The Spanish Promise by Karen Swan

Author:Karen Swan
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781760785826
Publisher: Pan Macmillan UK

Chapter Thirteen

Charlotte sat in the back of the car, trying to look calmer than she felt. It was a black stretch Range Rover and had looked like a presidential motorcade when it had pulled up outside her apartment. Mateo had arranged for his driver to collect Marina and then her grandmother first – Charlotte couldn’t imagine how it had managed to turn down Marina’s street – and they were already sitting in overwhelmed silence when she first climbed in.

A little small talk – health, the weather, was the glass really bullet-proof? (yes) – had tided them over for the first few minutes, but they were all nervous and soon lapsed into distracted silences.

‘Where are we going now?’ Marina asked. ‘The airport is that way.’ She pointed right as they swung left.

‘Yes. But we are also collecting my colleague. Professor Nathan Marling.’

‘A professor?’ Señora Quincy enquired, like her nephew – an eye for the details. ‘What kind of bank is this, that has counsellors and professors?’

‘My clients try to be . . . holistic in their approach,’ Charlotte said lightly, not wanting to give too much away about Nathan’s work. She didn’t think Señora Quincy would take kindly to knowing her past was being thoroughly investigated.

‘And what is he a professor of?’

Too late. Charlotte swallowed. ‘History.’

The old woman’s eyes narrowed with immediate displeasure and it was evident she knew exactly what was happening behind her back. They sank into a stiff silence, looking out of the windows instead.

The Las Letras district had none of the flashy townhouses of Salamanca, nor the trendy condos of Goya. Rather it had a bohemian vibe, with boldly painted buildings veering from the usual umber and ochre palette to terracotta reds, hot pinks and oranges. The buildings were functional rather than beautiful – in spite of their exotic colours – and crowded so close together Charlotte thought it must surely be possible for people to stand on their balconies and touch the fingertips of their neighbours across the street.

The car slowed to a crawl as the driver looked for the address, pedestrians having to squeeze past to get by, glancing down at the blacked-out windows with both annoyed and curious looks.

Señora Quincy looked uncomfortable. Perhaps it was the attention, but, more likely, it was the stress of what they were embarking upon – a return to her old home for the first time in . . . well, no one yet knew how many years. In spite of the ivory quilted aniline leather upholstery and the air-conditioned seats, she looked as uncomfortable as if she was wearing a wool dress in a heatwave – her shoulders twitching, hands clasped tightly together, eyes pressed shut as though if she couldn’t see it, it wasn’t really happening. In fact, she was perfectly attired again – wearing a teal linen shift dress, a pale-pink plastic bangle at her wrist and pink-rimmed spectacles. Forget ninety-eight, Charlotte thought – watching her eyes flicker behind her glasses – she could have passed

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