The Women Who Ran Away - Sheila O'Flanagan Page 0,80

have bumped into you there.’

‘Are you doing it all on your own?’ Deira asked. ‘Don’t you have a crew?’

He nodded. ‘My sound and film people have gone on ahead.’

‘I can’t believe you’re driving everywhere,’ said Grace.

‘Makes it easy for the more out-of-the-way locations,’ Charlie said. ‘Not everyone is living in a big city.’

‘Was the team on the ferry with you?’ asked Deira.

‘No. Dave and Lou flew to Paris and I picked them up there,’ replied Charlie. ‘They went straight to Madrid after the Bordeaux interview.’

‘It all sounds very glam,’ Deira said.

‘Not really.’ Charlie grinned. ‘But it beats being in an office.’

Everyone agreed that a job that included travelling beat being in an office. Grace told a couple of anecdotes about her airline days, while Deira said that although she was office-based, her job involved getting out a lot. When Charlie asked what she did and she told him, he looked surprised and told her that Amaya ran an art gallery.

‘Part of the reason I drove was to bring some paintings for her,’ he said. ‘She’s running an exhibition of painters from other countries. So I brought some she wanted from Ireland.’

‘Isn’t that amazing?’ Grace looked from Charlie to Deira. ‘Two Irish people with a common interest in art meet in a bar in Pamplona.’

Charlie smiled. ‘To be honest, I’m not much of an art buff,’ he confessed. ‘I only brought what Amaya wanted. Two artists – a man named Bernard Boyne and a woman called Jennifer Roache.’

‘Oh!’ Deira couldn’t help the exclamation. ‘I know Jennifer Roache. My very first exhibition included her aunt’s paintings. Thelma passed away a few years ago, but Jennifer is a great painter too, and her art was part of one of our later exhibitions.’

‘That’s unbelievable,’ said Grace. ‘Although maybe not really, because it doesn’t matter where you go, you’ll find an Irish person and they’ll always know someone you do.’

Charlie nodded. ‘Researching the documentary was like that,’ he said. ‘I don’t think there’s anyone we’re interviewing who doesn’t have at least a passing acquaintance with someone we already knew.’

‘You should visit the gallery, Deira,’ said Grace. ‘Check on your Irish artist’s work.’

‘I might.’

‘It’s not far from here,’ said Charlie. ‘Calle Cortez.’ He reached into his pocket and took out a business card, which he handed to her.

‘Amaya Saez Zubiri,’ she read. ‘Galería de Arte.’

‘The gallery is open until ten o’clock,’ said Charlie. ‘I’m sure you’d enjoy a visit.’

‘Your divorce must have been very amicable if you’re promoting your ex-wife and transporting paintings for her,’ remarked Deira.

‘Tough at first,’ Charlie said. ‘Amicable enough in the end. It’s partly what interested me in the whole thing about people living and working in different countries. Amaya was in Ireland when we met, but she wanted to come back here when her parents grew more infirm. I was doing well in Ireland and I didn’t want to move. When I did, I resented it. It’s my fault really that it didn’t work out. I didn’t give it a chance.’

‘Oh, but could you still?’ asked Grace.

Charlie shook his head. ‘Too much water under the bridge. She has a new man now anyhow.’

‘It all sounds so civilised.’ Deira picked up her phone as she spoke and checked for messages. There were none.

‘I’m probably making it sound better than it was,’ said Charlie.

‘Sorry.’ Deira put the phone down again. ‘I didn’t mean to make light of it. When did you divorce?’

‘Three years ago. It doesn’t seem that long, to be honest. Life goes by in a blur sometimes. And you miss things you didn’t know you’d miss. Like conversations about painters I’ve never heard of.’

‘Do you have children?’ asked Deira.

‘Amaya has a son from before we married,’ said Charlie. ‘Iñaki. He’s great. We keep in touch with FaceTime and stuff, but it’s not the same.’

Would you like a baby? A son of your own? Someone you could see all the time because you’d be in the same country? I could do that for you. You could do that for me. Deira didn’t say the words out loud, but she was thinking them.

She’d wondered on the ship if he could be the one. And now here he was sitting in front of her talking about children in a very upfront way. He knew what having a child entailed. Perhaps meeting him was meant to be. A real, proper sign. Surely Tillie would think so. She’d text her later and ask her opinion.

Grace could see that Deira had gone into a dream world of