A Spanish Inheritance

‘Perhaps I should.’

His fury was like a coiled spring. It showed in every tendon, every muscle; Annalisa had never seen anything like it and backed away from him instinctively as he made for the door.

‘I’ll make you a fair offer for the finca,’ he flung back over his shoulder.

In spite of everything that had happened between them, she believed him.

When Ramon had gone, Annalisa felt completely numb. It was a long time before she was ready to make the phone calls necessary if she was to find someone to take care of all the animals until the finca was sold.

The best news of all came when Maria Teresa agreed to taking on the responsibility of Fudge’s proposed transfer to England. ‘You might be an ugly mutt,’ Annalisa told him fondly when he came to lie across her feet, ‘but everyone loves you.’

When all the loose ends were tied up she devoted the rest of the afternoon to packing up her few belongings. There were still a couple of days to go before she left the island, and when she left she would give everything Ramon had ever given to her back to him. She folded the beautiful clothes carefully with tissue paper, and then put them into some decent carrier bags. She would ask the taxi driver to deliver them after he dropped her at the airport.

Her last few hours on the island flew by at breakneck speed, and before she knew where she was Annalisa found herself dragging the last of her suitcases up to the front door.

Fudge would soon be living with Maria Teresa. She would drop him off on the way to the airport. She sighed as she looked down at him. Was she doing the right thing? Would he take to suburban life? No beaches…no sea to play in… She turned as she heard a car draw up and took down his lead from the door.

‘It’s only the taxi, Fudge,’ she said, wondering why he didn’t leap around as he normally did when a walk was in prospect. But instead of being wildly excited, the old dog was poised stiffly by the door with his nose rammed into a small gap at the base. ‘Come on,’ she murmured as she tried to ease him away. But, having set up a rumbling persistent growl, Fudge refused to budge.

Opening the door carefully, so he was forced to back away, Annalisa stiffened too as every antagonistic bone in her body went on full alert.

‘You don’t know me, but—’ a woman’s voice spoke.

But I do know you, Annalisa thought, hiding her shock as she surveyed her father’s widow.

‘I’m afraid I’m about to leave—’ she started. Instinctively she glanced down the lane. There was still no sign of her transport. Curiosity and outright antipathy did battle in her mind until curiosity won. ‘But my taxi’s not here yet. Won’t you come in?’

Elegantly clad in soft shades of peach, and carrying a waft of some exclusive scent about her, Claudia di Fuego Montoya looked around as she walked past Annalisa into the main living room. ‘My word,’ she exclaimed in a melodious if faintly patronising voice, ‘I heard the rumours, but I never imagined for one moment—’

‘That I would make my home here?’ Annalisa prompted softly.

‘Well, yes. I suppose that’s what I mean. But this is really very nice,’ Claudia Montoya admitted as she peered about the room.

‘Would you like to sit down?’ Annalisa suggested.

The older woman hesitated, her limpid gaze embracing everything including the suitcases. ‘I can see this is not a convenient moment.’

‘There will be no convenient moment,’ Annalisa said truthfully. ‘In fact, Señora Montoya, I am leaving Menorca…for good.’

‘Oh, dear. I had thought—’

Her regret was about as genuine as a pawnbroker’s pity, Annalisa thought, gesturing towards an easy chair set by the window. ‘Yes?’ she enquired politely.

‘Well,’ Señora Montoya began, ‘before you arrived I had thought to buy the finca—’ She left the sentence unfinished and reached one hand into the air in an almost balletic pose, as if trying to snag the right phrase.

‘For a song?’ Annalisa supplied.

‘That’s putting it rather too bluntly, my dear.’

‘The time for niceties has gone, don’t you think?’ Annalisa returned evenly. ‘I came here to claim my inheritance only to find myself ranged against Ramon Perez. And, forgive me, Señora Fuego Montoya, but now it seems that I am about to leave at the point where you identify yourself as yet another rival for this land.’ From the look on her face Annalisa guessed that no one had ever spoken to her father’s glamorous widow in quite such a direct manner.

‘I admit I was thrown by what I heard about developments here,’ Señora Montoya admitted. ‘And also by talk of you restoring the orange groves.’