dragged a hand over his carefully groomed stubble before responding to the jibe with a joking retort: ‘You can always improve upon perfection.’
In reality, Ramon was philosophical that, effort or not, perfect profile or not, he was never going to have what his charismatic brother had and wasted. If not criminal, it was at the very least bad manners to Ramon’s way of thinking to not even appear to notice the women who seemed more than willing to overlook his brother’s imperfect profile—the slight bump in his nose was a permanent reminder of Santiago’s rugby-playing days—as they sought to attract his attention by any, some not exactly subtle, means.
He angled his speculative gaze at the older man seated behind the massive mahogany desk. Despite the fact he wasted opportunities, his brother was no monk, but he was equally by no stretch of the imagination a player.
‘Will you ever marry again, do you think?’ Ramon regretted the unconsidered words the moment they left his lips. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to …’ He gave an awkward shrug. It had been eight years since Magdalena had died and even though he’d been a kid at the time himself Ramon could still remember how awful the dead look in his brother’s eyes had been. Even now a careless mention of Magdalena’s name could bring it back. Not that he didn’t have a constant reminder: little Gabriella was the spitting image of her mother.
Feeling sympathy for Ramon’s obvious discomfort, Santiago pushed away the sense of crushing failure and guilt any thought of his dead wife always evoked and made himself smile.
‘So this Lucy is making you think of marriage …?’ he asked, changing the subject, fully anticipating his brother’s horrified denial. ‘She must be special,’ he drawled.
‘She is …’
Santiago’s brows lifted at the vehemence in his brother’s response.
‘Very special. Marriage …?’ A thunderstruck expression crossed Ramon’s face before he directed a challenging look at his brother and added, ‘Why not?’ Ramon said, looking almost as shocked to hear himself say the words as Santiago felt hearing them.
Repressing a groan and taking comfort from the shock, Santiago struggled not to react to the challenge.
‘Why not?’ he drawled, struggling to keep the bite out of his voice as he added, ‘Let me see … you’re twenty-three and you’ve known this girl how long?’
‘You were twenty-one when you got married.’
Santiago’s dark lashes came down in a concealing mesh as he thought, And look how well that worked out.
Aware that too much opposition would just make his brother dig his heels in, Santiago gave an offhand shrug. Ramon’s enthusiasms frequently cooled as quickly as they surfaced.
‘Maybe I should meet this Lucy …?’
The beginnings of a belligerent gleam faded from his easy-going brother’s eyes. ‘You’ll love her, Santiago, you’ll see, you won’t be able to help yourself. She’s perfect! Totally perfect, a …’ He moved his hands in an expressive curving sweep and gave a sigh. ‘A goddess.’
Santiago raised an amused brow at the reverent declaration and, grimacing slightly, ran his thumb down the pile of correspondence designated personal that had been awaiting him on his return.
‘If you say so.’ His thoughts moving on, he picked up the top envelope and got to his feet, stretching the kinks from his spine as he walked around the big mahogany desk.
‘You know I’ve never met anyone like her before.’
‘This Lucy sounds … exceptional.’ Santiago, who had never encountered a woman who was either perfect or a goddess, humoured Ramon.
‘So you’ve no objection?’
‘Bring her to dinner on Friday?’
‘Seriously? Here?’
Santiago nodded absently as he scrolled down the page he held, squinting to read the neat but microscopic tightly packed writing on it. The message it held was familiar: Ramon, his mother said, had messed up and what, she wanted to know, was he going to do about it?
His head lifted. ‘You didn’t mention you have to retake your second year.’ A fact that his stepmother, without actually saying so, managed to expertly imply was actually Santiago’s fault.
Maybe, he mused, she had a point?
Had the time come for some tough love? While he wanted his brother to enjoy the freedom he had missed out on after their father’s premature death, had he been guilty of over-compensating and being too indulgent and overprotective?
Ramon shrugged. ‘To be honest, marine biology isn’t really what I was expecting.’
Santiago’s jaw tightened as he scanned the younger man’s face with narrowed eyes. ‘Neither, as I recall, was archaeology or, what was it … ecology …?’
‘Environmental science,’ his brother supplied. ‘Now that, believe me, was—’
‘You’re so bright, I just don’t understand how …’ Santiago interrupted, reining in his frustration with difficulty and asking, ‘Did you actually go to any lectures, Ramon?’
‘A couple … yeah, I know, Santiago, but I’m going to buckle down, really I am. Lucy says—’
‘Lucy?’ He saw his brother’s face and added, ‘The goddess. Sorry, I forgot.’
‘A good education, Lucy says, is something that no one can take away from you.’
Santiago blinked. This Lucy didn’t sound like any of the numerous females his brother had hooked up with to date. ‘I’m looking forward to meeting this Lucy.’ Maybe a good woman, someone who thought education was a good thing, was what his brother needed?
The jury was still out but he decided to keep an open mind.
When on her very first day at the finca Harriet’s car had refused to start Lucy had said no problem and walked the mile into town. There had been a problem—not the distance, but the scorching Andalusian midday sun.
A week later Harriet’s car was still sitting propped up on bricks in the yard, awaiting the part the mechanic had had to order, and the tip of Lucy’s nose was still peeling, though the painful redness had subsided and her complexion had regained its normal pale peaches and cream glow.
Today she had not taken up Harriet’s sensible suggestion of a taxi—she loved to walk—but she had chosen a more appropriate time to make the trip and, arriving early, she had managed to buy everything on Harriet’s shopping list while it was still cool enough to enjoy the walk back through truly incredible scenery, but she was taking no chances. Lucy had plastered on the factor thirty and borrowed a shapeless straw sun hat from Harriet.
It was still only ten-thirty when she reached the footbridge across the stream that bordered Harriet’s property, a single-story terracotta-roofed cottage that had the basics and not much else. It was the four acres of scrubby land that had attracted her friend. On retirement Harriet had decided to live her dream and start, to the amazement of her academic ex-work colleagues, a donkey sanctuary in Spain.
When Lucy had said she thought she was being very brave, her old university tutor had retorted she was simply following the example of her favourite ex-student. Lucy, who was not accustomed to being held up as a role model, had not pointed out that her change of lifestyle had not been one of choice, more of necessity.
On impulse she walked down the grassy bank by the bridge and slipped off her sandals. The first initial touch of the icy water against her hot, dusty skin made her gasp. She laughed with pleasure as she felt her way carefully over the smooth stones, wading out until the water reached her calves.
Pulling off the sun hat, she shook free her ash-blonde hair and, head tipped back to the azure sky, she closed her eyes to shut out the sun and sighed. It was bliss!
With