by Alan Laycock
“As there are ten people on the course, you’ll have to take them out in two groups.”
“Oh, yes, so I’ll have at least four outings,” I said, instantly bucking up.
“Unless only six want to go.”
“Ah, that’s true,” I said, my morale falling again, as I’m a sensitive man first thing in the morning.
“It was such a good thing that Gerardo was here when the couples arrived, Alan. Without him we’d have been in a tizzy, but he knew what to do right away.”
“Yes, well, he is a hotel manager, isn’t he?”
“Yes, but I wasn’t even sure if we were prepared for guests. It turned out that we had everything we needed to give them a good dinner, even fresh bread. It was simply masterful the way he organised everybody. He really is on the ball.”
I held the phone at arm’s length and imitated Gerardo’s sycophantic smile.
“Alan, are you there?”
“Yes.”
“I said Tina’s arriving later.”
“Ah, good. Is she one of the course guests?”
She tutted. “No, the teacher. Will you be able to come over and meet her?”
I’d rather hoped to spend Inma’s day off with her, so I asked her what time Tina would be arriving.
“Some time this afternoon.”
“Then I’ll be over by six.”
“All right.” She chuckled. “Are you not curious to know where the unexpected guests are from?”
I shook my head. “Yes, where are they from?”
“From East Anglia, of all places. They were just touring around and came across us. When they saw the hotel they couldn’t resist staying. It’s a good sign, isn’t it?”
It’s uncanny, I thought. “Yes, it is,” I said.
“Anyway, I must go to make sure they’re all right.”
I imagined Sybil from Fawlty Towers, perched on the edge of their breakfast table, chattering away, but no, Angela was nothing like her. Her hair wasn’t permed for a start.
“I’ll see you later, Angela.”
“Bye, Alan.”
“But they feel warm to me,” Inma said after crouching to feel my sandalled feet.
“It’s an expression. It means to not feel very keen about something.”
“And what is it that you don’t feel keen about?”
“Oh, meeting the teacher, then meeting the participants tomorrow morning. I always feel nervous when I’m about to meet people, and I think someone in my role ought to be enthusiastic, like a... red coat.”
“A soldier?”
“Er, something like that,” I said, not wishing to explain the joys of Butlins just then.
She grasped my arms and gave them a shake. “Just be yourself and everything will be fine. What does it matter, after all? And you’ll get to drive them around in the Toyota. You’ll enjoy that, won’t you?”
I agreed that I would, as long as none of my passengers proved tiresome or carsick.
“But I’d like my Ibiza back, so please leave the Toyota there today.”
As the morning was sunny and warm, we decided to spend some time on the new patio, having rarely ventured up there. A pleasant breeze tempered the sun’s rays and I’d just concluded that all was right with the world after all when I spied Zefe clumping up the track. Although it was about time he showed his face, I wasn’t especially eager to entertain him just then, but I needn’t have worried, because he just hulloed us from below, waving his stick in the air.
“How’s it going, Zefe?” I said, leaning over my splendid railings.
“Good, good, I’ve just come to tell you that I’m fine. Hola, Inma.”
“Hola, Zefe. Are you settling in?”
“Yes, I am. Such a nice room with views to the south. I get the sun all day, unlike in there, where it was chilly until the afternoon.”
“That’s because it was mostly winter, Zefe,” I pointed out.
“Yes, my room’s marvellous, but the house is a mess. I’ve told Álvaro that we must get a skip and throw a lot of things out, then give the place a good clean.”
I groaned, sure that he wouldn’t hear me.
Inma tittered and prodded my calf with her bare foot. “I’ll give you the number of a good cleaner, Zefe. She’ll come up for a day and clean the whole place, as soon as you’ve got rid of all the junk.”
“Yes, please do, Inma.”
“Once you’ve got the skip I’ll come and give you a hand,” I said, Inma’s quick thinking having hopefully spared me irksome cleaning duties. “But I won’t clean,” I added, just to be on the safe side.
“Of course not, Alan. You’ve done enough, and we’re very grateful. Álvaro isn’t a bad cook, but his idea of tidiness is lamentable.”
I sniggered at the audacity of the man. “Are you paying him rent, Zefe?”
“Not rent, as such, but I’m making a handsome contribution.”
“Good.”
“I’m not as poor as I appear to be, Alan.”
“I know.”
“And when God calls me to his side, many years from now, you’ll find that I haven’t forgotten your kindness.”
The devil’s side, more like. “Yes, Zefe.”
“Can we have the mattress back sometime?” said Inma.
“Yes, I’ve already ordered a bigger bed. I always found the bed in the annex a little uncomfortable, but I didn’t like to complain. I’ll be off now.”
“Yes, look after yourself and give our regards to Álvaro,” I said, sensing the end of an era.
“I will.”
“Bye, Zefe.”
“Bye. Oh, when are we going swimming, Alan?”
I laughed. “Not this week, I’m afraid, but definitely next week.”
“All right, Alan.”
We watched him plod down the track until he turned the corner onto his new street.
I chuckled. “What an old scoundrel he is.”
“Yes, but he’s come a long way since you met him.”
I remembered his foul-mouthed outburst when I first entered his crummy flat, and his fears that social services would confine him to a home, as he’d seemed just about ready for one.
“If you can do what you’ve done with Zefe, just imagine how easy dealing with a few mature art students will be.”
“A piece of cake,” I said in English.
“Child’s play,” she responded.
“Easy-peasy. A walk in the park. I can’t wait.” I took her hand and sighed. “But I still don’t want to go.”
I needn’t have worried, or not much, because Tina, the course leader, was a charming woman of about my own age from Cheshire. She dressed casually, not in an especially arty way, and had been doing similar courses for years. I’d have liked to have shown her around and suggested the best places for drawing and painting, but the ever-present Angela usurped that role, so I just tagged along, murmuring inanities now and then. When she retired to her first-floor room for a rest, Angela trotted off to check the other rooms, so I wandered down to reception and found the ever-present Gerardo behind the desk, looking like a second-rate male model on his day job.
“Hello, Alan, how are you?”
“Muy bien. Y tu?”
“Very well, thank you. Making sure that everything is prepared for tomorrow.”
“Yes, I’m looking forward to meeting the guests,” I lied in Spanish.
“Don’t worry about them, Alan. My team is ready to receive them.”
“Bien. Hasta luego.”
“See you later, Alan.”
Fecking prick, I thought, as I’m not one for swearing much, even in my head.
On my aimless wander around the ground floor I was fortunate enough to come across Arturo, looking very much the maintenance man cum caretaker cum chauffeur cum gardener, with a huge bunch of keys hanging from his belt and an array of pens in the pocket of his black canvas jacket. His glossy hair was tied smoothly back and I saw that a cap wouldn’t suit him.
“Hol
a, Arturo. So many keys already?”
“Most of them are mine. I used to find them useful in my old life, but I think they make me look official and important.”
“Ha, yes, they do.”
“Will you be leaving the Toyota?”
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, my old van is too scruffy to use, you see, so I’ve parked it around the back.”
“I see. Er, where do you have to go?”
“Well, I have to pick up two of the guests from the airport at about half past one in the morning. Most of them will make their own way here, but Angela asked me to go to get them, as it’s so late.”
I should have stomped off to find her and tell her that I would collect the guests, as it was my job to transport them, but I somehow didn’t fancy getting home in the middle of the night, so I just nodded. He might have sensed my annoyance, because he then told me that he’d been assigned a little room behind the kitchen.
“Mainly for when I finish really late. I don’t mind staying, as it keeps me out of the bars, and I’ll make sure I get time off to see my Rocío.” He smiled. “I hope to work a lot of hours at first, because we don’t really know how long this is going to last, do we?”
“No,” I said, before remembering my other more dynamic hat and putting it on. I felt taller. I popped my head through the door to make sure no-one was eavesdropping. I cleared my throat. “I… er, have reason to believe that your old friend Cristóbal will get a big job soon. A… certain person wishes to have a chalet built and I’m going to… that’s to say, someone is going to ensure that he gets the contract, so it might be in your interests to stay in touch with him,” I tapped my nose. “Eh?” I added for effect, gazing down at him like a kindly Victorian schoolmaster.
“That’s good to know, Alan.”
I shrugged. “Oh, one wants the best for one’s friends, you know.”
“But if you’re still pulling strings regarding that sort of thing, what are you messing about here for?” he said, or words to that effect.
I handed him the Toyota keys to add to his collection. “I don’t know, Arturo, I really don’t know.”
“The trouble with that damn Gerardo being such a pillock and speaking English to me is that I can’t get involved in anything,” I moaned to Malcolm in the Hymer.
“What do you want to get involved for? Hotel work’s for lackeys, Alan. Drive the arty buggers wherever you feel like going and leave the women’s work to the others. That’s what they’re paid for.”
“Yes, but I’d hoped to have a bigger role and get paid too.”
“You’ll be paid for swanning about with them, and handsomely. I’ll see to that. We can’t have you short of a bob or two, can we?”
Businessmen like Malcolm must be masters of psychological manipulation, because I bit the bait like a starving perch. I pushed myself up on the comfy seat, entwined my fingers, and stuck out my chin.
“Malcolm, it’s not that I need to work here, as I have more irons in the fire. It’s just that I expected to feel more involved, that’s all. You know, after all the building and the… build-up, to find myself out in the cold is a bit… well, belittling.”
His mocking gaze helped me to relax my silly posture.
“If you want I can have you kitted out in a waiter’s uniform before you can say knife, lad.”
“I...”
“You can’t be a receptionist because you haven’t got a degree in tourism.”
“Er...”
“So, you’ll work seven till four on some days and four till twelve on others, and get a weekend off about once a month.”
“Yes, but...”
“Within a year or so, if you prove to be better than all the others, you might be promoted to head waiter. How does that sound?”
I hung my head. “Rubbish.”
“Exactly, so no more nonsense about working here. Sell your coins and houses and treat this as a bit of a lark that you get paid for.”
“Yes, Malcolm.”
“Where’s my crib sheet?”
“Oh, I forgot to do it.”
“Ha, some waiter you’d make. Pitch and putt on Wednesday.”
“I might have to take them out.”
“I’ll pick you up at eight; you and the crib sheet.”
“Yes, Malcolm.”
“Here are your car keys.”
“Thanks. We’d better change the name on the Toyota soon.”
“Think on what I’ve said, and don’t be a bloody loser.”
“No, Malcolm.” I stood up. “Adiós.”
“Adio-ows,” he said, so I knew I’d need to work on his pronunciation.
21
Often when you worry about things and then they turn out all right, you wonder why you wasted all that mental energy worrying about them in the first place. It happens to me a lot, as you’ll have gathered, but when I met the participants of the art course at midday on Sunday I saw straight away that they’d be no bother. Their ages ranged from about forty to seventy – seven women and three men – and when I gave them my little spiel in the dining room they all listened attentively. I told them I was in charge of excursions and had planned two scenic half-day trips which they were welcome to come along on. They would take place on the Monday and the Tuesday, morning and afternoon if numbers were high, and I’d also be available if they wished to expand their horizons in any particular direction on Thursday, Friday and Saturday, Wednesday being reserved for golf, I said with a charming chuckle.
“Golf, you say?” said one chap of about sixty.
“Er, I meant that I was playing. It’s my day off, you see.”
Angela, who stood smilingly by my side, unable to leave me even these few rays of limelight, must have assessed the tall, bald, tanned man in an instant, as she recklessly suggested that he might want to join Alan and her husband in a relaxing game of golf.
“I’d love too. I’ve sort of tagged along with my wife, you see, to have a go at drawing, but I wouldn’t be averse to playing a round. You don’t mind, do you dear?” he said, not to me, but to the placid lady by his side.
“Of course not, John. If Alan’s all right with that.”
“It’s only pitch and putt actually,” I said, glancing nervously at Angela, who I assumed was still in her right mind. I mean, Malcolm wanted nothing whatsoever to do with the guests, so had his wife just put my foot in it?
“I don’t mind pitch and putt. I’m not much of a player anyway.”
I nodded feebly. “So,” I said, clapping my hands and smiling stiffly. “Who’s up for my first excursion? Not the golf, but the mountain, as the golf is an extra for this lucky gentleman, ha ha,” I said, feeling like Basil Fawlty in one of his pickles. I know it’s a bit naff to refer repeatedly to a TV series, but you must remember that having been a stay-at-home sort of man for most of my life, ninety percent of my hotel experience had come from watching Fawlty Towers. I’m also tall, gangly and of a nervous disposition, so the comparison isn’t without foundation.
Five of them were definitely up for at least one excursion, four were maybes, and one lady had only come to draw and paint with the teacher’s guidance, so I guaranteed the five keen ones a pew at 9.00am the following day and said that we’d take things from there.
“Do you have any questions or suggestions or… anything?” I said.
They hadn’t, so Angela steered me out as Tina entered with a large folder and a supremely confident smile on her face.
“Er, was that a good idea, Angela?”
“What?”
“Inviting that man along to golf, with Malcolm.”
“Oh, yes,” she said as we walked outside into the sunshine. “The lawns are looking better now, aren’t they?”
“Yes, er…. would you mind telling Malcolm that the man’s coming along? I’d rather it came from you.”
“Alan.”
“Yes?”
“Malcolm goes to Monforte and plays with whoever he finds there.”
“That’s true.”
“He isn’t an ogre.”
“No.”
“He’s a gregarious man when he wants to be.”
“Yes.”
“And it might be in your interests to take John along.”
“Why? Because he probably isn’t as bad as me?”
She stopped and faced me. “There is that, as Malcolm’s a bit disappointed that you haven’t got keener, but there’s something else, probably nothing, but it pays to follow these things up.”
“What things?”
“John and Susan are the guests who Arturo picked up last night.”
“Ah.”
“So they were at breakfast this morning, logically.”
“Yes.”
“I had a little chat with them (vision of Sybil F.) and it turns out that they’re thinking about retiring to a warmer country. It’s just an idea at present, but one that you could follow up on the golf course. Do you see now?”
“Yes, thank you, Angela.”
“If nothing else it’ll give you a bit of practice. Let’s face it, hotel work isn’t your thing, so you ought to hone your house selling skills. Malcolm will probably give you a few pointers too, as he could sell sand to the Arabs.”
I bridled a bit at her aspersion that I couldn’t hack it in the hotel world. She must have noticed.
“Alan, as this project has slowly come to fruition there have been many turning points where decisions have had to be made, by me, by you, by other people,” she said in an ominously schoolmarmish voice.
“Hmm.”
“At each of the points that concerned you, you’ve backed away from responsibility.”
“I...”
“Please let me finish,” she said, patting my arm. “When we first bought the place I could well imagine you becoming the manager, had you been willing to prepare yourself for the job, but I soon saw that you didn’t have the drive or the inclination to do that. Since then you’ve been edging yourself away little by little, until in the end I thought you might not even want to take them on trips in the splendid car that Malcolm’s bought for the purpose.”
“But...”
“I’m not criticising you, Alan.”
“Oh, that’s good to hear.”
