Orange Blossom Days

by Patricia Scanlan

  ‘Sorry, Mom,’ Savannah had the grace to look ashamed. ‘Is Daddy with you?’

  ‘No, he’s in Paris, sweetie,’ Sally-Ann sighed.

  ‘When will you be home?’ Madison elbowed her sister out of the way.

  ‘Soon.’

  ‘Good, ’cos I miss you,’ Madison said forlornly.

  ‘And I miss you, pumpkin-pie,’ Sally-Ann echoed, feeling a lonesome tug at her heartstrings. They had no idea what was rolling down the tracks towards them. Divorce and a new baby. A half-brother or -sister. That was if she and Cal decided they should know about the interloper who was coming into their lives. There were so many decisions to be made, so much to talk about and work out what was in their children’s best interests. Much as she wanted to kick Cal into kingdom come, she didn’t want their divorce to be one where the children were pawns in a nasty game. The less impact divorce had on them the better, and for that she would do her best to maintain some sort of a reasonably civil relationship with her lowdown snake of a double-dealing husband.

  She chatted to the children for a while longer before stepping into the shower to wash her hair and prepare for her night out with her new neighbours. She could smell delicious aromas coming from the beach where the hotel’s chef was barbecuing for the guests. Her stomach rumbled. Sally-Ann gave a wry smile as she applied her make-up, a crimson-slashed sky reflected in her bedroom mirror. Never in any trauma in her life had she lost her appetite. Impending divorce, step-motherhood and deep unhappiness wasn’t going to change that, it seemed.

  Her phone vibrated and she flipped it open to see a text from Cal.

  At CDG, flying home tonight. Give me the name of your lawyer and let’s get the show on the road. The sooner this is settled the better, if you really want a divorce.

  Sally-Ann’s lips tightened. She knew what Cal was up to. He felt she was bluffing and he was putting the pressure on, hoping she would back down.

  She closed her phone, switched it to silent and put it in her bag. She would respond to that text if and when she felt like it, and certainly not tonight. If her husband thought he was running the show he could damn well think again. He was the one with a pregnant mistress. He was the one on the back foot. He could send all the texts he liked; nothing was going to change that.

  CHAPTER TEN

  JUTTA

  Jutta glanced impatiently at her watch. The Spanish girl who was due for interview was late. Not a good first impression. She studied the list of potential applicants who had applied to join the cleaning and maintenance team. There were three new positions up for grabs and she’d chosen ten from a long list of forty.

  Olga, her office manager, had allotted twenty minutes per interview. Jutta would be stuck in the office all morning. She should have hired the new staff before La Joya had opened, but there had been a slight cash-flow problem because some of her existing clients had not paid their fees on time. She’d had to source temporary cleaning staff for the new apartments now on her books. She much preferred to have her own cleaners. They knew she expected work of the highest standards. Jutta always made that very clear from the start. The new business being generated by Felipe’s collaboration with the Americans would kick in financially in the near future but Jutta liked to keep a tight control on her budgets and overdraft, unlike her husband who never worried about such ‘trivialities’.

  ‘There’s another girl out in Reception who’s early—’

  Olga didn’t get to finish her sentence.

  ‘Bring her in,’ Jutta ordered. ‘Tell . . .’ she looked at the list. ‘. . . Sofia Manrique, if she turns up, that she’ll have to go to the end of the queue. Not that I’m much inclined to employ her. If she can’t be on time for her job interview, what will she be like coming to work?’

  Three candidates stood out. A young English couple, and a Polish girl who reminded Jutta of her younger self. Jutta had already decided to employ them before finally giving the late applicant two minutes of her precious time.

  Sofia Manrique, with her nose and belly piercings and headphones hanging around her neck, had sprawled in front of Jutta, earning a cold stare. ‘Let me give you a word of advice for further job interviews you will be applying for, Señorita. Be there five minutes early. Ditch the piercings and the headphones. Sit up straight and pretend at least to be interested. Today you have wasted my time and yours. Adiós.’

  The young woman’s jaw dropped at Jutta’s chilly dismissal. She sloped out to Reception, muttering ‘Perra’ as she went. Olga hid a smile. Jutta had been called much worse than a bitch, by her own staff, sometimes. She was a hard taskmaster, but she paid well.

  ‘OK, Olga, let’s go with these three. Do you agree?’ Jutta asked, showing her the list with the three marked names.

  ‘Fine, I’ll get Christine to show them the ropes. They can start in Jasmine Gardens and work as a unit. Christine can do the monthly inspections while she’s at it.’

  ‘Let me know their schedule so I can inspect the work,’ Jutta instructed. ‘Anything else I need to attend to while I’m here?’

  ‘Yes, you got an email from Sally-Ann Connolly Cooper’s website design firm with contact details, and three suggested formats for our proposed new website.’ Olga tapped on her keyboard and opened up the email.

  ‘That was quick.’ Jutta was impressed in spite of herself, noting the background of muted pastels that gave an impression of class and elegance. The Texan must have got her people on it right away.

  She studied the three proposals and pointed her finger at the first one. ‘Tell them I like that and look forward to seeing how they develop it. OK, I’m off to La Joya to take some measurements and then to Cabopino, to look at a renovation project. Tell Christine to set up the direct debits for our new clients.’

  ‘Will do . . . Aren’t you going to have any lunch?’

  ‘I’ve a table booked in Da Bruno later; I’m treating a couple of concierges to lunch. It’s always good to keep in with them.’ Jutta opened her bag, took out her bronzing powder and lipstick and refreshed her make-up. ‘I must introduce myself to the community manager in La Joya, although I won’t invite her to lunch. No point. Once the builders hand over she’ll be gone and there’ll be a new concierge installed.’ Jutta was nothing if not pragmatic and never wasted expenses unless she was sure of a return.

  It was a nuisance that La Joya was a twenty-minute drive west of their office in Marbella while her other appointments were to the east, but she was used to scorching up and down the A-7 and she wanted to check measurements and take photographs of the third apartment she was fitting out in the new complex.

  She took advantage of a red light to join the traffic flow, wondering idly if she would bump into the American woman again. The husband was going to Paris on business, and Sally-Ann was going to visit Mobile & Diseño at Jutta’s suggestion. They had agreed over dinner the previous evening that Jutta would shop for the kitchenware, bed linen and the like. After all it was primarily a rental apartment; there was no point in spending a fortune on fine bone china and branded silver flatware.

  They were an interesting couple, the Coopers. Sophisticated, well educated, well travelled but clearly unhappy together. There had been an unmistakable coolness, more on her part than his. But they worked well together as a team, just like she and Felipe did.

  Twenty minutes later she pulled into the entrance to La Joya and pressed her fob. The complex was busy. Furniture vans, TV and broadband installation vans, and a garden centre van, whose driver was loading massive terracotta planters onto a trolley. She pulled into her client’s parking space and glanced over towards the office to see if the community manager was there. She could collect her client’s post while she was at it. The woman was there and Jutta, all business like, made her way over to the office.

  ‘Hola, I’m working for several owners in the complex. My name is Jutta Sauer and I just wanted to introduce myself to you,’ she said, handing the other woman her card.

  ‘And I am Se�
�ora Constanza Torres. It’s nice to meet you, Señora Sauer.’

  ‘If I could just collect my client’s post while I’m here. Block Three, number twenty-six,’ Jutta said politely.

  ‘I’m very sorry, Ms Sauer, but I need written permission from the owner before I can let you take their post,’ the other woman said firmly.

  ‘Oh! But I have their keys.’ Jutta produced a set of keys with the client’s name on it.

  ‘Nevertheless, I must insist on written permission. You must understand I have a responsibility as community manager.’

  ‘Very well, I’ll see to it. Adiós.’ Jutta tried to hide her exasperation. Keys were keys, what more authority did the woman need?

  ‘Gracias, adiós,’ Señora Torres replied graciously with a regal incline of her head, and Jutta felt she’d been summarily dismissed.

  She marched out of the office and walked quickly to block three. The delivery man with the planters was manoeuvring himself and his loaded trolley into the lift. ‘Sorry,’ he said apologetically. ‘I just have to deliver these to the third floor and we won’t all fit.’

  ‘No problem. Will you send it back down to me?’ Jutta instructed. It was always the same when you were in a hurry. She could take the stairs but instead, she checked her emails and text messages while waiting and eventually the lift came back down.

  As she took measurements for a fitted unit Jutta could hear the planters being rolled along the balcony directly above. They were enormous. Even when empty they were heavy. She hoped the balcony was built strongly enough to support them when they were filled with soil.

  Her phone rang and she saw Felipe’s number flash up. ‘Hey babe,’ he said cheerily, ‘the bank has given us the go-ahead to buy the land in Alicante. We’re going to build exactly as we did in Jasmine Gardens, same plan, same design; that will save us a fortune on architects’ fees—’

  ‘Yes but will you get planning permission for them?’ Jutta asked the most important question.

  ‘Don’t worry about that, cariña, all sorted.’

  ‘Felipe, don’t tell me you bribed someone,’ Jutta groaned.

  ‘Would I?’ he chuckled. ‘Get your glad rags on tonight, I’m bringing you to El Lago to celebrate.’

  ‘You’re really pushing the boat out, Felipe, shouldn’t we wait until the first stone is laid?’ Jutta suggested. El Lago was one of the most exclusive restaurants in Marbella, and her husband’s favourite.

  ‘We can celebrate again when that happens. There’s a full moon tonight, I’m going to make love to you like you’ve never been made love to before, somewhere dark and moonlit,’ he said huskily and she felt desire flare. Her husband loved outdoor sex and so did she. It would be a wonderful night of celebration if only that little niggle of anxiety, that everything wasn’t above board with Felipe’s latest venture, would melt away.

  There had been a big crackdown on corruption in the past year. Mayors, town councillors and more were being arrested and charged. Jutta liked everything above board. But mostly she’d found that it was all about paying hard cash, so taxes wouldn’t have to be paid, or for favours granted. So different from her homeland. Well, Felipe could run his own company whatever way he wanted. She would run hers as she saw fit and she was glad that financially they were completely separate entities.

  She finished up and called the lift down from the third floor. The Spanish owner from the apartment above was inside it. He barely nodded in her direction. He was a most unfriendly man, Jutta reflected. Apparently he was from Madrid. He was the type who would pay his taxes, she thought, amused, as the lift glided to a halt and she swept out ahead of him as though she owned the place. Señora Torres gave her a polite smile when they passed each other on the terrace. Jutta was tempted to ignore her, but she allowed herself a nod. The community manager would be gone soon enough. Jutta would make sure to ingratiate herself with whoever took over. It was well known that the concierges were the most powerful people in any complex, with their fingers on the pulse of all activity. Somehow or another, Jutta felt whoever came to take over from Señora Torres in La Joya would have their work cut out for them, with the likes of the owner from Madrid laying down the law.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  EDUARDO / CONSUELA

  Eduardo stood in his apartment lobby irritated at the length of time it was taking for the lift to come to his floor. He could hear sounds below; a clattering and banging, men’s voices, muttered curses. It had been like this all morning and it was getting on his nerves. He pulled open the door to the stairwell and marched down to the second floor. Opening the door to the landing he saw two men, the blonde-haired woman he’d seen in the building several times before, and a sofa that seemed to be stuck in the lift.

  ‘If you got it in, you must be able to get it out,’ the blonde woman was saying.

  ‘That’s what my girlfriend said last night,’ smirked the younger man.

  Eduardo gave him a withering stare, disgusted at his smutty talk. ‘What is going on here?’ he demanded. ‘I’m trying to access the lift to my floor.’

  ‘I’m sorry, we’re having some difficulty with the furniture.’ The woman shot him a look of irritation.

  ‘That lift isn’t made for a sofa that size,’ Eduardo pointed out crossly. ‘It’s too big and too heavy. You’re going to cause damage.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ said the older man dismissively. ‘We do this all the time in apartments.’

  ‘I beg your pardon, it looks far from fine to me.’ Eduardo glared at the man in the green overalls who had had the temerity to dismiss his concerns.

  ‘I’m sorry about this, we’ll have it sorted, pronto,’ the blonde woman snapped.

  ‘As I say I have concerns for the lift, after all it is communal property, for all our use,’ Eduardo reiterated. ‘You should have considered the size when you were buying it.’ He glanced in at the apartment – which was directly below his – and saw boxes and cardboard and bubble wrap strewn over the floor. Dramatic orange curtains blazed against the windows, and white walls. The colour made him wince. Clearly his new neighbour had flamboyant tastes.

  ‘Señor, if you leave us to our work, we will be done very shortly,’ the delivery man said confidently.

  ‘I shall be inspecting the lift and will make a complaint to the office if there is any damage. This is not good enough,’ Eduardo said coldly, opening the stairwell door to walk down to the ground floor.

  ‘May I remind you, Señor,’ the woman said tartly, in her quite proficient Spanish. ‘You yourself delayed use of the lift when you had those extremely heavy planters brought up to your apartment recently. I might add that they are on the balcony that overhangs this one and I hope your balcony can sustain the weight of them. I may have to make an enquiry about it.’

  Eduardo took a sharp breath at her impertinence. ‘Let me assure you, Señora, that you need have no cause for concern in the slightest. I apologize for delaying the lift. Nevertheless I must protest the size of that sofa and I’ll be inspecting the lift for damage.’ He was furious at being put on the back foot by that insolent German woman. He knew she was German because he’d heard her on her phone jabbering away in that guttural language.

  ‘Hijo de puta,’ he heard as the door closed behind him. Eduardo’s lips thinned at the slur: how dare that pequeño bastardo call him a son of a bitch. He marched out of the building and saw a large furniture van taking up three spaces because it was parked sideways. Another irritation. He noted the name of the company. A complaint would be issued from his secretary forthwith, and Señora Torres also would be informed that as community manager she should ensure that the lifts were not in danger of being damaged by removal companies delivering furniture that was clearly oversized, and needed to be hoisted into the apartments by a crane.

  ‘I shall come and inspect and see if your complaint is valid,’ Señora Torres said coldly when Eduardo stood in her office making his protests in his most officious voice.

  ‘Of course it’
s valid, Señora. Would I be here otherwise?’ Eduardo couldn’t hide his indignation.

  ‘You have already complained about children using big swimming rings in the large pool, and about residents hanging their towels over the—’

  ‘We are not a tenement, there are standards,’ he said sharply. ‘And I, as an owner, expect—’

  ‘Señor, after the first management committee meeting these issues will all be ironed out. But this is the settling-in time, we must make allowances,’ Señora Torres interrupted him briskly. ‘I shall check the issue with your lift in five minutes; I have some business to conduct on the phone first. Take a seat on the terrace. Excuse me please.’ The community manager dismissed him as though he was some irritating little schoolboy and Eduardo was fit to burst. That woman acted as though she owned the complex, he bristled, sitting on one of the cane chairs to await her royal pleasure.

  He was in bad form today. He and Consuela had had a rare tiff. They had hired a painter to paint his aunt’s bedroom the apple green she desired. Eduardo had been grumpy about it, he admitted. ‘I’m not a fan of that colour, and it is my apartment. She forgets that and thinks she’s entitled to have her say and dictate, like she’s always done,’ he’d grumbled.

  ‘Eduardo, it was I who asked her what colour she would like,’ Consuela reminded him.

  ‘Well you should have asked me first,’ Eduardo retorted petulantly.

  ‘Fine, you paint and decorate your apartment as you see fit,’ Consuela reciprocated, in a rare show of spirit, before walking out of their hotel room with her book and sunglasses to go and sit and read in the hotel gardens. They were on the last few days of their own holiday. He’d taken Beatriz home the previous week. They had selected their furniture and fittings, which would be delivered once the painting was finished, and Eduardo had very much hoped to have one or two nights in the apartment before they returned home to Madrid.