Luna Tango (31 page)

‘I'm not sure.'

Dani put down the pen and paper, readying herself for whatever came. She didn't know her mother that well but it was enough to realise her life was never dull.

‘I had another reason for retiring.'

‘Okay.'

‘I knew they'd do a TV special about my dancing career because they'd been working on it for a few years, in anticipation of me finally hanging up my tango shoes.' Iris fiddled with the tie on her robe. ‘When they last interviewed me, I slipped in a message in case Roberto was watching. Of course, I have no idea whether he's alive or even watches television, but I felt it was worth a try. And because the TV station planned to run it once a week for a month all over Latin America, I thought my chances of reaching him were relatively high. If he's still alive and living in Latin America, that is.'

‘You're really that famous, huh?'

‘Ridiculously so. I'm still not sure why but that's the way life worked out. Anyway,' she puffed out her cheeks, ‘I knew they would ask me what I planned to do next so I said I was going to hole myself away and write a book.'

‘A biography?'

‘No, I told them I wanted to try my hand at fiction. I said I was writing a story about a character called Lunita, who was a muse to a famous musician.'

‘Like Louisa?'

‘Yes. I knew if Roberto saw it, he'd see it as a sign because no one, apart from Roberto and Louisa, knew about that nickname. Well, not until I discovered it and told you. And because I look so similar to Stella, I hoped Roberto might get that connection as well, even though he may not know he has a daughter.'

‘But you don't know if he's your father.'

‘I worked on the assumption he is.' Iris's tone sounded defensive. ‘Anyway, it made sense to announce I was writing a book because all celebrities think they can write. I'd already told Diego about my fictitious writing so this TV interview seemed a logical way to get my message across.'

‘And?'

‘I've heard nothing. The special aired for the first time four weeks ago. Perhaps Roberto is dead.'

The women fell into silence while the tap dripped in the bathroom.

‘But you shut yourself off from the world. How could you expect him to contact you?'

‘I have a public email address and it doesn't give away my location.'

‘What if he doesn't know how to use email?'

‘If he wanted to get in contact, he would find a way.'

‘You certainly took a long shot. It was risky, also,' said Dani.

‘I know, but what else could I do? Every other option had been exhausted and this was my only chance. I didn't want to lose it.'

‘I'm sorry it didn't pay off.'

‘Yeah, me too.' Iris reached for the pack of cigarettes.

1953 – Louisa

Louisa took a long drink of water from the canteen and wiped the thin film of dust and sweat from her brow. For almost two weeks she'd travelled to every ranch in the vicinity of Chapada do Russo, accompanying Senhor Alves on his pick-up route. She'd gotten used to sacks of cashew nuts threatening to jostle her from her position on the back of the cart. Her balance had improved dramatically but her luck hadn't.

‘Maybe I'm wrong and he's not here,' she mumbled to herself as a wheel of the cart dipped into another pothole. This trip had been a long shot and so far she'd missed every single mark.

They turned left and travelled up a narrow road lined with palm trees. It looked just like any other plantation, with a large, whitewashed ranch house, tin sheds for workers to sort nuts and endless fields of cashew plants. The only distinctive feature of this ranch was the fountain, which had an immaculate carving of three angels surrounding a small lamb. They held out their arms, forming a protective circle around the young animal, and water spilled out from holes near their feet.

Tears formed in Louisa's eyes and she wiped them away, annoyed at the intensity of her emotions. She needed to keep them in check and remain calm because if she didn't, she would fall apart. Concentrating on the unusual fountain, Louisa took a few calming breaths and braced herself for more disappointment. She'd done the rounds of every ranch twice, in case Roberto turned up after she left, and each visit chipped away at her resolve to remain strong and hopeful.

The cart stopped and Louisa alighted, accustomed now to climbing on and off the rickety cart. Senhor Alves saluted her and strode off to the shed to speak with the foreman and arrange for more bags of cashews to be loaded on his cart. Louisa climbed the wide wooden steps that led to the front door of the ranch house. She rubbed her hands on her linen pants, took a deep breath and rapped on the door. At least the owner of this establishment had a working knowledge of Spanish so it was easier to straddle the great language divide. Louisa braced herself for making up more lies. Rightly or wrongly, the stories that fell from her lips were for preservation— for herself and Roberto.

When no one answered her knock, the slow whine of the bandoneón caught her attention and she turned to source where it was coming from. Expecting a recording being played in the shed, she walked down the stairs and across the dusty road to where the men had gathered in a circle. They'd downed their tools and were drinking and eating, fascinated with what was happening in front of them.

Louisa stopped a short distance away, hand resting above her heart. Her pulse raced and she held her breath. It couldn't be ... but Roberto wouldn't be so careless as to show off his skills with the bandoneón so soon, would he? Although tango was in his blood and with so many Argentines and Uruguayans desperate for a taste of home ...

She took a step forwards then paused. There was no doubting the player had talent but his performance was just a little off. Louisa's shoulders slumped with disappointment. Senhor Alves turned and motioned for her to join the crowd. Even though women on plantations weren't common, the men didn't seem to mind her presence. Standing on tiptoes, she craned to see the musician, who played with his head bent forwards, his eyes and face obscured by a wide-brimmed hat. Hair brushed the edge of his collar and a short beard covered his face.

Hope shot to the surface. Perhaps Roberto's playing had suffered since the tragedy in Buenos Aires.

Despite wanting to dash forwards, Louisa remained calm. Edging her way through the crowd, she motioned to the men to allow her to get to the front of the group and smiled her thanks as they parted and let her pass. Standing shoulder to shoulder with sweaty men from the field, she got a closer look at the man in the hat who hunched over his instrument, lost in the moment. His long fingers deftly played the notes, just like Roberto. Passion oozed from his soul, just like Roberto. He finished the song and looked up, smiling at the crowd—he was not Roberto.

Louisa clapped and smiled and did her duty as an appreciative audience member, aware her presence as the only female would be noted. Turning, she smiled her excuses as she rushed through the cluster of hot bodies and broke free. Bolting across the gravel, she crouched behind Senhor Alves's cart.

Clasping her hands over her head, Louisa tried to catch breath. How ridiculous she'd been. She'd allowed hope to cloud her judgement and now she suffered for it.

‘I'll find him,' she whispered.

‘Will you?'

Surprised someone had understood her Spanish, she jerked her head up to find the bandoneón player. Now he stood closer, she could see why her hopefulness had led her to believe he could be Roberto. The width of his shoulders and shape of his jaw were very much like her lover's. Even his nose was similar.

‘You speak Spanish?' she asked, standing up and dusting off her trousers.

‘Yes, of course. I'm from Uruguay. And you are from Argentina?'

‘How did you know?' Panic froze her to the spot.

‘Your accent.' He gave a lopsided smile that was more friendly than flirtatious. ‘I hear you are looking for your brother.'

‘Yes.'

‘He plays the bandoneón also, yes?'

‘Yes,' she said, still not sure if it was the smartest thing to have revealed when searching for Roberto. But she'd been desperate, just like now, and anything that could lead her to him was worth the risk. ‘Have you seen him?'

‘No.' He shook his head. ‘There are many of us that play our music. It's in our blood, yes?'

‘Like breathing.'

‘Exactly. I am a relief worker, so I know many, many people. This is why I am talking with you now. I wanted to let you know that if your brother was in or around Chapada do Russo, I would know.'

‘Thank you.' Her throat tightened as she fought back the emotions that wanted to spill out in an ear-piercing scream.

‘If you wish to leave your address, I can contact you if your brother arrives. You need to return to Argentina to your father, yes?'

She closed her eyes for a moment, gathering her lies like a bunch of daisies. ‘I would like to return but I'm afraid I must stay here. I need to find my brother.'

‘But your father is dying, yes?' She sensed distrust in his tone.

‘Yes.'

‘Surely you would prefer to spend time with your father rather than riding the back of a cashew wagon. No one understands why you remain here. Forget your brother. If he wanted to be found, he would.'

Louisa nodded. Of course Roberto would be covering his tracks, just like she'd done. So if he chose not to come to Russo, or he couldn't make it for some reason, she had no hope of finding him. And as much as she wanted to stay, she knew the small community was watching her every move and if she remained too long, it would raise more suspicion. Like the bandoneón player said, they all thought she should return to Argentina to be with her dying father. Her time in Chapada do Russo was nearing an end and because she'd lived the lie so well, she couldn't undo it.

* * *

Louisa sat on the veranda of the boarding house staring at the deserted main street of Chapada do Russo. She sipped the ice-cold water the landlady had given her but it made her nausea worse. She'd grown quite fond of the place and the tight-knit community. People had assisted her without expecting payment in return and they had taken up her quest to find her fictitious brother as if they were looking for their own flesh and blood. Guilt burrowed into her soul at having led these generous people into believing a string of lies but she hadn't had a choice. Is this what her life was to become? A facade she'd have to keep track of so she didn't falter and reveal her true identity?

Although not religious, Louisa did question what God had planned next, because her life had been a series of tragedies piled one upon the other. She'd honestly thought that after the grief she'd suffered over the past few years she might catch a break but it seemed luck was not ready to grace her.

Taking another sip and forcing the liquid down, Louisa tried not to think about the nausea. It had grown worse over the past few days and she'd gone off food completely. She couldn't understand why, especially since she had access to an endless supply of fruit and the boarding house owner cooked wonderfully fresh food. Perhaps she'd caught a stomach bug.

The wire door to the boarding house creaked open and the senhora brought out a tray of sliced lemon. She motioned for Louisa to suck on it. She did so, not perturbed by the bitterness of the fruit. The senhora smiled, happy Louisa did as she was told, and she bustled back inside the house, the screen door slamming behind her.

Normally Louisa had a cast-iron constitution and the food she'd been eating in Brazil hadn't been that different to what she'd had in Argentina. If anything, it was fresher, so why ...

Putting the glass on the table beside her, Louisa placed her hands on her stomach. She'd been so busy trying to build a new identity and find Roberto she hadn't paid attention to her monthly cycle. Now that she thought about it, she was overdue by weeks.

Burying her head in her hands, hot tears slid down her cheeks. Of course something like this would happen. Why not? Everything else had fallen apart, and now she was to be a single mother? Staring at the worn floorboards, Louisa sat back and gave in to the shock. The sun dipped behind the horizon and the cicadas scurried out of their burrows to create their evening orchestra.

Taking a deep breath, Louisa assessed the situation. She had to move on from Chapada do Russo—once she started showing, the locals would question why she wasn't with family, including her dying father. But if she left and Roberto showed up, she'd have no way of knowing; her lie meant she couldn't leave a forwarding address. And Héctor had double-crossed her, so she couldn't ask him to receive any notifications.

Once again, Louisa would have to leave a place involuntarily and move on to somewhere new where she didn't know anyone. But where could she go? If she remained in Latin America, she ran the risk of being found out. She needed to go far, far away. Somewhere tango was barely known and she could assume a new identity. Perhaps a place where people spoke English. Wherever she chose, she had to get there soon, before she was too far along in her pregnancy and couldn't travel.

Running her hand across her belly, she focused on the life force inside. Out of all the challenges she'd had to face, this would be one of her toughest.

The full moon hung above, bathing the veranda in soft light. Louisa looked up, closed her eyes and said, ‘Dear baby, even though you may never know your father, please know I loved him with all my heart. You were made with the love of the stars and the moon and your father's love will always protect us, no matter where he is.'

The doorman didn't blink twice when Dani hurried through the rotating doors and into the opulent foyer on Avenida Paraná in the barrio of Olivos. She hadn't expected Gualberto to answer his phone so early in the morning, let alone agree to meet her at such an ungodly hour, yet here she was, about to enter a famous musician's apartment like she'd done it all her life.