‘And this one’s from the barrio, Chico—’
‘Good,’ he murmured, still debating what to do with one particular student on the list. As for the barrio, that was an ongoing project and very close to his heart. It was a battle he’d never win, some said, but he refused to accept that. To be the best he could be was his personal goal; to help young people from all backgrounds was his mission in life.
‘And we have a member of the British aristocracy with us this year—’
This he already knew. And he was a whole lot less impressed about that fact than Maria.
‘No wonder,’ Maria enthused. She was brandishing an official-looking document at him. ‘Fazenda Fernandez is up for yet another award this year. We are even famous in Scotland where this aristocratic young lady comes from.’
‘Really? That’s good, Maria.’
He made a point of standing next to Maria as he read the letter over her shoulder to assure her of his interest. The letter confirmed that Lizzie Fane was a member of that year’s new student intake. He smiled at first, remembering how Lizzie had teased him about his broken English, and how she’d patiently taught him, and how he’d loved those lessons. He had loved watching her mouth form the words more than the words themselves. It was a surprise he’d learned anything new, but Lizzie had assured him that he was her best student.
Her only student, he thought now, his hackles rising when he thought back to her parents, who hadn’t liked Lizzie to have any friends—in case they talked about what they saw at Rottingdean House, he had presumed at the time. They couldn’t get rid of him, because he was with Eduardo, but they had targeted Chico, levelling the most terrible accusations against him in the hope of getting Eduardo to buy them off.
At the time he was angry with Eduardo and Lizzie’s grandmother for spiriting him away before he’d had chance to clear his name, but now he realised they had saved him from going head to head with the establishment, which, back then, was a battle he could never have won. The only thing he didn’t understand about that time was why Lizzie hadn’t stepped forward to defend him. He had thought they were friends, but blood was thicker than water, it turned out, and she had chosen her lying, cheating family over him.
And now Lizzie was here on his ranch, hoping to benefit from his teaching? It was so incredible it was almost funny, but he wasn’t in the mood for laughing.
‘My success is thanks to you, Maria, and to the wonderful staff you have gathered around you,’ he said, determined to look forward, not back.
Maria turned to give him a glowing smile. ‘And to you, Chico,’ she insisted proudly. ‘Without you none of us would be working in this world-class facility.’
He watched fondly as Maria busied herself filing the letter away with all her other treasured possessions, as she referred to the many letters of praise they received.
‘As soon as we receive the official certificate I’m going to have it framed and hung on the wall with the rest,’ she told him proudly.
‘And I’m going to treat you and the staff to a party to celebrate, and thank you all for everything you’ve done for me, Maria.’ He gave her a hug.
‘We’ve come a long way together, Chico.’
As he released Maria and stepped back he could see in her eyes that Maria was thinking how easily Chico could have taken a very different path. His road out of the gutter had begun the day he wandered into Eduardo’s recruitment rally by mistake. Another do-gooder, he’d thought scornfully, contemptuous of the rapt faces all around him. He had believed Eduardo to be one of the rich pigs that came to hand out largesse in the slums to make themselves feel better. Soft bastardo! he’d thought viciously. Ten years old and all fired up, he had been on his way to confront the drug pushers who had killed his brother and Maria’s son, with a loaded gun stuck into his belt and murder on his mind. Eduardo must have seen something of this in his eyes and had called him forward. Chico had remained stubbornly planted, but Eduardo wasn’t so easy to refuse, and Eduardo was big, and hard, and firm, though Chico could still remember shooting venom from his eyes when Eduardo took a firm hold of him. He hated authority. What had authority done for him? Where were the police when his brother was shot? He hated the privilege that brought individuals like Eduardo sightseeing to the barrio and bought rich boys out of trouble. And he hated Eduardo for no better reason than the esteemed polo player was trespassing on Chico’s territory, confronting issues Chico was so sure Eduardo couldn’t understand. But Eduardo had his arm in an iron grip, and his gun was soon in Eduardo’s pocket. There would be no murders committed that day.