The Santiago Sisters

‘I cannot believe that little harlot would do this!’ Simone was raging. Her whole body convulsed with anger. ‘That girl is vile! She is the devil incarnate!’

Simone barked something at the maid and obediently Vera translated. Teresa could understand Simone’s fury, for what was Julia going to say when she saw the state of her daughter? Vera explained that Simone would be hiring London’s most exclusive hairdresser to pay a private visit in the morning.

‘But I’m going home in the morning,’ said Teresa, in Spanish.

Vera relayed this to Simone.

Simone had her back to her, and turned round slowly. A glance passed between her and the maid. As if reaching an important decision, Simone steered Teresa to a chair and sat her down. She took Teresa’s hands and held them.

There was a long pause, before Simone said, ‘You’re not going home.’

Vera’s fingers fastened in her apron. At Simone’s command, she translated.

‘I hate having to be the one to tell you,’ Simone went on, swallowing hard, ‘but I must … This isn’t a vacation, darling. Your mama told you that because we thought it would make things easier. It was never a vacation. It’s permanent.’ A beat. ‘I’ve adopted you, sweetheart. You’re going to live with me now, and be my daughter.’

Teresa didn’t move, didn’t speak.

Vera interpreted each of Simone’s words. As the revelations unfolded, one layer after another, the maid’s voice became quieter. Not once did she look at Teresa.

‘Your family do not want you any more,’ Simone said, licking dry lips. ‘They asked me to take you away. Your mama needed the money. She … She sold you.’

There was a strange sound in Teresa’s ears. She struggled to process what was being said. She felt as if she was floating several feet above her body, rudderless. Her past, her life, her identity: all of it collapsed beneath her like a house of cards.

Her first thought was: It makes sense. She had asked for this. Told Julia she wanted it. Jointly, they had mapped her future, as far away from the estancia as possible. Simone would have paid handsomely. Everyone was happy.

But it hurt. It hurt. Julia had lied.

She didn’twant me.

‘You’ve had a nice time here, though, haven’t you?’ Simone was saying, nodding at her encouragingly. ‘Would it be so bad to live with me, in London?’

Something stuck. Something wasn’t right.

‘Speak, sweetheart.’ Simone squeezed her hands. ‘Please … say anything.’

There was only one word that made sense: ‘Calida.’

It took a second for Simone to connect the dots. The sister. The twin. The one she hadn’t chosen. Her expression faltered a moment before righting itself.

‘Calida knew about this, too,’ Simone explained gently. ‘She and your mother both made this decision. Together. For everyone’s benefit.’

Vera’s rendition confirmed it. In a reel of sun-kissed images, her childhood with Calida flashed before her eyes. The closeness, the connection … the drum of her twin’s matching heartbeat … the horses, the land, the dust, the laughter.

She had run from it all. Run far and run fast and never looked back.

I wish you’d just disappear.

‘They don’t want you,’ Simone said again. ‘Your sister chose to give you away as freely as Julia did. I’m your new mother now. I’m your new family.’

A flood of emotions washed over her.

Here it is, she thought, your new life.

She had prayed for this outcome, and now it was here.

So why was there this glaring hole in the centre of her heart?

‘You’re Tess Geddes now,’ Simone said. ‘My daughter.’

All night—that long, lonely night—the stranger’s name floated in her half-consciousness like a phantom, daring her to step into it, to let it swallow her up.

To hell with you both, she thought. I don’t need you.

I’ll show you just what I’m made of—and then you’ll be sorry.

12 (#ulink_c275f4f5-3bf7-5f7d-81ed-beeb52f608f8)

‘Looking great, everyone. And … action!’

Simone, or rather her character Miranda Fenchurch, stepped out of the Royal Courts of Justice in a navy pinstripe suit, faced the wall of cameras, and delivered the gut-wrenching oration that would conclude the most anticipated political thriller of the year. As with all Simone’s scenes, they canned it in one.

‘You’re a special lady, you know that?’ the director told her afterwards, as the first spots of rain began to fall and an assistant ushered her under cover.

‘Don’t patronise me, Greg.’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—’

‘What a dreadful sycophant that man is,’ Simone muttered to her aide, once the director had skulked off. ‘Calling me a lady—who does he think he’s talking to, Camilla Parker Bowles? God forbid.’ Privately, however, Simone knew that she was special. Playing Miranda Fenchurch in An Eye For An Eye was a departure from her usual: she was embodying a cutthroat, hard-nosed barrister who wasn’t afraid to rattle the cage. The awards cabinet at home had better make way for a shiny new addition.

On the way to her car, a female co-star flagged her down. ‘It was wonderful meeting Tess at the party,’ the woman said. ‘What a beautiful girl.’

‘Isn’t she?’

‘When will you be announcing the adoption?’

‘When the time is right,’ Simone replied. ‘It’s a complex process, you understand.’ She could picture the headlines already: SELFLESS SIMONE RESCUES TEEN FROM POVERTY. GEDDES GIVES GIRL A CHANCE. Any star could traipse halfway across the world to buy a baby, but there was something unusual and intriguing about Simone’s decision to make that difference for an older child.

The media would lap it up like piglets at a watering hole.

‘It must be,’ said the woman. ‘Is she finding it hard to adjust?’

Simone thought: None of your damn business. But she felt compelled to say, ‘Not a bit. She loves it here. She loves her new life. She loves me.’

With that, she climbed into the Mercedes and shut the door.

The mansion was quiet, which meant no Emily. So much for Brian’s pledge to ground her. She found her husband in his office. ‘Where’s Tess?’

Brian turned in his chair. ‘Still in her room,’ he replied.