Luna Tango (28 page)

‘More than likely he was avoiding a bookie. Unbelievable. He does what he wants because he's a genius. I also didn't tell him about the Canziani case because I feared he'd find out about my possible heritage.'

Silence reigned once more, and the women looked everywhere but at each other. Iris shifted forwards. ‘I'm glad you haven't mentioned anything about Stella to Carlos.'

‘Why would I? Up until tonight I wasn't so sure myself.'

‘You shouldn't trust him.'

‘That's lovely coming from someone he considered as a second mother.'

‘I am fond of him—still—but we're talking about Argentina's biggest murder mystery here. When it comes to the Canziani case, no one can be trusted. Not even your Carlos.'

‘You're wrong about him.' Dani pushed back from the table, her chair scraping along the floor.

‘I'm just saying, the Canziani case tends to bring out the worst in everyone. The Argentines are very protective of their own.'

‘It doesn't mean Carlos would turn.'

‘Maybe not. Just be careful. Please.' Iris cleared her throat. ‘He never looked at Cecilia the way he looks at you. I know I haven't earned the right to tell you what to do, but please watch out for yourself. This damn dance messes with everyone in our family.' Dani opened her mouth, but Iris put up her hand. ‘I know, I sound like Stella. It took me too many years to realise her words were true.'

‘Why is it so important to know if Stella and Louisa are the same person? If they are, she could be arrested and put on trial. You don't hate her, do you?'

Vehemently shaking her head, Iris said, ‘Absolutely not. In fact, the more I learn about Louisa's history, the more I empathise with her.'

‘The last time I spoke to Stella, I asked if she'd ever heard of Eduardo Canziani.'

Iris's eyes grew wide. ‘Really? What did she say?'

‘She got pissy and asked why I would want to cover a dead composer's story rather than some up-and-coming musician. She told me not to call her again until I was in New York.' Dani deliberately left out the part where Stella slammed Iris.

‘This is why I never contacted her. Can you imagine how she'd react if I called after all these years and asked her if she was once a muse for a famous tango composer and, oh, by the way, did she kill him?'

Perhaps it was a combination of the late hour and her emotions dipping and swirling, but Dani found Iris's question hilarious. She tried to contain the giggle but it bubbled up and burst out in a long, loud belly laugh.

Iris stared at her daughter, her thin brows drawn together in a frown. Her lips twitched and, within moments, Iris joined Dani in slapping the table, their laughter punctuated by the odd snort. The sun crept from behind the mountains, signalling a new day and, hopefully, a bright new future.

1953 – Louisa

Clouds of dust flew behind the cart as the horse sped along the narrow pot-holed road lined with palm trees and tall grass. Louisa gripped the wooden rail, her legs dangling over gravel. She used her shoulder to nudge away a bag of cashew nuts that threatened to push her from the back of the cart and onto the sharp stones. The stench of horse manure seeped into her every pore and the late afternoon sun seared her skin, the thick layer of dirt offering little protection from its fierce rays. Wrapping her fingers tightly around the wooden rail, Louisa closed her eyes and told herself this ordeal would be worth it in the end.

For five weeks she'd travelled overland through Uruguay and Brazil, mostly using local buses. She'd journeyed across swamplands, mountains and along Brazil's pristine coast. Countless times she'd wanted to jump off the bus, run across the smooth sand and immerse her weary body in the crystal clear waters of the Atlantic Ocean but she had to continue her journey, because each day that passed meant she had less chance of finding Roberto.

Sighing heavily, she reflected on how much had changed in a matter of weeks. She'd slid from the upper echelon of Argentine society to the hard, rocky ground, an anonymous pauper. With a bruised ego and heart, she could easily slink into the nearest hole and wither in self-pity, but she owed it to herself—and Roberto— to keep going. Once again, life had spun a suffocating cloud of turmoil and she'd ended up displaced, alone in a foreign country with no one to turn to. At least this time she had finances to keep her going, even if it was money Héctor had given her. Without that, she would be stuck in Montevideo earning a pittance, doing things she'd rather not think about.

She pictured the wad of cash rolled tightly in her stocking and grimaced. Even though she'd wanted to throw it back at Héctor, she'd needed it. Shaking her head, Louisa tried to dispel the images of her last meeting with the man she'd once considered a close friend. She'd been set to leave Montevideo, heartbroken that Roberto hadn't arrived, when Héctor had appeared. She had no idea how he'd travelled from Paraguay to Uruguay so quickly, or whether he'd paid the captain to tell her he'd gone to Paraguay to throw her off track. Héctor had tried to convince Louisa that Roberto had chosen not to come, but in the depths of her heart, she didn't believe a word. She'd cast her mind back to the conversation they'd had at Roberto's apartment and the words that had spilled from Héctor's lips:
But alas, the love of my life has chosen another. Maybe one day I will steal her out from under your nose
. Her worst fears were realised when Héctor had pinned her against the wall, his hot, slimy mouth next to her ear, making threats about turning her in unless she succumbed to his wishes. She remembered how he'd doubled over and groaned in agony after she'd given him a swift knee to the groin before she'd fled.

The cart rounded a corner and the palm trees gave way to open fields dotted with wooden and stucco buildings. The main street of Chapada do Russo was deserted, even though people were due to return from the cashew plantations. With a loud whistle, the driver yanked on the reins and the horse stopped obediently, allowing Louisa to slip off the back of the cart and grab her bag. She dipped her hand inside to find some notes and handed them over, smiling her thanks.

‘
Lá
.' He quickly stuffed the money in his shirt pocket and pointed at the house across the road. Dark green paint peeled from the walls, revealing rotting wood. The roof had large gaps where terracotta tiles should have been, and the front yard contained nothing but dust.

The driver whistled loudly, shook the reins and offered her a salute as he took off down the main street. Dust flew up her nostrils and she broke into a coughing fit and rubbed her eyes. Arching her back, she massaged her lower spine, thankful this part of the journey was over. Alighting from the bus at the wrong destination had thrown her into a spin, but as she'd barely slept for three days and was travelling to a town she'd never seen, the mistake had been easy to make. At least her knight with a cashew cart had rescued her.

Biting her lip, Louisa pushed back her hair, still not used to the new length and colour. Her disguise had worked brilliantly, as the few people she'd met had never questioned her authenticity. Her years of living in Argentina meant she could pull off a flawless accent, so to Brazilians, she was just another travelling Argentine.

Gathering her bag and courage, Louisa crossed the road, not bothering to look for traffic, as she still hadn't detected signs of life. Her low heels crunched along the gravel, creating small dust clouds as she made her way to the red door of the green house. Raising her closed hand, she hesitated, wondering if this was a mistake, but the cart driver had promised her Senhor Santas could help.

Louisa puffed out her cheeks and rapped lightly on the door. Red flecks of paint attached themselves to her knuckles. She waited, rapped again, and waited some more. Nothing. Louisa hung her head, not sure what to do. Despite her lack of Portuguese, she'd managed to get by but now, in the middle of rural Brazil, she really needed someone who spoke fluent Spanish. Senhor Santas had been her only lead, although it looked like her streak of bad luck continued.

‘Please. Please be home,' she muttered and rapped on the door so hard pain shot through her knuckles. Behind the door she heard a chair being pushed back along tiles and heavy boots echoing up the hallway. Louisa's heart raced in time with the footsteps. The door swung open and a man with a tuft of bright white hair stared her down.

‘
Sim?
' His eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms.

‘Bom dia, Senhor Santas
.' Louisa switched to Spanish. ‘Senhor Alves, who drives a cashew cart between villages, suggested I speak with you as I have little knowledge of Portuguese.' She concentrated, ensuring every nuance led him to believe she was a native of Buenos Aires.

He tilted his head to the side and studied her with such intensity she felt he could see right through her.

‘Why are you here?'

‘I'm looking for my brother. He came to work on the plantations recently but I'm afraid I have some tragic family news and I need to find him.' The lie rolled from her tongue with ease. These days, when she opened her mouth, fiction floated seamlessly into the ears of the listener and they were none the wiser of the falsehood.

‘His name?' Senhor Santas arched an eyebrow, showing no emotion for her supposed family tragedy.

Even though she'd braced herself for this question, it still scared her. Forcing a gentle smile, Louisa said, ‘Adolfo Maldonado.'

‘I do not know of him.' Senhor Santas moved back and placed a hand on the edge of the door.

‘He may not be using this name.' Her words tumbled out, eager to explain. ‘Our family has had much trouble and when my brother left, he was angry with my father. But my father is very ill and now I want to find Adolfo to beg him to return to make amends.'

‘It is not right a dying man should go to his grave with disagreement in his heart.'

‘Yes, and for that reason, I need to find my brother. I know he doesn't want to be found, which is why he has probably changed his name, but I'm his sister and I know he will listen to my request. Is there any chance you can help? Please?' She opened her eyes wide, hoping to use her charm, even though she detested exploiting her femininity.

‘No.'

‘No?' Her heart sank. The cashew cart driver had promised her Senhor Santas had a kind heart and would assist her.

‘No, I do not know of this Adolfo. Please understand, we have a transient population on the ranches and the workers come from all over Latin America. Unless you have a photo, it will be impossible to find him.'

‘I'm sorry, I don't have one.' Louisa knew this would be difficult. She didn't possess any photos of Roberto for fear someone would question why she carried an image of Argentina's most wanted man. Chances were Roberto had changed his appearance by growing facial hair, as well as changing his name and, possibly, his nationality. Roberto's talent for listening not only helped with his music, but for mimicking accents. She suppressed a small smile, remembering how he'd regale her with impressions of Chileans from Santiago and Uruguayans from the
campo
.

‘Then I can be of no help. I am sorry.' Senhor Santas pushed the door but Louisa forced her foot against the door jamb. Staring directly into her eyes, he said, ‘Miss, I am sorry, but I cannot help you. Now please, let me go. I have work to do.'

‘Please, just listen to me. He loves the tango.'

‘Most immigrants do.' He twisted his mouth as if tasting lemon.

‘Yes, I know, but he has a talent. A very special talent.' Saying more could put Roberto in jeopardy but she didn't have a choice. Without a photo and the probability of a changed name, appearance and accent, she had little chance of finding her lover. With so many ranches surrounding Russo, it could take days, even weeks to find him—if he hadn't already moved on. Louisa placed her hand on the pocket that contained the hand-drawn map Roberto had created after they'd dreamed about retiring to a cashew plantation in rural Brazil. She'd never had the chance to return the map after she'd taken it from Roberto's, even though she'd sketched their dream home. There were no guarantees he'd be here but without other options, she had to follow this one, small, hope.

‘What is his talent?'

‘He plays the bandoneón.' She doubted Roberto would allow people to discover his genius, even if he was living in one of Brazil's most remote farming regions.

‘Many, many immigrants play the bandoneón, sing and dance tango. I'm sorry.' He pushed the door into her foot and her bones ached from the force. She withdrew her foot and watched the door click into place.

The midday sun warmed Dani's toes as she wiggled them against the bright green grass in Iris's backyard. Leaning against a stone wall, she sipped camomile tea and gazed at the vista before her. No wonder her mother enjoyed living here so much, especially after the busyness of Buenos Aires.

‘You look like you are at home.'

She glanced up to find Carlos smiling, sunshine framing his muscular physique. He leant on the wall and grimaced as he eased himself onto the ground.

‘We could sit on those chairs.' Dani tilted her head towards a battered wooden picnic setting.

‘No. Like you, I prefer to be close to the earth.' He used his cane to tap her toes. ‘Did you have a nice talk with Iris last night?'

‘It wasn't wonderful but we covered a lot of things.'

‘Did you expect to solve your problems before breakfast?'

‘No. I just ...' She sighed. ‘Maybe I expected too much.'

‘If you do not expect anything, you do not get disappointed, no?'

‘Maybe.' They fell into a companionable silence, a cool breeze gently blowing their hair.

‘Where is Iris now?' he asked.