Under the Spanish Stars Read Online Free

speak. Flamenco, it is in the blood and very few foreigners can understand the importance of this. I am talking about the flamenco puro not the tourist flamenco with the castanets, big dresses with the …’ He wiggled his fingers around his shoulders.
    â€˜Frills.’
    â€˜The frills, yes. Tourists come here and expect to see and experience the zambra —a festive dance. It is happy and makes the people feel good. Zambra has a rhythm of four-four with accents on the first and thirdbeats. Like this.’ He placed the fingers of his right hand on the palm of his left and clapped while repeating daa-da-daa-da. He held the rhythm easily as he continued talking.
    Why hasn’t the waiter returned? Should she ask this guy if he knows where Mateo Vives lives? She studied the man across the table, his eyes shining as he enthusiastically gave her a rundown on flamenco. Any other time she’d be interested, but right now too many thoughts vied for her attention. She tried her best to tune back in but he’d just stopped talking.
    â€˜I am sorry, I may have confused you with all this information. My fault is my passion for flamenco.’
    â€˜I can’t see how that can be a fault. There’s nothing wrong with finding a passion and loving it.’ She smiled even though guilt assailed her on a daily basis for ditching the only passion she’d ever possessed.
    â€˜This Señor Vives, I can help you find him. Will you stay for the concert?’ He tilted his head towards the stage. ‘We start very soon.’
    She liked this guy and got the feeling he was sincere and not expecting anything in return. Then again, she’d been off the mark with plenty of men in the past, especially with her last boyfriend who had done a wonderful job of appearing straight while he conducted a hot affair with one of the players on his football team. Perhaps trusting her instincts with men, romantic intentions or not, wasn’t the wisest move, but she had little choice at the moment, especially since her waiter had been abducted by aliens.
    â€˜Please excuse me.’ He stood and pushed the chair under the table.
    The moment he appeared on the stage, people cheered and whooped. Over the noise she shouted, ‘I didn’t catch your name!’
    It was no use. The audience grew rowdy as more musicians poured from the crowd like ants from an anthill. Her mystery companion sat on a stool, reached behind the curtain, then pulled out a shiny guitar and placed it on his knee. The deep orange and red of the wood reminded her of the sunset she’d witnessed earlier that evening, when she’d stood in front of Sacromonte Abbey, bathing in an array of warm hues. Despite Granada’s turbulent history, Charlotte found this city enchanting and she loved the way Granada thrived on its mixed cultural heritage, embracing the old and the new, just like her beloved Melbourne.
    A woman sauntered onto the stage and the bar fell silent. She wore a pristine white shirt tied under her breasts, a red scarf around her neck anda yellow skirt that fit snugly from her waist to her knees then fanned out to swirl above her ankles. Her hair was pulled back in a severe bun, but her natural beauty didn’t suffer. She floated to the centre of the stage, head bowed, arms by her side.
    An older man appeared from behind the curtain, his navy blue shirt with high collar pressed to perfection. He sat next to her handsome new acquaintance, who’d already started strumming his guitar, the hypnotic notes reminding Charlotte of the music played in her favourite Moroccan restaurant at home. The older man’s gravelly voice drifted through the room and a moment later two more women stepped onto the stage, clapping in a steady four-four rhythm just like the guitarist had mentioned. There was a slight pause in the music, then the dancer arched her back and swung her arms high in the air. She stamped her feet continuously, the