Page 9 of The Spanish Daughter (The Lost Daughters #5)

8

THE SANTIAGO OLIVE GROVE, MENDOZA, ARGENTINA, 1934

For Valentina, nothing was more exhilarating than harvest time. She stood back and watched as her father rolled up the sleeves of his white linen shirt, his tanned forearms on display as he stood in front of all the workers gathered. Each year he invited as many of the locals as possible, whoever needed the seasonal work, paying them to harvest the olives by beating the trees with sticks while other workers held large nets below to catch the falling fruit.

Her mother always sat in the shade, never venturing far enough to say hello to all the people gathered, but suffering through the day at her husband’s demand. Bruno was a more willing participant, taking whatever job he was given, and this year for the very first time, Valentina had been given permission to help. She was already holding the stick her father had chosen for her, and she knew that it wouldn’t take long for her slender arms to become sore from raising it above her head. But she didn’t care—she was part of the harvest this year, and that was all that mattered.

‘Basilio!’ she heard her mother call.

He finished speaking to the group before sending them on their way, and Valentina hovered, not sure whether she was to wait or not, too scared to go near her mother for fear she might send her home early.

‘You’re too old to be doing this,’ her mother scolded. ‘Please, Basilio, why did you insist on getting your hands dirty?’

Her papa winked at her, and Valentina stifled a laugh. ‘Because it would be bad luck if a Santiago didn’t shake one of the first trees,’ he said. ‘Besides, it’s good to keep my arms strong, for holding the polo mallet.’

Valentina did giggle at that, quickly lifting her hand to cover her mouth so her mother didn’t see.

‘Felipe!’ her father suddenly called, and her cheeks stained a deep pink when she turned and saw the boy standing barely ten feet from her. ‘Take Valentina with you and show her what to do.’

They stared at each other for an awkward moment, as Valentina heard her mother mutter something about appropriateness, before Felipe cleared his throat and gestured for her to follow him. She did, trying not to smile and falling into step beside him as she looked at the net he was carrying. Even if she’d wanted to say anything, all words had left her mind at suddenly being this close to him so she just walked silently, trying not to scuff her shoes into the dry ground beneath. This felt very different to the stolen moments they were used to as he walked past her with the horses.

‘You never came for polo lessons,’ Felipe said, glancing at her as he spoke.

Valentina felt her cheeks colour again. ‘I was never brave enough to ask.’

When Felipe smiled at her, her stomach did a little dance and she found it impossible not to smile back at him. The truth was that she’d wanted to ask her parents many times, but her father had never mentioned it again, and she’d been too nervous to even think of being alone with him. Her mother kept her busy with her lessons, and she’d only seen glimpses of Felipe from the window when she had her nose pressed to it, or in their fleeting moments when she watched her father train his polo ponies.

‘I’ve always found it hard to believe that you don’t have your own pony,’ he said. ‘Your father has dozens of horses.’

‘My mother doesn’t think it’s ladylike,’ Valentina found herself saying. ‘Papa allows me to do almost everything—he believes that women can do anything that men can…’

‘But he’s never asked if you’d like to learn to ride?’

She let go a little breath that she hadn’t realised she was holding. ‘Maybe I haven’t wanted it badly enough.’

‘And now?’

Valentina looked away. Felipe had a confidence about him that she wasn’t used to in boys his age. The young men she met through her family were always polite and confident, but the boys and men who worked for her father would never usually even make eye contact with her, let alone talk so openly. And her mother had only become stricter about who her daughter spent time with in recent months, always reminding her that she expected her to be smarter and better read than any of her peers, to play pianoforte more exquisitely than anyone else her age, even though she knew how much her daughter hated to play.

‘Now, I think that I’m ready for those lessons,’ Valentina said, sounding braver than she felt. ‘When do we start?’

‘Will your papa allow it?’ Felipe asked.

Her lips twisted into a smile. ‘My papa is easy to convince, if I want something badly enough, but I might have to keep it secret from my mama.’

‘Felipe, hurry up!’

They both started to walk faster when Felipe’s father called, and she nodded to the older man, slightly breathless when they reached the tree he was standing beside. She wasn’t used to having to move so quickly.

‘Miss Santiago, I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have ordered you to run like that if I’d known it was you.’

She glanced at Felipe and they both laughed. ‘Please, you’re to call me Valentina. Both of you,’ she said. ‘You’re also to set me a task, on orders of my papa. I don’t want to stand around while others do all the hard work.’ She secretly loved that Felipe’s father had barked at them to run, as if she were just a regular girl helping with the harvest.

Felipe caught her hand then, holding it up and turning it over, his skin warm and slightly rough against hers. She’d imagined what it would feel like to have his palm against hers for years, and it was even better than she’d thought it might be.

‘These soft hands are going to be covered in blisters by the end of the day,’ he said, his eyes catching hers for just a second. ‘Are you certain you want to work with us?’

Felipe’s father cleared his throat, and she saw the stern way he looked at his son, as if to reprimand him for touching her or perhaps for being too familiar. But Felipe only grinned and held up his net, as if he didn’t know what his father was trying to tell him, which only made Valentina like him more.

‘You’ve seen how to do this before?’ he asked.

‘Of course,’ she said, lifting her stick and beginning to prod at the tree, surprised by the soft grunt that sounded from her chest as she realised just how hard the job was going to be. ‘I’ve watched the harvest every year since I was a little girl.’

She was only thirteen and already almost as tall as her mother, her long legs making her appear older than she was. But it was soon clear to her that she was nowhere near as strong as the other young people who were working at the harvest, which only made her more determined to try.

‘You’ll get used to it, Valentina,’ Felipe said. ‘But I promise you, your arms will feel as if they’re screaming come morning.’

She took her stick from the tree and prodded Felipe with it instead, which made him laugh, and she only wished that she hadn’t seen the dismay in his father’s eyes when she glanced over at him and saw him making the sign of the holy cross on his chest.

Hours later, as the light began to fade, Valentina sat beneath a tree, her back pressed to the rough bark, her eyes shut. She was exhausted. Her shoulders and back ached, her hands were throbbing from the sores that Felipe described as blisters at the base of her fingers, and her skin was sticky with sweat. But she’d never before felt so exhilarated and proud of herself in her entire life.

‘Valentina?’

She looked up and saw her father standing before her. He smiled down at her.

‘You look exhausted.’

Valentina smiled. ‘I am.’

‘Your mother is very cross that I allowed you to stay all day,’ he said, lowering himself so that he was on his haunches. ‘But I told her that you’re a Santiago. This is like a rite of passage.’

‘I loved it, Papa,’ she said earnestly. ‘It was such hard work, but?—’

‘But it made you feel alive?’

She sighed. He understood exactly how she felt. ‘I want to do this every harvest, to be part of the process, to see the olives tumble into the nets and stand shoulder to shoulder with our workers.’

He reached out to touch her cheek, his big hand warm against her damp skin. ‘You make me proud, mi hija ,’ he said. ‘I knew you would love this. Didn’t I tell you that you were just like your papa?’

The first harvest was a special one, and she knew that many more would take place all over her family’s properties in Argentina and Spain, but this was the one her father had always attended, and this was the one she wanted to attend for the rest of her life, too.

‘You may stay and enjoy the festivities,’ he said as he rose. ‘Just don’t tell your mama I gave you so much freedom.’

Valentina nodded, stretching out her arms and watching as her father walked away, taking a glass of wine that was offered to him and laughing easily with a group of men. He would be going back to oversee the asado , and the smoky smell of the meat cooking over the open flames filled the air around her. But her attention was quickly diverted when she saw a familiar figure approaching. Felipe .

‘You look tired,’ he said.

‘So do you.’

He laughed and sat down beside her, holding out a bottle of cold Coca-Cola, which she took gratefully.

‘Today was fun,’ Felipe said. ‘I hope you’ll come back again tomorrow.’

Valentina took a long sip of soda, realising how parched she’d been, before smiling over at Felipe. He was so handsome, but she started to giggle when she saw how much dirt was smeared on his face. She reached out without thinking, gently rubbing her thumb across his skin to remove it, but the moment she did so, she realised that she shouldn’t have touched him so brazenly.

His eyes widened and she felt as if she’d stopped breathing, and they just sat there together, him not moving and her fingers still against his cheek. Until Felipe nudged forward and pressed his lips against hers without warning.

His mouth was warm and soft as it bumped into hers, but it was over as quickly as it had begun, and then he was sitting beside her again, his back against the same tree trunk as hers, as she tried not to think about how brightly she must be blushing. He looked every bit as bashful and embarrassed as she felt.

But as she wondered whether he regretted it or whether she’d done anything wrong, Felipe’s little finger touched hers, catching around her knuckle as they sat and watched the adults drinking and celebrating, neither of them saying a thing.

It felt like their little secret, and she never moved her left finger as she held up her cola with the other hand and took another sip, trying her hardest not to grin. Her chest was still rising and falling more heavily than usual as she sought to catch her breath, and all she could think was that she wanted to feel Felipe’s lips against hers again and again. But for now, she was content for his finger to be locked over hers, touching each other in a way that no one would notice unless they were standing right in front of them.

Harvest day had changed her life, in more ways than one. She knew now what it was to work hard under the sun, to use her muscles and be part of something bigger, but she also knew what it was like to be kissed, how it felt for a boy to touch his mouth to hers.

She glanced shyly at Felipe, who looked just as uncertain as she felt. And she knew, without a doubt, that she would do anything to see him again. Even if it meant risking the wrath of her mother a hundred times over.

It would be worth it.