Betrayed(2)

Rafael’s stomach churned. He didn’t know how to turn the situation around. He wanted to, he badly wanted this thing to happen, but hadn’t a clue how to go about it. He’d been on cloud nine since his discovery and assumed that everything would fall into place. The cloud was drifting away.

He’d convinced himself that Eduardo would jump at the chance. He hadn’t and Rafael didn’t know what else to do; there was no ‘Plan B’. He felt a surge of irritation as he watched Eduardo study his fingernails. It was as if this was nothing instead of the biggest thing to happen in Rafael’s life. He said, “I wanted this to be my scene, my bit. Up until now, I’ve been at Papá’s beck and call. I want to prove to him that I can hack it on my own.”

“So it’s your way of looking for praise from Papá?”

“I want to show him I’m worth something.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little late for that?”

Rafael stared him out. He eventually said, “Damn you!”

Eduardo shook his head. “Do you honestly think you can feed me bullshit?”

“I wouldn’t…”

“Do you know what I’m thinking? I’m thinking maybe you just want to sneak behind your Papá’s back and steal the show for yourself. You want to set up in competition and…”

“I wouldn’t…”

Eduardo raised his hand to silence him. “And you want me to sponsor it.”

“But it wouldn’t be competition. Don’t you see? It would be a business venture in its own right. Papá doesn’t go for that sort of thing. He likes a quick turnover.”

“Not from what I understand. He deals in quality stuff. That’s not quick turnover.”

The problem was, Papá had flatly refused, said it wasn’t worth the effort, said if the company were in such a bad way, the stuff couldn’t be up to much. Rafael took a deep breath, no use telling lies. “Look…” he said. “Papá simply isn’t interested, and you know what he’s like once he’s made his mind up.”

He stuck his hands in his pockets, walked stiffly to the huge window and stared morosely. He watched Eduardo’s reflection in the window.

“That says it all then doesn’t it? If he shows no interest, why should I?”

“You’re not backing me then?”

Eduardo shook his head. “I guess not.”

“That’s that, is it?”

“I guess so.”

Rafael spun on his heels and walked to the door. He’d show him, he’d show them all. This wasn’t something he was going to let go without a fight. There was a fortune to be made and he was damned if he was going to let anyone else get their hands on it.

“Rafael…”

Rafael paused.

“Put a proper business plan together and I might take a look. Give me facts and figures not pipe-dreams.”

Rafael nodded. So it wasn’t absolutely dead, not yet.

***

This was incredible. Katrina puffed her cheeks and blew out expansively. “I can hardly believe it…. As a model, what do you reckon Fran? You’re at the cutting edge of these things. Is there really a place for fabric like this? It would have to be haute couture, of course.”

Francine crossed her long legs, her glass mostly full. She studied it, took a gulp. As far as she was concerned, champagne needed to be gulped, not sipped, and nothing was going to change her mind. Sipping was for spirits and liqueurs, not champagne. “Well….” she settled back. “Two themes dominated last year, minimalism and haute couture. And you’re right, couture is where that stuff would fit.”

“And there’s still a market?”

“Both have been dog-fighting for ages, so who knows.”

“But you think it might?”

“If it’s the same as last year… If couture is dominant, you could be backing a winner. But maybe you’ll be the one to force the issue… who knows? You could be responsible for next year’s fashion trends. Think of it, Kat. I could be saying, I knew her when she had nothing. That’s my friend the Trend-Setter.”

“Beggar-off!”

“I mean it.”

“But, this year, next year? Your honest opinion?”

Francine shrugged again. “You’ll do what you want, whether or not.”

“I want to know what I’m letting myself into though, I mean, dad thinks there’s no future for my stuff.”

“Well last year, minimalism actually broadened its lines and went elegant. Some of the girls reckoned it hot stuff … but, couture hangs on. Could be a convergence, who knows? Word has it Yves Saint Laurent and Pierre Balmain doubled their couture sales, but read into it what you will. Whatever way it goes, there’ll always be money for luxury, and that’s true of any market. Come feast or famine, money-people are always prepared to spend on what interests them.”

Kat pulled her face. “The problem is, dad’s motto is, never mind the quality, feel the width.”

Francine took another gulp of champagne. “Well tell him from me, Sotheby's are convinced of couture's marketability. Tell him they’re thinking of opening a separate fashion department… That should keep him quiet.”

“Is it true?”

Fran gave a shrug. “I can do rumour with the best of them…”





Chapter 2



“The flight is in three hours, Señor Saval. The driver is ready.”

Rafael nodded impatiently. “Gracias, Maria. I won’t be long.”

“Your Papá is adamant I make sure you’re ready on time. Please don’t let me down.”

“I won’t.”

The door softly closed behind her. The photograph lay on the desk, a nagging ghost from the past, not even a good image, not quite in focus, blurred because she’d been moving, but still evocative. He remembered being annoyed at the time; he’d wanted the picture to be good. She’d teased him too much, been coquettish, and turned repeatedly until he’d taken it anyway.

Damn Papá.

He glanced at his watch. Less than twenty minutes since he’d seen the sun sneak over the Sierra and already a heat haze threatened. Someone had turned on the air-conditioning; one of the staff hoping to get noticed for their efficiency probably. Perhaps he was too cynical, but even enemies behaved like friends when you held power. Sometimes he could hardly tell one from the other… Is that what Eduardo thought about him?

People called Rafael, El Fuego. The press said he destroyed without conscience because he’d closed some unproductive workshops. They called him a boy without pity; they also said he was a boy in grownup’s shoes, a man to be feared. He did nothing to dispel the image. Let them be afraid. Papá didn’t seem pleased with his reputation, but Papá was rarely pleased with anything. It didn’t matter whether it was work, nothing was ever good enough. Papá once said he despaired of him.

Damn Papá.

If Eduardo García had shown interest, he wouldn’t need to put up with Papá’s meddling. He still hadn’t given up on the idea of persuading him to join as a partner. Sometimes Eduardo just liked to prove his supremacy. Looking back, he should have talked to Eduardo’s English wife, Jenny, first. She might have influenced him. She would understand what Raphael meant.

Papá had shoved his nose in at the last minute. He hadn’t wanted anything to do with it until now. He hadn’t even wanted to talk about it. Only now, when it was blatant that they turned out unusual stuff, did Papá want to be involved. Predictably, he wanted the deal carried out his way, not the way Rafael wanted.

He flicked the photograph around again.

He’d first seen her outside the campus at Keele in England. He’d been taking a break, trying to clear his head of fug. The day had been hot, unusual for England.

He’d heard her yelling; there’d been two yobs. To his youthful eyes, she’d looked like a fragile beauty, a goddess to be placed in an ivory tower; yet drunks mauled her.

With deliberation he’d made them hospital cases, no mercy shown, the embryonic El Fuego, perhaps? His nose had been broken for stopping their pleasure but been worth it.

He turned again to the window. Fingers of illumination snaked over the sierras. Above the tree-line, jagged rocks snarled like teeth in the early light. Lower, where sun had not reached, snatches of smoke curled from fires where workmen burned rubbish.

Two weeks later, after he’d shown her not all males were thugs, she’d shared her bed with him, her first time, she’d later admitted, with embarrassment.

He’d been stupid in those days, would have given her the world if she’d asked. He could conjure up those emotions, even now. She’d been a gift, had taken to sex with feral enthusiasm. He’d wanted to stake his claim on her, but had stood no chance. No one would ever possess her; she’d been as ephemeral as mist.