Luna Tango (23 page)

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 relationships 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
.

The popularity of tango throughout the world's upper classes saw it filter back to Buenos Aires. This time, Argentina's elite accepted the dance but only in the new, Parisian version, which didn't involve the ‘vulgar movements' that originated in the slums of Buenos Aires
.

Interesting but not compelling. If she handed in anything along these lines to Adam she could kiss her features career goodbye. She needed something brilliant, but every attempt ended in a spectacular mess of letters scrawled across the page.

The door to the bathroom clicked open and Carlos stepped out, hair wet, colour in his face, and shirt tucked in. Leaning against the doorframe, his eyes connecting with hers.

‘I am—'

‘My amazing powers of deduction tell me you are about to say you're sorry.' She gave him a wink. ‘Do you want to share why you're late by eight hours and why you turned up in a state?'

Taking a seat on the bed's edge, Carlos heaved a sigh and stared at the ground. Eventually, he fixed his eyes on her. ‘It is Cecilia.'

‘Your ex-fiancée?' Dani's head spun with the possibilities that lay within his words but rather than let her imagination run away with itself, she stilled her mind and asked, ‘Did you see her?'

‘No.' He shook his head vehemently. ‘The men, the ones you saw me with today. They were not from UNESCO.'

‘I figured as much. Remember my amazing powers of deduction?' Her lips twitched into a small smile. ‘By the way, did you know you suck at lying?'

He nodded. ‘The men are detectives.'

‘Police or private?'

‘Private. I have been looking since she left me months ago.'

‘Have they found her?'

‘No.'

‘Oh.' A pang of sympathy tugged at her. His relationship with his ex still had an effect and he was dealing with it as best he could. Much like how she'd been trying to cope with her feelings for Adam, although her emotional tie with her ex was now one of anger. ‘Is this what you needed the money for?'

‘What money?'

‘Your consulting fee.'

‘Yes. All I want to do is find her so I can meet my baby.'

Her stomach hollowed and it took a moment before she could form words in her head, let alone mouth. ‘You have a baby?'

‘Yes.' His glassy eyes locked on hers and a solitary tear slid down his cheek. ‘After the accident we tried to repair our relationship but the media poisoned her.'

‘How?'

‘They told untruths.'

‘Like?' She was wary of pushing too far.

‘The media told her stories against me. She ...' He twisted his lips. ‘The accident disfigured her face.'

‘Yes, I'd heard. Is that why she gave up dancing?'

‘You must understand, Cecilia believes her looks are what gives her value. After the crash she became a recluse, much like Iris. Then Cecilia moved out one day, leaving a note that said we were finished and she was pregnant and I should not contact her again.'

Irritation flared at Cecilia's cruelty. What kind of woman leaves a note declaring she's pregnant with her lover's child then buggers off? Leaning over, she placed her hand on the side of his face and used her thumb to wipe away a tear. ‘I'm so sorry.'

‘You do not need to be sorry, I will be all right. It is frustrating to know my child may not meet me. That is the tragedy. I feel nothing for her.' His jaw tensed. ‘She is a disgrace, but my baby,' he sighed, ‘it is for my baby I mourn.'

‘How old is the baby?'

‘He or she is not born yet. This is why I wish to find Cecilia. I want to be there for the birth of my child.'

‘What can I do to help?'

He shrugged and bit his lip. Dani opened her arms and Carlos collapsed into them. The bond between them strengthened as he lay on her lap and she gently stroked his hair. It felt like the most natural thing on earth.

* * *

The aeroplane banked to the right and Dani glimpsed the Andes for the first time. Beneath them lay vast farmland dotted with patches of arid desert.

‘You are looking for the wineries?' Carlos asked.

‘Yes,' she said, resting her head against the cold window.

‘They are in the other direction, not far from Mendoza.' He squeezed her hand. ‘I am sure you will find the place on your mother's photo board.'

She gave a half-hearted smile and stared at the expanse below.

Turning to him, she asked, ‘Are you doing okay?'

‘Yes, yes, I am fine. Do not worry about me. If the detectives have news they will call. Or if they find nothing, they will also call.' After a restless night, he'd woken with a hangover but in a more positive mood. ‘Let's concentrate on this job, yes?'

‘Yes.'

From the moment they'd booked the flights that morning, Dani's emotions had run rampant. Ironically, thoughts of her mother invariably resembled the negative moods of tango—sadness, anger, apprehensiveness—yet when she thought of Carlos, passion, happiness and fulfilment drowned everything else.

‘If we find Iris she might tell you where Cecilia is,' she said.

‘Yes, it had crossed my mind.'

‘Is this why you're coming with me?'

‘No. I am here to offer you support and assist with your articles. I told you I would help, and I will.'

‘But if you get the chance to ask Iris about Cecilia you will, right?'

‘Yes, I will ask Iris.'

‘Fair enough.' The engine slowed and the plane started its descent. Dani's stomach swirled with nerves although she wasn't sure which kind.

‘You are not angry?' he asked.

‘Why would I be angry? Your child is about to be born and if I were you, I wouldn't leave any stone unturned.'

Carlos smiled for the first time in twenty-four hours. ‘You are amazing.'

‘No, I'm not. I could never deny a parent the chance to be with their child.' It made sense for her to help Carlos find his baby because until he did, he would remain a broken man. She believed him when he said it was over with Cecilia and her heart ached that he'd had to suffer her cruel actions. There was every chance Iris could help, which meant any thoughts of bailing now were nixed.

The wheels hit the runway with a skid and the plane taxied to the terminal. As other passengers grabbed their bags and made a dash for the door, Carlos leant over and cupped his hand under her chin. His dark eyes searched hers, his intimate smile inviting her to lean forwards and kiss him.

After a few luscious moments, he pulled away gently and said, ‘Our honesty makes us an excellent team.'

This was the perfect moment to tell Carlos the new reason she wanted to find Iris: to ask about the fight she had with Diego Alonso. Iris could have chosen any other tango composer to argue about, so why Eduardo Canziani? Dani's inner sleuth would have remained asleep had she heard about the fight and not seen the photo of Louisa Gilchrist, but the similarities between Louisa and Stella were incredible. She wondered if Iris had discovered a connection. There was only one way to find out.

Once again, guilt swept over her at keeping something from Carlos, especially after what he'd just said. His pleas for her to leave the Canziani case alone echoed in her head and didn't encourage her to make an admission. Carlos collected the bags from the overhead locker and the opportunity to reveal her truth melted away. She hoped their blossoming relationship didn't suffer the same fate.

* * *

Dani sipped ice-cold Jerome beer as she sat at an outdoor table in a restaurant on Mendoza's main pedestrian mall, Avenida Sarmiento. Families, couples, friends and tourists wandered, alone or in clusters, glancing at menus shoved in their faces by eager restaurateurs. Even though it was ten at night, the day's heat clung to her body. The lights of the boutiques shone brightly, enticing shoppers to buy one more item before collapsing and dining under the large, leafy branches of the trees of downtown Mendoza.

‘The beer is good, yes?' Since arriving, Carlos's demeanour had lightened.

‘Yes, it's excellent.'

‘They make this beer in the Andes. It is one of a kind.'

Taking a long sip, Dani let the amber liquid slide down her throat and cool her body from the inside out. They'd arrived in Mendoza late, so they planned to set out early the next day with refreshed bodies and minds. Also, Dani needed more time to process the whole Iris thing. Her emotions needed to catch up, although more time to think about it might be to her detriment.

Her stomach rumbled and just as she was about to comment on her hunger, the waiter opened the door and delivered their meal on a large platter. He efficiently placed the
brasero de mesa
in the table's centre.

‘Yum.' She eyed the dish, not entirely sure what lay before her. ‘This is a typical Argentine
asado
, right?'

‘
Sí
. This is
morcillas
—black pudding,
mollejas
—sweetbread, and chorizo.' He pointed to each piece proudly.

‘Most of this is innards, right?' Surprisingly, she hadn't dry retched—her usual reaction.

‘Yes, yes. And this is
ensalada rusa
, salad of the potatoes.' He heaped a serving of meat on her plate before she had a chance to say she'd just go with the salad. She didn't want to offend an Argentine by not eating one of their national dishes.

‘This is
vacío
—steak, and of course, this is chicken.'

‘Thanks,' she said, eyeing off the ridiculous amount of food sitting on the table. ‘I don't know where to begin.'

‘Begin with the
mojellas
, they are delicious.'

Dani looked at the white sweetbread glistening in the streetlight. She felt like vomit was pooling at the back of her throat.
You can do this, you've eaten worse. Remember the crickets in Vietnam?
Pasting on a smile, Dani cut into the meat, trying to imagine it was chicken. She slid a small amount on her fork, put it in her mouth, chewed for a moment and quickly swallowed. The breadcrumbs made it palatable but not enough to warrant tucking into a plateful of the stuff.

She stuck her fork into the potato salad and set to work while Carlos concentrated on devouring his portion. Swigging more beer and emptying the glass, Dani motioned to the waiter for another. He promptly returned, silently placing a large, frosty bottle on the table.

‘Daniela, you do not like these things you call innards?'

‘No. Sorry.'

‘May I?' He motioned to her plate and she nodded, thankful the revolting things would soon disappear. The grease made her stomach turn.

‘Do you always eat this much?' she asked.