Page 41 of It Takes Three To Tango

“Thanks,” I say, and then because I need to move past this. “You stole his first kiss, so I call dibs on the first blow job.”

His eyes swirl darker, and he leans down close to my ear, his voice husky. “That’s all right, because I’ll be watching.”

I read through the document on the desk in front of me and then look up at Estrella.

“Are you sure about this?”

She’s sitting behind the large wooden desk, which belongs to another era just like the rest of the room and the lady who owns it. I’ve not been in this room before, but it seems to be an office of sorts. Along with the desk that sits in the centre of the room, there are several chairs, a couch, and four tall wooden cabinets. One of them is glass-fronted and contains a number of trophies. There are only a few photos on the walls here, but there are several framed awards.

Señor Bernat, her lawyer, a small but efficient-looking gentleman, is sitting next to me, but he hasn’t said much apart from being introduced.

“Would it be in the contract if I wasn’t serious?” I wilt a little under her gaze, just a little, as I’ve learned her bark is much worse than her bite and she is actually a very generousperson. Letting me stay here in the house is one example of that, and this contract is another.

I’m allowed free access to all her personal diaries and photograph albums. I thought I would have to interview her to get my information, or have some limited access to documents, not to read her innermost thoughts. That is surprising enough in itself. But also that she wants no share of any royalties. There is a requirement that a small percentage go to a charity here in Barcelona, but I don’t recognise the name.

“Is there anything you don’t want me to write about?” I ask. I would respect her wishes if there were a subject that she felt was too private, even though those are usually the parts that really sell books.

“No, that’s written into the contract, too. I don’t have any really interesting skeletons in my closet.” She laughs, and I double-check the document to find it.

To me, it looks all in order, but I’m not an expert. I know who can help me, though.

“Do you mind if I get this checked?”

“I would think you were lacking if you didn’t,” she says in her blunt way.

Señor Bernat also answers.

“Of course, have anyone you want to look it over. Shall I return tomorrow?” This last question he directs to Estrella. “I will bring the other papers for you to sign.”

He rises and we shake hands before he takes his leave of Estrella.

“Now that I’ve got used to the idea of this biography, I think I’m going to enjoy it,” she says. Getting out of her chair, she finds her walking stick and goes to one of the cabinets. She beckons me over.

“I wanted to show you these.” She pulls a set of keys out of the pocket of her light cardigan and unlocks the door.Inside are row upon row of notebooks, journals, and diaries. There are hundreds of them, all neatly shelved.

“These are my diaries,” she explains and then points to a row of larger tomes. “Those are all my press cuttings.”

“I, um.” It’s incredible and exciting but also a little overwhelming now I’m looking at them. “I thought I’d be interviewing you.”

“You can, but I don’t have the time or energy to tell you everything, so you can read these and then ask me what you need to. I think it will be quicker this way, don’t you?”

A thought strikes me, one I hadn’t considered before, but now seems glaringly obvious.

“Are they all in Spanish?”

“Of course.” She looks at me with a beaming smile, while a knot forms in the pit of my stomach. I’m not sure about quicker. I’m going to have to really work on improving my Spanish. She’s eyeing me as if she’s waiting for my reaction and I can’t help but wonder if she deliberately set me the challenge.

“Can Florencio and Constantin help me translate?”

“If they want to.” I gain another smile from her. I hope they’ll be willing to assist me. I’ll ask them as soon as I’ve sent the contract off. I collect it from the desk and head straight to my room.

I carefully scan each page with my phone and then email them off, following it up with a phone call to my father.

“Hello son, this is a nice surprise.” I pull a face at his tone, acknowledging my own failings in not getting in touch very often, glad it’s not a video call. Also, I’m calling him at workrather than in the evening when I would normally phone for a catch-up.

I fill him in quickly on the project and the email I sent him.

“Are you sure this is wise?” he asks, and I bite back a terse reply. I know he asks out of concern, but I’m tired of always feeling like I have to justify myself to him. Urgh. So I clamp my jaw and count to five.

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