Under the Spanish Stars Read Online Free PDF Page B

crept out of the family home and hadn’t yet been caught. That didn’t lessen the guilt any. Katarina briefly closed her eyes, giving an involuntary shudder when she thought about how her family would react if they discovered what she’d been up to. There was no point in attempting to explain because they’d never understand. Would never want to. What she did went way beyond anything they could ever fathom or imagine.
    Her shoulders slumped.
    She’d never fitted in with her family, but genes were genes, even though her red hair, blue eyes and pale skin were in complete contrast to her dark-haired family. Katarina couldn’t get over the shame of being born into a privileged life while others starved on the streets and even though she worked hard with the local charities, it was never enough to help her countrymen. It pained her to live a life of luxury while others suffered, but despite her familynot understanding, she loved them dearly and couldn’t bear to dishonour the Sanchez name. She’d already given up the man she cared for deeply in order to keep the family peace, so she couldn’t bear letting go the only other passion that got her through the long, drawn-out days. And so the never-ending battle raged between her conscience and her heart.
    Weaving through the backstreets of Granada, Katarina scooted past the mangy dogs and piles of rubbish, her loose brown skirt and simple white shirt ensuring she blended in with the crowds. She kept her head down, concentrating on the pavement.
    Being out on the street exposed her to danger, but she couldn’t remain holed up like a finch in a cage. There was only one way for her to fly and it meant enduring the uncertainty that littered Granada’s streets. There had been recent rumblings about a possible uprising and this had changed the landscape and personality of her people. Since the monarchy had been overthrown almost five years ago, the faith of her countrymen had declined rapidly and the trust and kindness that had always flowed through her people’s hearts had begun to fade. Katarina found it hard to comprehend this dramatic change and she feared it would stay or, much to her dismay, get worse.
    If her grandfather and his wealthy colleagues were right, Spain could spiral even further into an abyss of misery. Rumours had been rife about plots to overthrow the government: the army supported the Left, and private militias and unions aided the Right, and with both sides rumoured to be staging coups against a democratic Spain, Katarina had no doubt the end result would be war. But no one wanted to listen to a seventeen-year-old from Granada’s upper class. They had no interest in her concerns about General Francisco Franco of the Spanish Republican Armed Forces—a man she suspected was waiting patiently for the opportunity to strike when least expected. And when he did, it would be hard, fast and painfully deep.
    Reaching the neighbourhood of Sacromonte, relief instantly flowed through Katarina and her muscles relaxed. Whether it was the rawness of the real people, or the strong musical vein running through it, she found this neighbourhood increasingly difficult to leave. Katarina had no doubt that had she been born into a different family she could have lived a fulfilled life here.
    She shook her head, chastising herself.
    Who was she fooling? Her life of privilege made it easy to imagine living like the poor because this wasn’t her life. If hard times fell and she was forced to live hand to mouth, her romantic notions would rapidly disappear into the ether. But she did love the people in Sacromonte. They were the heart and soul of humanity, which was reflected in their music and dance, not like the pompous rich who invaded her circle. The only person who kept her sane in the world of the elite was her father, the one man who saw through the superficial persons in their lives but had to endure it, just like her.
    Ducking