by Tom Barry
“The locals? We are still ten kilometres from Capadelli, which is hard enough to find on a map as it is. Seems like there’s more to it than celebrity status.” His voice was ominous and she hated him for his automatic negativity.
“All he was saying is some English people a bit larger than life are living in Capadelli. Something like that. And, he also said that some famous Italian footballer from Sardinia is rumoured to be buying a house there, which I suppose would give it celebrity status around here.”
Peter looked unconvinced. “So what is a pazzo?” he demanded again.
“It means crazy,” she said, quickly continuing before he predicted their doom. “All sounds very exciting and quite intriguing, doesn’t it? We’ve never met anyone famous in five years in Provence, and here we are on our first trip to Capadelli and it seems we might be in the company of the next best thing to Italian royalty, an Italian football star. I can hardly wait.”
Peter made no reply, choosing instead to chew his pasta, and retreat into his own thoughts. Isobel gave an involuntary shudder, her eyes fixed on the distant hills.Sixteen
Jay walked past the gleaming glass door of Castello di Capadelli’s reception building, now kitted out with brass fittings and other highend finishing touches. The development had been a construction site when he last visited. It was now a tourist complex, and a beautiful one at that. The apartments and communal buildings, dull stone on his last visit, were now plastered and painted. They glowed in the morning sun, warm yellows and oranges against the blueness of the Tuscan sky; their colours already faded enough to blend in with the architecture that dotted the neighbouring hills. Beautiful details had been sprinkled liberally across the structures by his exterior design team, from carved stone horses on the walls to vines that twisted their way around doorways in intricate natural arches. What had been dirt and rubble in the surrounding landscape was now verdurous and green with winding gravel walkways replacing the paths trod out haphazardly by heavy boots. He turned the corner to the pool, a monstrous concrete hole on his last visit that would now be a veritable oasis, suitable for the most discerning of holidaymakers. He froze in shock at what he saw in place of his vision. The pool sat in a field of mud; its clear blue waters topped with a layer of dust that floated in brown waves across the surface, revealing occasional strips of blue that flashed out of the muck like escaping sky. Around the pool were neat stacks of teak decking, decking Jay had been assured had been laid weeks ago.
“What is this then, Eamon?” he asked his genial bag carrier, who had been following him around and absorbing his praise like a dry sponge.
“Well, boss,” Eamon replied, twisting his hands awkwardly in front of him, “those builders I told you about that we hadn’t paid — they came in last night and tore up their work, and they say they won’t redo it until they get all their money.”
Jay turned to Eamon unfazed. “Get the maintenance guys to somehow make it useable, at least so people can get to and from the pool without sinking up to their arses in mud. I’ll speak to Davide about settling the problem with the builder later.” He made to move on, aware that the pile of bricks stacked by what should by now have been a vine-covered wall needed his attention too.
“Are you sure that’s wise, boss?” asked Eamon, making no move to intercept his path but lacking too much of his normal jollity to be ignored. “If we do something quick and dirty it’s hardly likely to be safe. What if someone breaks an ankle or something? A child even?”
Jay wheeled around and smacked the heel of his hand into his forehead in an exaggerated gesture of frustration. “Look around you. Do you see any lifeguards? Any safety belts? Any warning signs? I think we can take the risk of some kid twisting their ankle, seeing as we are clearly not too bothered about them drowning.”
Eamon fought back a smile and nodded with his best impression of a devoted employee and a serious man. “I’ll ask the maintenance guys to do what they can.”
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to catch up with Davide,” said Jay, striding past the wall-turned-rubble with the jaunty steps of a man who couldn’t care less.
Davide was at his desk in the poky studio apartment that was being used as the accounts office. Box files were stacked all around the floor and covering the surface of the desk, a sea of paper engulfing the room. But the accountant welcomed him warmly, clasping his palms around the hands of his visitor. Jay marvelled how the diligent and industrious Italian was so unruffled by the disorder in which he was working; when Jay asked for the paperwork he had requested the evening before, the man merrily sifted through the papers, tossing them over his shoulder like confetti as he attempted to find them.
Jay tucked the papers into his folder; reading them could wait. “Your presentation for the board meeting, how’s that coming on?”
Davide beamed at the question, and from somewhere under the mountain of clutter he produced a professionally bound set of overhead slides, its pristine condition in contrast to the surrounding chaos. “Everything is ready,” said Davide, eager to be stroked for his herculean efforts.
Jay began thumbing through the deck, each slide a wall of numbers like a bingo card, effusing praise as he went. “Excellent, Davide, excellent. Very thorough.”
“I try my best, signor, I hope you agree it is complete,” said Davide, unaware of the blow that was about to fall.
“It most certainly is,” said Jay, “it most certainly is. But the thing is, Andy Skinner is not a numbers man. He likes to see the big picture. And also, these numbers are backward looking.”
Mystification reigned on Davide’s face. “But how else can I present the financial situation, if not from the past accounts?”
“What Andy has asked for,” said Jay, authority and command in his voice, “is not a history of the past, but a view of the future, a sense of where the business is going. And that is a very healthy future, is it not?” continued Jay, with menace in his words. “Five or six slides, Davide, that is what we need, nothing more, without all these confusing numbers. We must believe in the future,” said Jay, like some born again preacher, his body rising from his seat with his words. “Do I make myself clear?”
Davide nodded, his chin falling and his shoulders drooping. “Yes, signor,” he affirmed as Jay held him with a laser-like gaze, before turning on his heels.
Jay set off for the car park at some speed, anxious to avoid anything or anyone that might delay him from meeting Andy in the village, the situation with the pool only adding to the urgency and importance of his mission. But as he turned the corner onto the long straight path to the car park, two figures came into view, two horribly familiar figures. He squinted into the sun as they approached, sure that fate could not have been so unkind as to send them his way today. But his eyes had not fooled him and it soon became clear that he was on a direct collision course with Geoff and Rosie Barker, the couple that Eamon had warned him about in the hotel and who he had been steadfastly avoiding for almost a year. They were closing in like two forlorn birds of prey and directly blocking the path to his car; he had no choice but to engage them.
“Geoff, Rosie, great to see you!” he called out, as he quickened his pace towards them. “I’ve just been looking around down by your apartment, hoping to catch you.”
“Well, Mr. Brooke, you have caught us now,” said Geoff, his wife close to his side and sharing his facial expression, one of unadulterated dislike.
“I was wondering if you were both free for lunch today?” he continued, smiling brightly. “I know you have some important matters to discuss, and there’s someone very important on site today who is keen to meet with you.”
Their faces lost their unity as they tried to process this turn of events. Rosie’s had already broken into a smile as his charm took its toll and even Geoff, the stronger willed and less gullible of the two, was struggling to maintain his icy demeanour.
Jay continued, his acting buoyed by his success. “That’s assuming you can do lunch today,
of course? Needs to be a late one, at least by English standards. Can you be in your apartment at two today? I will have you picked up. Stay off the latte this morning, so you have a good appetite. It’s somewhere special and it’s on me, of course.”
They both nodded, words failing them; like all honest and everyday people, they were simply no match for a master craftsman like Jay, and by the time they had collected their thoughts they were looking at the back of his car as it exited the car park.
As Jay turned out of his parking space he was already hitting the speed dial on his mobile to call Eamon.
“What do you have on this morning?” he asked as soon as Eamon had picked up, forgoing niceties in favour of a brutally quick exchange.
“Same as what we discussed earlier, boss,” he replied, “why, do you want me to do something else?”
“What are your lunch plans?” came the reply, ignoring his question.
“Bit too busy for lunch,” he sighed, “what with everything that’s going on here today. I’m probably going to grab something quick in the wine bar around one o’clock. But I need to be ready for the Roberts’ arrival around four-thirty, and I have other deals to close this weekend…” He tailed off.
Jay pushed these concerns aside with a dramatic exhaling of breath.
“Ok, here’s what I need you to do. About two, go over to the Barkers’ apartment and pick them up, take them out somewhere local, nothing too flash, and get as much house wine into them as you can. Enough to make them so ill tomorrow that they can’t leave their apartment.”
“I guess they are expecting to see you then?” said Eamon.
“Yes, they are. But there’s no way I can do lunch. I have to see Andy today. But tell them I’ll try and come for a coffee at the end of lunch.”
“So assuming you don’t make the tail end of lunch, which I expect is a safe bet, when can I now expect to see you? Will you be around to meet the Robertses?”
“I‘ll be back late afternoon. And remember that I want red carpet treatment for the Robertses.”
“It will be as if Her Majesty herself was arriving.”
“But without the smell of wet paint?”
“The Gardens of Babylon will seem like a farmer’s field by comparison.”
The attempt at humour sparked a thought in Jay. “Mrs. Roberts is into horses; it might be an idea to talk about the riding facilities we offer. The ones in the brochure.”
Eamon laughed. “Which is the only place she’ll find them.”
Jay sighed. “Just get Gina working on it. And let the Robertses know I will be taking them to dinner at eight, if they are available.”
“Dinner?” asked Eamon, surprise and shock manifest in his voice.
“Yes, Eamon, dinner,” he replied with a smile, as he remembered his body pressed close against Isobel Roberts. “I have a feeling this might be our biggest opportunity yet, and I’m going to make the most of it.”Seventeen
Andy turned into the single street that ran through the village of Capadelli and under the narrow archway beneath the clock tower with mixed emotions. He needed nothing more than to believe in miracles. But he had little faith in the non-material world and less and less faith in Jay. He pulled into the only available space and sat in his car waiting for Jay to appear, determined to wrestle control from his tormentor.
Andy leapt out of his car the moment Jay arrived, anxious to get the meeting over with. “You want a coffee?” said Andy by way of good morning, and continued on into the galley-shaped café that offered counter only service.
Jay took a seat outside watching the scruffy brown children caper up and down the steps, chuckling in their invisible games. The few locals preferred the shade of the inside to the heat of the decking, leaving the sun to the foreigners and the crazy Englishmen who prowled the Castello battlements to prey on the unwary.
Andy returned from the counter with his purchases, his concern over his finances worsened by the experience. “Five fucking Euros for two coffees, do they think that’s the Trevi fountain we’re looking at?” he said, glancing at the trickle of water running down a crumbling wall from a broken outside tap. “Last time I was here it was less than half that.”
“That’s progress,” said Jay, taking his coffee, “and it’s your own doing. You’ve put the sleepy old village on the map; you can’t blame the locals for cashing in.”
“Too right I can,” said Andy, decidedly low on generosity of spirit. “Anyway, why have you dragged me down here this morning? What’s so urgent it can’t wait till the board meeting? And what’s wrong with meeting up the hill? The coffee’s free there.”
“Take it easy,” said Jay, holding up the palms of his hands. “I’ll pay for the coffee.”
Andy’s mood lightened at Jay’s dry humour and he became more conciliatory. “It’s just that this morning is not a good time. Kate’s already chomping at the bit to get into Florence to go shopping.”
“So the longer we sit here the more money I’m saving you, right?”
Andy was less than amused and his brusque manner returned as quickly as it had left him. “What’s on your mind, Jay, because whatever it is, I’m guessing it’s something other than saving me money?”
“Before we come to that, you had a chance to walk around the development yet? It’s looking good, don’t you think, now we are no longer trying to sell while up to our cobblers in concrete.”
Andy’s ten-minute tour of Castello di Capadelli had provided unexpected reassurance. The place was much busier than he’d seen it, and it no longer looked like a money pit. At least all the hard earned treasure he had invested was showing some results. But he was not minded to give Jay any credit.
“It could almost pass for the idyllic retreat that’s described in your brochures,” he said, sarcasm coating every syllable. But other than that Jay had cost him a lot of money, he still considered him a friend, so he pulled in the horns, his point made. “You still can’t persuade Rusty to make it out here then?”
“I did ask. But she’s kind of busy right now.”
“Anything interesting?” asked Andy, unable to grasp what could be keeping the languorous socialite busy.
Jay rubbed his brow, opening his mouth and then closing it again before speaking.
“The thing is Rusty’s been spending more time in Texas lately.” He looked down at his lap for a moment before meeting Andy’s eyes with resolve. “Her mother’s on her own these days, and she’s getting on.”
Andy nodded, reading the sub-text in Jay’s words, but unsure how to proceed, afraid of his pleasantries twisting themselves into soul-searching investigations.
“I’m sorry to hear it. Maybe—”
“Anyway, it all might work itself out,” said Jay, forming his mouth into a straight smile that drew a firm line under the topic.
Jay moved the conversation back to the state of the development, cutting his usual upbeat tone. “Getting the building work complete was always the key. Just a pity it took six months longer than planned. We’ve still got to tidy up around the big pool, and finish off the fitting out of a few apartments, but the way the place looks now is more or less as good as it ever will be.”
“Until phase two, the spa and everything,” Andy reminded him.
Jay drained his cup and took a deep breath. “This may not be the best time to say this, but I think we need to re-think where we are going beyond this summer.”
Andy set his coffee down with a bang, showering opaque drops over the table that rested on the wood like tiny globes of mud. This was the last thing he expected from Jay. But then again, was it what Kate had warned him about? Jay losing interest once the selling was done. Or half done.
“Cutting and running? You know how much I’m down on this. How is pulling out early going to give me time to get back what I’ve put in?” He glared at the man opposite him as anger and disbelief took over him, scorching through his veins and clouding his mind at his betrayal.
Jay stared back a
t him, his mouth twisting in frank humility.
“I don’t have the answer to give you on that right now. What I do know is that my appetite for the holiday home and timeshare industry is about spent. And if I knew two years ago what I know now, I never would have gotten you into it.”
“But you did get me into it. And what do you know now that you didn’t know then? It’s not like you didn’t know what you were getting into, after the last escapade.” Cold fingers of self-doubt now brushed at Andy’s anger as he realised the fragility of what he had believed.
“Tuscany has proved totally different from Malaga,” said Jay, his eyes imploring Andy to listen. “Maybe I should have done more checking on the location. The truth is I completely underestimated the complications involved in doing business in Italy, and the legal limitations on what you can actually do at a development like Capadelli. The place is a minefield of rules, regulations, and bureaucracy. And because of that, I’ve over-promised and under-delivered, and in the process cost you a lot of money. And for that I’m truly sorry.”
Andy’s eyes glazed over and he shook his head, unable to process this sudden abandonment of Jay’s perpetual swaggering confidence. But he was not convinced that Jay’s uncharacteristic humility was solely down to matters at home or to the hard lessons of doing business under the Tuscan sun.
“Come on, Jay, how much of this is really driven by the music deal, and the doors that are opening for you?”
“I’m not going to lie; the music industry opportunity has been a wake-up call, for which I thank you. And yes, it has made me question what I’m doing here, why I’m doing it. Grubbing around selling worthless timeshare certificates for a living, and all the hassle that comes with it.”
“So what you are saying,” said Andy, the sarcasm returning, “is that our modest venture is no longer worthy of a man of your undoubted expertise. Have I got that right?”
