‘Stop that, Papa, it’s not fair to keep saying that. We’re all doing our best for you,’ she said sharply.
‘I suppose you are,’ Oskar admitted reluctantly.
‘And think about what I said to you about getting someone in to do housekeeping. You’d be very independent and you could tell us all to get lost,’ she teased.
Oskar laughed. ‘Now that’s an idea. Safe journey, daughter, I see Anka’s outside in the car. ‘I’ll miss you. I’ll be at their tender mercies now that you’re gone,’ he jested, making a face.
She put her arms around him and gave him a swift hug, dismayed at how diminished he was from the strong, vibrant father she remembered in her youth. ‘I’ll phone you tonight,’ she promised him as his own arms tightened around her and a fleeting, most uncharacteristic wave of love enveloped her. She’d always respected and admired her father, but until now she’d never felt love for him. After all these years it was his frailty that evoked that emotion, she thought, surprised.
‘Take care, Papa, and I’ll miss you too,’ she murmured.
‘Will you, Jutta?’ He looked her in the eye.
‘Yes, Papa, I will. Our time together was . . . was precious.’ She smiled at him and was happy to see the way his faded blue eyes lit up at her words.
A sharp toot on the horn reminded her that time was of the essence. ‘Talk tonight,’ she promised and couldn’t help the lump that rose to her throat when she turned to wave and saw him standing alone in the doorway.
‘You’re not crying are you?’ Anka was astonished as she crunched along the gravel drive and Oskar stood waving stoically.
‘Mad, isn’t it?’ sniffed Jutta, rooting for a tissue in her bag.
‘I thought you’d be delighted to get away.’
‘I am . . . and I’m not,’ she sniffled. ‘It’s just when I see him on his own without Mama, and see how he’s getting old, it makes me sad.’
‘Feel free to come home anytime,’ her sister replied, swinging the Volvo onto the main road and out of sight of the farmhouse.
‘Maybe I’m not that sad.’ Jutta composed herself, but even hours later, flying over Madrid and south towards Malaga and her husband’s loving arms, the memory of her father’s hug caused her a pang; and she knew she would fly back to Germany in the summer no matter how busy she was in Andalucía.
‘I’m not happy having to do a day trip to Tangiers. It’s a very long day, I’d prefer to stay overnight,’ Merel Visser said crossly.
‘You know the insurance will cover it, Mevrouw Visser. The offer of the day trip was a gesture of goodwill.’ Jutta was polite but firm. She was not spending another cent of company money on a damned rug.
‘I’ll think about it. Perhaps it’s time to change my maintenance company,’ the other woman said, her little chipmunk eyes glinting slyly, staring hard at Jutta.
‘That’s entirely a matter for yourself, Mevrouw Visser. Let me know as soon as you make a decision. Goede dag.’ She strode out of the apartment, back straight, head up. Merel Visser could go to hell if she thought Jutta was going to grovel to her to keep her business.
She was marching towards Constanza’s office when she heard brisk footsteps behind her.
‘Discúlpame, por favor.’ The voice was, cold, authoritative. The ‘excuse me, please’ was not uttered in a friendly tenor. Jutta felt her hackles rise. Now what? She turned to find Eduardo De La Fuente studying her, black eyes stony and aloof.
‘Sí?’ she answered back in Spanish.
‘I’ve seen you in the grounds this past year. You rent out apartments, is that correct?’
‘Furnish, maintain and rent, yes. And you are?’ she asked coolly. She wasn’t going to be interrogated by that little Spanish upstart. He was the bane of poor Constanza’s life. She’d become friendly with the concierge after their initial froideur, and always enjoyed stopping for a chat when she visited the complex.
‘Eduardo De La Fuente. I’m an owner in the urbanization and as such I have a strong interest in keeping standards up. I notice in some apartments people are putting towels over the balconies. I would be obliged if you would tell your clients that this is not permitted.’
‘Any clients I rent an apartment to are given a list of the rules of the community, Señor—’
‘Yes, well, the people in the apartment below me have ignored those rules, and that is one of your apartments if I’m not mistaken,’ Eduardo interrupted.
‘It was an apartment I furnished and yes, I maintain it. However I do not provide a rental service to those particular owners. They rent it out themselves. You may speak to them of your concerns. Adiós.’ She turned her back on him and lengthened her stride, fuming at his cheek. Did he think he owned La Joya?
This time two days ago she’d been snoozing on the sofa in front of a blazing stove, while her father napped in his armchair. And to think she couldn’t wait to get back to Spain. All she’d had since her return was hassle. And her sisters thought she led a carefree life of sun and sangria.
Sliding behind the wheel of her Merc, Jutta grimaced. Felipe had driven to Alicante that morning to try and salvage a deal that was threatening to go belly up. She was irritated with him. Why couldn’t he take it slowly and not dive in over his head with his development deals? Sometimes her husband could be over impulsive and not think about the consequences of his behaviour. She hated the way business was done in Spain, all the under the counter stuff. Eduardo De La Fuente had little to worry him if a few towels hanging over balconies was his prime concern.
She pressed her fob and waited for the wrought-iron gates to open. She had client taxes to pay in Ayuntamiento de Mijas in La Cala and then she was meeting a new client for lunch in Marbella. She sincerely hoped the queues in La Cala’s town hall wouldn’t be too long, but from previous experience she knew that was a forlorn hope. She waved at Constanza who was chatting to the security guard and drove through the gates annoyed with herself for not appreciating her relatively stress-free week at home in Germany.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
May
ANNA
Anna gave the Champagne flutes one last shine and placed them alongside the platter of smoked salmon and brown bread. Dishes of stuffed olives, hummus and pâté covered the rectangular coffee table and the smell of cooking wafted out of the open-plan kitchen at the other end of the room.
She was so looking forward to a long weekend in Spain with ‘the Girls’ as Austen teasingly called them, though it was a long time since they’d left their girlhood behind them. Three of her oldest and best friends, Mary, Yvonne, and Breda were coming to supper and to stay the night. They had to be at the airport at five a.m. the following morning, to catch the seven a.m. flight to Malaga. It was their first visit to the penthouse and she was dying to show it to them and spend time in their company. Trying to get a date that suited all of them had been well nigh impossible.
The doorbell chimed and she hurried to greet her friends. ‘Hiya girls, come in, dump your luggage in your room, change into your jim-jams if you want,’ she invited the two women who stood on her doorstep laden with cases, carrier bags and handbags.
‘That’s exactly what I’m going to do. I was wearing friggin’ heels all day because I had a load of meetings and my feet are killing me.’ Yvonne hugged her warmly.
‘Me too, I’ve had my shower and washed my hair, and, as you can see I’m not wearing make-up, so I’m ready for bed after we’ve had this.’ Mary, Yvonne’s sister-in-law, handed Anna a bottle of chilled Moët. ‘From Yvonnie and me to toast the new pad and to celebrate us all finally getting away together again. Where’s Breda? Do we have to wait until she comes to start? It’s nine o’clock already . . .’ Mary glanced at her watch.
‘She texted, she’s on her way. She got delayed at work. Thanks so much for this. Prosecco would have done fine. I’ve got champers in the fridge too.’ Anna ushered her guests to the kitchen.
‘Don’t be daft! It had to be champers. This is a big deal
. Not even an apartment, but a penthouse no less. How posh will we be? And besides, how often do we get to do this? No kids, no husbands, just us and books? That deserves champers. Let’s get the party going, then.’ Mary opened her case, pulled out a nightshirt and hurried upstairs to change.
‘I’m going to do the same.’ Yvonne rooted for her cotton PJs and toilet bag and followed her sister-in-law upstairs. Anna lit some candles around the family room. Even though it was mid May the nights were still chilly and she’d lit the stove, which blazed away, making the room snug and inviting.
Mary had just uncorked the champagne when the doorbell pealed again and Yvonne, on her way downstairs, detoured to open the door. A tall, blonde- haired woman stood there looking slightly frazzled. ‘Sorry I’m late, last-minute hiccup at work and then I couldn’t find—’
‘Don’t worry, it’s all fine now, Breda, calm down and get your ass in here,’ Yvonne grinned, taking her case from her.
‘Did you take a taxi?’ Anna came out from the kitchen and hugged her friend.
‘No, hubby gave me a lift,’ Breda said, divesting herself of her scarf and jacket.
‘Why didn’t you ask him in, for goodness sake?’ Anna took them from her and hung them on the hallstand.
‘It’s a girls’ night, Anna,’ Breda retorted. ‘Where’s Austen?’
‘He knew better than to hang around so he told me he’d give us some “space”. He went over to a friend’s, to look at a car that’s giving trouble and then they’re going for a pint. Do you want to change?’
‘No, I want to eat. Whatever you’re cooking smells delicious. I haven’t eaten all day.’
‘Sit yourself down then.’ Mary appeared, handing Breda a champagne flute full of chilled sparkling golden bubbly.
‘Oh I so need this! Thanks, Mary. It was mad at work. I’ve brought a bottle too. The least I can bring for having four blissful nights in Spain.’ Breda sank into an armchair and kicked off her shoes.
‘God, we’ll be pissed if we drink three bottles,’ Anna remarked, taking a slug from her own glass.
‘We could leave one for when we come home,’ Yvonne suggested, handing around the starters.
‘Good thinking,’ Mary agreed, spreading a cracker lightly with pâté. ‘And then we can book into rehab!’
They laughed and began to relax, falling into easy banter and talking as only old and dear friends can.
They weren’t laughing too much sitting in Austen’s car en route to Dublin airport at quarter to five the following morning, and plenty of yawning could be heard as they cruised along a deserted Collins Avenue.
‘Just think, we’ll be snoozing on the balcony after lunch and we’ll get the dying rays until sunset,’ Anna reminded them, rooting frantically in her bag for her phone.
‘What are you looking for?’ Her husband glanced over at her. He was used to his wife excavating one of her many cavernous bags. She was invariably looking for her keys, phone or glasses.
‘Ring me, will you?’ she ordered irritably. ‘Honest to God, I drive myself mad.’
‘Us too,’ murmured Mary sotto voce.
‘I heard that, Madam,’ Anna retorted as Austen clicked on her number on the Bluetooth and her phone tinkled in the depths of her bag.
‘Have you got your boarding card and glasses?’ Austen got in lane for the airport as they sped along the M1.
‘Yep.’
‘I brought two pairs of magnifiers in case anyone loses theirs,’ Yvonne said helpfully.
‘What are we like?’ groaned Mary. ‘This middle-age stuff is driving me nuts.’
‘We! Speak for yourself. And “we” are not talking about middle age or that horrible M-word this weekend,’ retorted Breda, who was discreetly checking her bag to locate her passport.
‘I’ll remind you of that when you start flapping your hands around your face because you’re “too warm”,’ Mary said smugly, as Austin drove up to Terminal 2. They were still laughing as they clambered out of the car at the set-down area.
‘Have a great trip, ladies,’ Austen grinned, hugging Anna tightly before kissing her as they all stood at the kerb with their cases.
‘Don’t worry, Austen, we will,’ Mary declared. ‘We may never come back.’
Eight hours later the quartet were sitting on a terrace at the beachside restaurant sipping postprandial Baileys, having enjoyed a tasty lunch of freshly caught fish accompanied by delicious sauces, side salads and a crisp, chilled white wine. They were completely relaxed.
Anna gazed at the molten silver sea, gently lapping the shore of the curving, sandy beach, just yards away. She couldn’t ever remember being so relaxed and contented. Although she and Austen had worried about retiring from work and discussed it endlessly, having finally taken the leap – and what a leap, buying the penthouse as well – she knew they had made the right choice. Seeing the stress and tiredness in her friends’ faces reminded her of the exhaustion that came with juggling home and career. For the first couple of months of her retirement she’d been like a cat on a griddle, unable to relax, but gradually she’d adjusted and allowed herself to slow down and enjoy her new circumstances.
It had given her enormous pleasure to see her friends’ delight when they explored the penthouse and balcony, soaking in the views of the coast and the exquisite gardens, admiring her décor, and knowing that this little jaunt would hopefully be the first of many and that they too could share in her good fortune. They had deposited their luggage into their rooms, freshened up, and headed straight down to the restaurant for a much-anticipated pre-lunch G&T. Now, replete and relaxed, the holiday feeling was really kicking in.
‘Anna! Darlin’,’ a familiar Texas drawl exclaimed and Anna turned to see Sally-Ann beaming at her, tanned and glowing in a pale green and white sundress.
‘Fancy y’all being here the same time as me,’ she exclaimed bending down to give Anna a kiss.
‘I thought you’d be over in July or August?’ Anna returned her kiss warmly.
Sally-Ann made a face. ‘Anna, after the last few months that I’ve put in, I couldn’t wait until summer. I need to chill. And how!’
‘Oh, right, of course you do!’ Anna patted her hand sympathetically. She’d get Sally-Ann on her own at some stage to catch up on all the news. They’d kept up by email and text since their first long boozy lunch, when they’d hit it off so well.
‘Girls, this is our neighbour, Sally-Ann Connolly Cooper.’ Anna made the introductions. ‘We came out this morning on the seven a.m. flight. We’re slightly shattered to say the least. Are you here on your own?’
‘Yup, I sure am, honey. And in about twenty minutes you’ll see the reason why. Will y’all have another drink? Let me order us one.’
‘No, you have one with us, let me get it,’ Anna insisted as an attentive waiter arrived at their table.
‘Well if y’all don’t mind. I don’t want to be butting in on your conversation,’ Sally-Ann demurred.
‘Conversation,’ laughed Yvonne, ‘we’ll all be snoring in a minute.’
‘I’ll have another Baileys for the road, with Sally-Ann,’ Mary said breezily.
‘She’s the youngest of us, she’s still able to hold her drink,’ Anna teased as Sally-Ann sat down at the table and the waiter went to get their order. They chatted easily among themselves, and then Sally-Ann nudged Anna. ‘That’s my reason for coming to lunch,’ she murmured, indicating a tall, exceedingly handsome Spanish man wearing a smart grey suit, who was striding along the boardwalk.
‘Dishyyyy,’ murmured Anna.
‘Isn’t he hot?’ Sally-Ann grinned. ‘He has the most delicious buns evah!’
‘Is he your husband?’ Yvonne asked innocently.
Sally-Ann gave a peal of laughter. ‘I wish, honey, I wish. He’s my Spanish banker, Sebastian, and I’m hopin’ he’s gonna be a little bit more if y’all know what I mean.’ She winked.
‘Oh! Sorry!’ Yvonne said, flustered.
‘No apologies nece
ssary, darlin’,’ the other woman laughed.
‘Ride, Sally, ride,’ Mary hummed and Anna spluttered into her glass as the others hooted with laughter while Mary explained what a ride meant in the Irish vernacular.
‘I love it,’ the leggy Texan exclaimed, guffawing. ‘I’ll see y’all, and I’ll do my best to keep the hollerin’ to a minimum.’ Sally-Ann took her leave of them and went to greet the young man, leading him to a reserved table for two in the shade of a magnificent flowering orange blossom.
‘She can holler all she likes, I won’t hear a thing ’cos I’m gonna sleep, y’all.’ Mary grinned, yawning.
Anna finished her Baileys and felt deliciously woozy. ‘I’m slightly pissed,’ she remarked giddily.
‘You’re singing to the choir, sister.’ Yvonne waved at the waiter for the bill.
‘OK, let’s do the kitty while we’re at it.’ Mary hauled up her bag and took out a red purse. She was always in charge of the kitty when they went on one of their jaunts. She put in a hundred euros and they all extracted crisp new notes from their wallets and handed them to her, to go into the battered red purse that had travelled far and wide with them.
This was why she loved going away with her three friends, Anna mused as the bill came, and glasses went on to study it and calculate the tip. Everything was divided equally, there was no hassle about money, they were utterly at ease in each other’s company, and they knew everything about each other and could depend on each other in their hours of need. What more could you want from friendship?
They only had to walk a couple of yards to the wrought-iron gate that opened onto the grounds of La Joya and, giggling and teasing each other about their various states of inebriation, they made their way through the sumptuous gardens to the apartment block. Twenty minutes later, slathered in sun cream, with sunglasses on and the big green- and cream-striped awning shading their faces, the four of them lay on their sun loungers, books at the ready.
‘How decadent is this? Tiddly at three o’clock in the afternoon. Basking in the sun and able to read for as long as we want. Bliss.’ Mary wriggled her toes and picked up her thriller.
Orange Blossom Days Page 18
