She ran the shower and motioned for him to enter. Dani didn’t know what was going on in his head but she couldn’t stand seeing this strong-willed man looking so defeated. He’d already apologised and later they’d discuss his behaviour from earlier in the day, but right now he needed some TLC.

  She grabbed his clothes, put them in the bathroom then closed the door, giving him the privacy he needed. Sitting on the bed, she opened the laptop and clicked on Adam’s latest email. Hitting reply, she wrote:

  Adam, thank you for your concern, but I am fine. I am not gallivanting, I am working. You’ll get your stories and you’ll get them in plenty of time.

  D

  She hit send. Dani wanted to say more but it could wait until she got to New York. Although the thought of leaving Argentina didn’t fill her with excitement like it initially had. These days she felt less like a foreigner and more like an expat. This alone should set alarm bells ringing but the winds of change had picked up and if she wasn’t careful, this slight breeze would turn into a hurricane.

  Her failure to write a finished article concerned her immensely. She felt blocked. Of course, she could blame this entirely on the state of the relatio
nships with her mother and grandma, but it went deeper. In a way, this inability to write felt like self-sabotage. Why would she want to destroy the only chance she had to break into features after battling a tsunami of emotions this past fortnight? What was wrong with her?

  Opening her notebook, she flicked through the pages, anger propelling her fingers. She stopped at the notes she’d scrawled earlier:

  Tango arrived in Marseille, France, in the early 1900s, by way of Argentine sailors dancing with the local women. It slowly made its way to Paris and by 1912, tango had put France under a spell.

  At the time, Argentina was enjoying newfound wealth, but it was a case of the rich getting richer and the poor remaining in squalor. The wealthy families of Argentina sent their sons to Europe to study or travel and, as is the tendency of most young men, they strayed into areas and establishments that would horrify their family families.

  The well-to-do Argentine men enjoyed the company of women they wouldn’t take home to Mother, and as most of the men were excellent tango dancers, they taught the French women moves that wouldn’t be acceptable in elite Argentine society. Upper-class Parisians were fascinated by the tango and soon it took over the dance floors as the number one dance.

  By 1913, tango had spread across the world. Establishments such as the Waldorf Hotel and Selfridges department store in London adopted Thés Dansants (high tea with tango dancing) and everyone wanted to be a part of tango.

  Even though small groups still disapproved, tango had a major influence both on and off the dance floor. The corsets and hoop skirts of the era morphed into tulip skirts that opened at the front so women could dance tango more easily. The fashion of wearing a feather that swept horizontally across the face changed to vertical so the accessory didn’t hinder women dancing with their tango partner.

  A whole industry sprang up and the Parisian fashion houses took advantage of the desire of their customers to look and feel what they perceived as an authentic tango dancer. Shoes, stockings, hats and dresses were marketed as tango attire. One clever fashion designer had an excess of orange material he couldn’t sell. When he renamed it ‘Tango’, he sold all of his stock and had people lining up to order more.