It Never Rains in Colombia (24 page)

Chapter 19 – CNN

             
The paddles plunged into the water, pushing the small rowing boat swiftly forward across the lake in Hyde Park. The rain had stopped. His strong arms pushed the paddles through the water. She could feel the heat of the midday sun on the back of her head. The light shone through her hair, surrounding her face with an ethereal glow. A warm breeze blew across the Serpentine, making the water quiver softly, rustling through the leaves of the giant trees that lined the footpath leading up to the lake. Christian looked relaxed as he plunged the paddles into the water. “Why did your parents name you Harlow?” he asked.

             
She shrugged, “Why do any of us have the names we have? You know.” She continued tentatively. “I'm leaving next week.”

             
The boat came to a slow stop. He brought the oars in one by one, splashing a little water into the boat. “I'm tired. Shall we stop for a while? Where are you going?” He asked rubbing his right shoulder with one hand.              

             
“Can I row?” she asked.

             
He laughed, “Can you row?”

             
“It can't be that hard.”

             
The puffy orange life jacket got in the way as she reached over and lifted the heavy oars from the sides of the wooden boat. Harlow realised how ridiculous she must look in the giant orange life vest like some puffed-up bird. Christian didn't seem to notice as he leaned down to hand her the oar. Putting it in the little iron oar hole, Harlow said casually, “I'm transferring schools. My parents think this one is too dangerous,” the boat rocked unsteadily from side to side as she began to row.

             
Christian smiled, “My family thinks London is too dangerous. They want me to leave too.”

             
After a few smooth movements, the oar slipped out of Harlow's grip, threatening to slide straight down into the murky depths and never return. Harlow caught it just in time and began rowing awkwardly with the left oar. Silence descended on the boat. Harlow was so focused on getting into the rhythm of rowing that she didn't notice when Christian asked the first time.

             
“Do you want some help?” he asked again, laughingly, making her smile.

             
“Oh.”

             
He grinned, “You're rowing us in a circle.”

             
She suddenly became aware that she was only rowing successfully with one oar. Concentrating on her left arm had made her forget the right oar as she struggled to push the left oar through the water. The little boat was slowly going round in a circle.

             
“Here,” Christian said, putting out a hand for the right oar. When Harlow surrendered the oar to him, he must have noticed the look of defeat on her face. “It took me a while to learn how to do it,” he said with a reassuring smile. “So where's the school?” Christian asked, watching the movements of Harlow's hand as it commanded the left oar in and out of the water, trying carefully to synchronize with the right. She grimaced in pain.

             
“Devon,” she said, quickly adding, “it's not far,” with a hopeful look at him, “so you can always come down for the weekend if you're not busy.”

             
Christian sighed and she noticed the powerful movements of his shoulders under the white button-up shirt. The collar of the shirt highlighted the tanned skin of his neck. He had an earnest look in his eye as he said, “I'm going home.”

             
“Oh no! When?” 

             
Christian shrugged looking dejected, “Tomorrow.”

             
“Where are you going? Barcelona?” she wondered aloud. He'd said that his mother was from there.

             
“Cartagena,” Christian said softly, pausing rowing to look at her. The boat slowed.

             
He hastened to continue rowing. The small baby blue wooden boat glided softly forward through the water. Other boats passed by. A pedalo came side by side with their boat carrying three laughing girls. “Colombia?! Home-home,” she realised, plunging the oar back into the water.

             
“Home-home,” he replied, nodding slowly, watching her face carefully for a reaction.

             
A dull pain coursed through her shoulders like a fire spreading through her back as the words sank in. She struggled to pull the floundering oar into the boat. The boat rocked dangerously, threatening to overturn. There was nothing more to say.

             
Christian looked at Harlow so intensely that she felt as if he were trying to capture her face in his mind. “It's really nice. You would like it there,” he said.

             
She turned away from him. It was easier to look at the flowers on the bank than it was to try to be understanding. “Colombia,” she said to the flowers. The thought of Christian going there became hideous: cocaine, guns, kidnappers running through the jungle, warring drug dealers all burst in to her mind. All the CNN footage reeled through her head in bright technicolour. He took over rowing again, steering the boat into a U-turn and then toward the bank where the boat official stood, waiting in his orange life jacket. “Don't go. Please! Just stay, stay with me.” The words tumbled out of Harlow's mouth before she could stop them. Her face became hot with embarrassment.

             
The boat knocked softly against the side of the concrete bank. Before she could gather her scattered thoughts, she was being helped out of the boat by Christian. Hopping onto dry land, feet firmly on the ground, leaving the boat shaking behind her. The boatman secured a thick rope to the tiny vessel, mooring it up against a short iron pole jammed in the concrete, which barely came past her ankle. Harlow was relieved that he hadn't heard her.

             
She looked up at Christian, his short, wavy, dark hair and brown eyes, past his nose down to the smile that played upon his full lips and then turned toward the path, realising that she was going to miss that smile. Walking a few steps down the dirt path, nearing the wooden boat house built in the style of a log cabin, a little boy ran past her and his father rushed to catch up. “Liam, wait!” 

             
Harlow heard footsteps crunching lightly against the pebbles in the dirt road. A hand softly caught her right arm and she turned to find Christian.

             
Behind him, the little boy stopped just before the water’s edge chattering happily to the boatman.

             
Christian pulled her toward him in a hug. He wrapped his arms around Harlow's waist pulling her in closer to his warm chest, and just as swiftly as he had begun, he released her. It took her by surprise. She exhaled, realising that she had been holding her breath. She wanted to kiss him. As soon as she thought of it, her face heated up in a blush.

             
Harlow kissed Christian and everything around them seemed to melt away, to disappear. All sounds became one hum that was the soft rising of his breathing, a moment she had waited so long for.

             
Christian smiled at her, holding her hand as they walked down the dirt road and onto the concrete path that lay beneath the mammoth trees. Strolling amongst the Sunday crowds of the park, Christian said, “I was supposed to go back last week but I couldn't. I couldn't leave without saying good-bye.” He looked so dejected.

             
“When are you coming back?” Tension ran through her muscles. Christian glanced quickly at her as they navigated through the crowd towards a grassy hill with a wrought-iron exit gate beyond. A roller-blader whizzed past just when he said, “I don't know, hopefully soon.” He rapidly changed the subject, “It will be like I never left. I'll call you so much that you'll get sick of me.”

             
Harlow laughed, “Soon you'll forget to call.”

             
“No, I won't.”             

             
“If you do, just send me a postcard once in a while so I know you're okay.”

             
Christian replied, “I could never forget you.”

Chapter 20 – The Whole Truth

             
“They kept Alex in custody for a whole week,” Sophia explained to Roberto in Spanish as he watched the miscreant sleeping on the sofa.

             
“Why did they let him go?” Roberto asked in irritation.

             
“Because he didn't do anything wrong,” she explained seriously, closing the door to the sitting room.

             
“He's as guilty as sin,” Roberto spat.

             
“You don't understand anything,” Sophia said, pulling her brother away, “Alex saved my life.”

             
“He's a gold digger,” Roberto muttered in a huff as they went to the kitchen.

             
“No, this is about more than money.”

             
At first, Roberto had been happy that his sister had returned home where she belonged. He had been happy to see her sitting in the lounge with all of her luggage around her. Everything had been fine until now. Roberto opened the fridge, scanning its contents before taking out a carton of orange juice. “Maybe it is for you, but not everyone is like you,” he said.

             
“Urgh, use a glass,” Sophia complained as she watched Roberto drink straight from the carton. “Once you get to know him, you'll change your mind. He's an honest person,” she explained.

             
“I won't,” Roberto protested, throwing the juice carton into the bin. “I don't have time for pretenders. ‘Honest’—that's what you said about your dad and look how he set you up.”

             
“Alejandro is not like my father. He left to find me,” Sophia said. “He's a police officer.”

             
“And I'm the Pope. Why do you listen to these fairy stories?”

             
“Aaah, you're impossible.” The toaster clicked and she pinched the hot edges of the bread with her thumb and forefinger lifting them, then dropping them quickly onto the plate.

             
“Hey, guys,” Alex said, coming into the kitchen.

             
“You should be sleeping,” Sophia chastised him.

             
He grinned wryly, “I've had enough.”

             
“Sorry, did we wake you?” Roberto asked stiffly.

             
“No, no, don't worry. I'm sorry to impose on you like this.”

             
“Don't be silly,” Sophia said before Roberto could speak.

             
Roberto left the kitchen and Sophia called after him, “Rob!” Sophia sighed, turning back to Alejandro, “How are you feeling?”

             
Alejandro smiled, “better now that you're here.”

             
Sophia tipped her head to the side, her hair cascaded down her shoulder in a dark curtain. “Are you hungry?” She asked.

             
“No, I'm fine. I ate at the station.”

             
“Prison food,” she exclaimed, “my poor baby.”

             
Alejandro chuckled, “No, not prison food. They bought me takeout.” Her brow furrowed in confusion. “They called my captain and he e-mailed the file.”

             
“Oh,” she said. Alejandro looked around, checking that the door was closed. He said, “Did I tell you I couldn't sleep because I had to see you?”              

             
“No,” Sophia smiled and Alejandro pulled her closer to him, encircling his arms around her waist.

             
“No,” he muttered, “how silly of me.”

             
Sophia looked up, closing her eyes as he kissed her lightly, then murmured, “I've missed you so much, mi amor.”

             
He held her closer. Time seemed to stop as they kissed again. The dripping tap vanished. The scattered rays of sunlight that fell, gently illuminating the kitchen table behind him, highlighted the golden specks in his hazel eyes and brought them into close focus as she opened her eyes for a brief moment, wanting more. Alejandro pulled away, gently holding Sophia's chin making her frown then smile.

             
“For a while, I thought we were cursed, all these bad things happening,” she said thoughtfully.              

             
Alejandro grinned, “Did you regret the day you met me?”

             
Sophia became serious, “If you hadn't found me that night, he would have killed me. I'm sorry I got you into all of this,” Sophia said.

             
“Ha. I should say the same,” Alejandro commented. “I'm sorry I lied to you about who I am. Every case needs an insider. I thought you were that person,” he said, releasing her. “I came to arrest you, to get you to talk. Superstar's love child used as drugs cash mule—it was all so convenient. Then, at the last minute, I got a tip off that some cash was going to be moved, that Victor and your father had changed schedules. I was supposed to check out the basement, but I took a shortcut on the way back to the shop, then got stuck in traffic. It's a good thing I was late back to the bookshop. Otherwise we'd both be dead.”

             
Sophia flashed back to that awful night. Alejandro had come in looking for Sophia, finding the shop empty, her phone on the counter. He'd called her name and run to her when she screamed. He found Victor struggling with her at the top of the stairs. Victor shoved Sophia backwards and she hurtled down. The gunshots rang out as she crashed to the bottom. By the time she'd struggled back up, the basement door had been locked. She saw Alejandro's body through the keyhole, lying in a pool of blood. Flames obscured her view of him as she banged against the door, screaming, trying to force it open, as smoke filled the room. Trapped inside the bookshop, she'd been forced back downstairs, back into the basement by the flames. She saw Victor, bloodied and staggering to his car. She watched him driving away through the grate that led to the road as she yelled for help, struggling to find air. The only place to hide had been behind the false wall. She'd locked herself into the tiny panic room she'd found, taking refuge with the money she'd stumbled upon and the safe full of her father's most important belongings, as the fire raged above. She'd begun to panic, silently praying for help, then she realised it wasn't just a panic room. Her father had built a hidden way out from the shop, a tunnel beneath the row of bakeries and butchers’ shops above, in case his associates ever turned on him, and a way to bring in the dirty money: a secret tunnel that had made her father a fortune and saved her life.

              “I thought he killed you,” Sophia said, pressing her face against Alejandro's shoulder, remembering the gunshots and his body lying in blood. Victor staggering into his car, his side covered in blood, after setting fire to the shop with Sophia inside.

             
“You can't kill love,” Alejandro whispered. “It kept me alive. This love will never die.”