by Alan Laycock
“Yes, but she claims to be able to offer something that he can’t.”
“What’s that? Hubble-bubbles?” I quipped.
“Ha, no, customers. She told me she has quite a following and thinks she might be able to persuade some of them to attend.”
“Will they be able to afford it? I mean, don’t New Age people try to do without money and… things like that?”
“Well, she says that among her group there are some who are quite well-off. Oh, I don’t know what to do. I think I’ll wait for the first course to get underway, then make a snap decision.”
Faced with the alternatives of the experimental writer with a few groupies or the novelist with no-one at all, I decided not to attempt to sway her either way. The second course was to commence in the middle of June, she said, which seemed like rather short notice to me, but then I had no idea how cheaply she’d sold the first course. Just then a car crunched to a halt on the gravel and Malcolm was soon bounding into the Hymer.
“Ah, Alan, there you are. I thrashed a Czech at matchplay today,” he said, looking tanned and pleased with himself.
“A cheque?”
“You know, from Czechoslovakia or whatever the commies used to call it. Mind you, he was a rookie like you, so it was a doddle.”
“The staff are here,” Angela said while handing him a coffee.
“Good. Ah, Alan, I’ve got something to give you.” He stomped into the bedroom and returned with a brown envelope. “This is from Cristóbal, for services rendered, I think.”
“Ah, my pay,” I said, though I hoped it also contained my five percent commission for the building job which I’d so adeptly secured for him without doing anything at all.
“It feels a bit thick, eh? He must have slipped you something for getting him the job,” he said with a rather grotesque wink.
It didn’t feel nearly thick enough to me, but I pocketed it and bade Angela goodbye until the sixth, as I knew that Malcolm would rope me into a game of pitch and putt before then.
“So aren’t you coming until then?” she asked me.
“No, I want to take a break and have a think about how I can be of help during the courses. Hopefully I’ll arrive full of beans and… ideas,” I said, seeing little point in commencing my role of resident spare part until then.
“We’ll get you that jeep you asked for soon, Alan,” Malcolm said with a grin.
“Will we?” she asked.
“While I was driving back just now I remembered I was in a hire car. Well, I mean, that won’t do, will it? We can’t be throwing money away like that. So, Alan, if you don’t mind picking me up tomorrow at eight, we’ll go and have a look for something that’ll do for your trips and for us too.”
“Great,” I said, my motivation multiplying on the spot.
“Yes, we’ll get something half-decent that you can drive up them mountain tracks, then pop down to Alicante to drop off the hire car that’s costing me a bloody fortune.”
“Great.”
“Then we’ll come back and play a round of that mickey-mouse golf that you like.”
“Great.”
“Happier now, Alan?” said Angela.
I smiled. “More inspired, yes.”
I was happier still when I pulled over in a lay-by and ripped open the envelope. It contained the agreed €10,000 in €500 notes, plus a few paltry fifties for my recent work.
“Put it in the bank, Alan,” Inma said when I opened the replenished cornflakes box and dramatically displayed its contents.
“Yes, dear, I will.”
“It’s not cheap,” Malcolm said the following morning on the forecourt of a large car dealership on the outskirts of Elda.
“No, sir, but for a two-year-old car of this type the price is good,” said the eager young salesman in English.
“What do you think, Alan?”
“Oh, it’s far too posh for my trips up into the mountains, Malcolm. I was thinking of something more like that,” I said, pointing at a faded Nissan 4x4 with plenty of seats.
“That? Angela wouldn’t be seen dead in that heap, and neither would I.” He moved closer. “I mean, it hasn’t even got leather seats.” He grasped the salesman’s arm and led him back to the first car. “No, I’ll take this one, but you’ll have to knock me a thousand off.”
The youngster frowned but his eyes sparkled. “I think we can do that. Will you require finance, sir?”
Malcolm scowled. “Do I look like a bloody pauper?”
“A what, sir?”
“Un pobre,” I murmured.
“Ha, no, of course not. When do you wish to take the car, sir?”
“Now,” he said, sliding a bank card from his shirt pocket.
It turned out that as Malcolm wasn’t yet registered as a resident, he couldn’t buy the car.
“What?” his roar echoed around the office. “Is my money no good?”
The chap behind the desk patiently explained that if he or his wife owned property, he could easily arrange residency.
“Oh, I haven’t got time to mess about with that now. Put the car in his name then,” he said, jerking a thumb in my direction.
“But...” I began.
“Don’t worry, you’ll soon be making me a present of it.”
“All right.”
As they insisted on giving the gleaming beast a thorough service, we went to Alicante airport to drop off the hire car. As we drove back in Inma’s Ibiza, I reiterated my fears that the new car was just too elegant to drive along stony mountain tracks.
“I might chip the paintwork.”
“Don’t be soft. Just try not to drive it off a cliff with all Angela’s guests inside,” he said, before cackling fiendishly, his humour improving as his game of golf – or pitch and putt – drew nearer.
The metallic grey, seven-seater Toyota Land Cruiser was ready when we returned, and after signing the paperwork the man handed me the keys.
“Congratulations,” he said to me in Spanish. “May you have health to enjoy it.”
“Gracias.”
“The car is taxed, but it’s customary to have insurance too.”
“Ah, yes.”
He kindly called an insurance company they worked with and after Malcolm had approved the policy I gave them our details and the man was soon printing out the confirmation they’d emailed to him.
Once outside I proffered the keys.
“You drive it, Alan. If you’re going to be up hill and down dale in the thing you’d better get used to it. I’ll be on your tail in yours.”
Having driven the Hymer, a bit, the Toyota seemed a little less daunting and I was soon gliding up the motorway, marvelling at the smooth ride. I pictured the tracks that I’d mountain-biked along and reasoned that if I took it easy I might not scratch it after all. The guests would be impressed, no doubt, and I looked forward to exploring the routes up the Carche mountain on Inma’s next day off. One could get quite used to driving a car like this, I thought as I steered into the golf club car park, and I ought to be grateful that Malcolm had just coughed up €36,000 as if he’d been paying for the weekly shop.
After a quick bite to eat we commenced our double round of the mickey-mouse course and I continued to dwell on the extent of my benefactor’s fortune. He must be worth many millions to be able to splash money around like that, I concluded, and I suspected that he wouldn’t allow his wife’s hotel to fail if she found she enjoyed it as much as she hoped. Still, with no regular guests booked in and only eight for the course, he might be hoping that she’d soon go off the idea.
“Would you consider living in the hotel, if it doesn’t take off and Angela decides to call it a day?” I asked him after he’d landed his ball on the green from the fifth tee.
“If I lived in a hotel, I’d live in one in the Bahamas or somewhere,” he said as we walked along.
“No, I mean make it into a house again.”
“Why so negative, Alan?”
“Oh, I don�
��t mean to be, but like you said, it won’t be easy to make a success of it.”
“If it isn’t, I’ll sell it at a profit and clear off somewhere else, unless Angela wants to stay.”
“At a profit? Are you sure?”
“Of course I am. We’ve made a fully functioning hotel for far less than a million. With all the money that’s floating around these days that’s chickenfeed. Ha, some foreigner would buy it and use it to launder money or turn it into a brothel, or both. When you get as wealthy as I am, Alan, you find you rarely lose out unless you do something really daft. Money begets money, like my granddad used to say.”
“Was he a wealthy man?”
“No, he was a small shopkeeper and a lay preacher. Do try to lift the ball this time, Alan.”
I lifted the ball, right over the green.
I sighed. “I’m not improving as fast as I thought I would.”
“You lack commitment.”
“I know,” I said, glad that he hadn't bought me all the gear in the end.
“But you keep me company.”
“Claro.”
“You what?”
“Of course. Do you not fancy learning a bit of Spanish, Malcolm? I could teach you a few things,” I said, before describing Bernie’s book-free progress from an exponent of the single-word response to a person able to hold a conversation of sorts.
“Oh, I’m sixty-three now. Too old to learn.”
I told him why that wasn’t the case, but I’ll spare you a reprise of my earlier rant.
“Hmm, what’s this called then?” he said, raising his putter.
“Putter, I think,” I said, pronouncing the word abruptly as a Spaniard would.
“You think?”
“Er, I’m fairly sure. They use a lot of English words in golf, you see, but I’m not really sure when that’s just through laziness, or custom, or because the Spanish word doesn’t exist.”
He held up an iron. “And this?”
I explained that golf clubs in general were called palos de golf, and that I thought an iron was a palo de hierro, meaning stick of iron.
“You think?” he said with a grin. “I thought you were fluent in Spanish, Alan, or have you been pulling my leg all this time?”
“I’m not fluent yet, but I will be. If I went fishing, for instance, I wouldn’t know a lot of the words, but I’d go home and learn them. It’s the same with any specific set of vocabulary.”
“I was only kidding. How do you say green?”
“They say gren.”
“And golf ball?”
“Pelota de golf.”
“And bunker?”
“The same.”
“And a wood?”
“Palo de madera.”
“And fairway?”
“The same, I think.”
“Ha, I can tell you’re not sure about that one.”
“I’ll look it up later.” (They also say calle, as in street, for fairway.)
“Hmm, Spanish doesn’t sound as hard as I thought it was.”
“Shall I type out a list of useful words and phrases for you?”
“Yes, you do that, Alan. I might give it a go after all.”
After the game Malcolm insisted on me driving the Toyota home and promised to take good care of Inma’s Ibiza.
“All right, thanks. I’ll plan some routes for the guests too,” I said, mentally rubbing my hands at the prospect of swanning about in the best car I’d driven since Bernie had allowed me to drive a Bentley owned by the firm he worked for, from the pub to their forecourt, him being over the limit at the time, back in the days when he’d been a sedentary boozehound.
“And don’t forget to write my Spanish crib sheet, there’s a good lad.”
“I won’t.”
The following day I set off alone to explore the Sierra de la Pila, prior to lunching at Inma and Rosa’s bar. I found that I was able to drive all the way up to the radio mast at the top of the mountain without imperilling the paintwork, as long as I steered clear of the odd prickly bush. It was a clear, sunny day and as I viewed the wooded hills and the valley below I felt sure that the budding artists would love to spend some time up there, scribbling away in their drawing pads and soaking up the rays.
“If the Carche is as easy to drive up, I’ll have at least two daytrips to offer the guests,” I said to Inma when she finally joined me for coffee, having had an especially busy lunch hour. “And if they all want to go, I’ll be able to do each trip twice.”
“Oh, I’m pleased about that,” she said, looking inordinately happy, despite having been rushed off her feet for the last two hours.
“We’ll go up the Carche tomorrow and take a picnic, if you like.”
“Oh, yes, that would be splendid.”
“You seem happy today, love.”
“I am. I’ve got a date for signing the divorce papers at last.”
“Oh, when’s that?”
“The 23rd of May, a Wednesday.”
“So soon?”
“Yes. Oh, I’ll feel so glad when it’s done.”
“Ha, we could get married the very next day,” I joked.
“If you like.”
My mouth fell open, then I closed it to speak. “Really?”
“Well, maybe not the next day, but whenever you wish. I don’t want a lot of fuss though.”
I grasped her hand across the table.
“Inma, will you marry me?” I said in English.
“Yes, of course I will.” She kissed me quickly, ruffled my hair, and went to serve a customer.
Gobsmacked, I gazed at my coffee as myriad thoughts entered my head at the same time, most of them concerning the wedding. Would she want a really quiet affair with just a couple of witnesses? No, she’d want her parents to be there, but maybe not a big party afterwards. Should we go on our honeymoon straight away or wait for a while? What kind of ring should I buy her, and should I get her an engagement ring too? What would she wear, and what should I wear? Should I rent a limo, or just give the Toyota a good clean, assuming I could still use it, or would Letizia be the best bet, or did it really matter which car we used? Would being married change anything between us? Would our equality before the law – assuming she didn’t make any financial stipulations, which I knew she wouldn’t – make my feelings of inadequacy return?
I felt a soft hand on the nape of my neck.
“Don’t worry about it, Alan. We’ll talk about it tomorrow on our picnic. Then we’ll both have had time to think about how to go about it. Until then, not a word.”
“I want whatever you want.”
She put a finger to her lips and entered the kitchen.
19
“So,” I said at 13.26 hours the following day as we sat on some rocks atop the Carche mountain, gazing at the flatlands around Jumilla and the cordilleras beyond. “Have you decided how you’d like it to be?”
“I have certain preferences, if that’s what you mean.”
“Go on.”
“Well, I’d like it to be on a Saturday morning, so that my parents can come, have lunch with us, then drive back to Murcia without too much traffic. It’ll be easier for Natalia too. Rosa’s going to have a word with her Uncle Alberto, who’s on the council, to see if that’s possible. If it is, I don’t mind which Saturday it is, but I’d prefer it to be sooner rather than later, to please my parents.”
“On Saturday the… 26th of May then, if we can?”
“Yes, if we can.”
“What will you wear?”
“Nothing special. That lime green dress maybe.”
“What should I wear?”
“Whatever you want.”
“I don’t have a tie.”
“Then don’t wear one, or borrow one.”
This I took to be a hint that I should dress fairly smartly, with a tie, but not necessarily in a suit.
“I’ll buy you an engagement ring soon.”
“No, please don’t. I only wear this ring my
grandmother gave me and I don’t wish to be quizzed about the wedding at work.”
“And a wedding ring?”
She chuckled. “If you like we’ll buy matching bands.”
“Yes, I’d like that. Oh, if someone had told me when I stepped off the plane in Alicante that I’d be getting married to a beautiful Spanish woman within little over a year, I’d have said they were crazy.” I put my arm around her. “I’m a lucky man.”
“And I’m a lucky woman. Come on, before we eat let’s have a wander round and find some good places to draw from.”
“Good idea. Next week I’ll be up here with them.”
We had a pleasant lunch, well wrapped up at a touch over the height of Ben Nevis, before driving happily home, so when Juanca called at half past five I’d just woken up after a most pleasant siesta. I ignored the call and phoned him back half an hour later.
“Did you call?” I said abruptly, suspicious that he’d got in touch with me so soon after I’d received my commission from his cousin, which he’d once suggested he deserved a chunk of.
“Yes, I did. How have you been keeping, Alan?” he said in a suspiciously upbeat voice.
“Not bad. And you?”
“Oh, you know, plodding on and paying the bills, ha ha.”
“Ha ha. How can I help you, Juanca?”
“I just thought we might meet up sometime soon.”
“What for?”
“Oh, one should keep in touch, you know. I’d hoped you might drop by my office, but you haven’t, so I called you.”
“Well, it’s nice to hear from you, but I’m quite busy at the moment.”
“All right, maybe another time then.”
“Yes.” I softened a tiny bit. “Yes, I’ll call in one day and you can buy me a coffee.”
“Of course, or lunch.”
“Yes. Goodbye then.”
“Goodbye… oh, I almost forgot to tell you something.” He paused for effect.
“Go on.”
“Now, what was it? Ah, yes, a Frenchman called in to ask about buying a house in the area.”
“That’s good.”
“Yes, he arrived in a big Volvo with French number plates, so I knew he was French rather than Belgian.”
