Eduardo of course did not know that Beatriz supported his wife in her journey. She was always very careful to maintain her position of non-interference in their marriage, which, she admitted sadly, was going through a very rocky patch. Much as she felt sorry for Eduardo, who could not make head nor tail of Consuela’s new desire to expand her life, beliefs and vision, she was glad Consuela was being brave and sticking to her guns.
Braver than me, she thought with regret. Oh such regrets she had that she’d stayed in her safe little boxed-up life, unwilling to risk having her heart broken after her first, and only, disastrous relationship.
Isabella had urged her to come and live in America with her but she’d refused. She’d cloistered herself like a nun, closed down every desire of her heart and body and lived a safe and unexplored life of strict routine and duty. She’d smothered Eduardo, urging him to forget about girls and socializing and to study to get ahead in his life. For that she was sorry also.
Consuela had been living the safe life too but now, like a butterfly emerging from her cocoon, she was taking a chance and spreading her wings. Still, Beatriz wouldn’t hurt Eduardo’s feelings by letting him see that she approved of his wife’s transformation, which was having such a detrimental effect on their marriage.
If only he could emerge from his own cocoon and grow with Consuela, and shake off the shackles of work and duty and rigorous discipline that entrapped him. That would be a miracle indeed. If not, their future together could be rocky and poor Eduardo was going to find that being El Presidente might be all he had left in his life to give him the affirmation he constantly needed.
She’d withheld too much from him in an effort to turn his shy timidity into confident self-assurance. She hadn’t wanted to mollycoddle him and turn him into a sissy, seeing as he had no male role model in his life. Santiago had done nothing for the boy. It had all been down to Isabella and her. Her brother-in-law was a restless, ambitious, impatient man. She’d said as much to Isabella, who didn’t want to hear any criticism of her then soon-to-be husband.
Beatriz had met a young man like Santiago once, and fallen head over heels in love with him. But he’d left her without a backward glance and she’d never given her heart to anyone again. The barriers had come up and stayed up. That was why she’d tried to warn her younger sister. She didn’t want her precious Isabella to experience the heartbreak she had. Restless, ambitious, impatient men never stayed.
Eduardo had similar traits, but he also had a keen sense of duty and responsibility, instilled in him by her, Beatriz liked to think. Whether that was a saving grace or not remained to be seen. She’d tried her best to instil many good qualities in him, but she’d failed him, too.
A tear slid down Beatriz’s cheek and then another as she sat in the deepening dusk and watched the High Atlas Mountains in Morocco darken behind a vibrant coral sky.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
AUSTEN / ANNA
‘Eduardo De La Fuente got voted in as president.’ Austen gave his wife the news in his usual evening call, while he sat on the balcony sipping a beer as a slight breeze rose to temper the intense August heat.
‘No!’ Anna exclaimed in dismay.
‘Yep, ’fraid so.’
‘Ah feck it, it was bound to happen eventually. He’s gone up for it every year. Was it a close vote?’ Anna’s voice was as clear as a bell. She could have been in the room next door rather than thousands of kilometres away in Dublin.
‘Only three in it unfortunately. There wasn’t enough Irish or English here to make the difference. If they’d allowed their proxies to be used it would have been another matter, but they didn’t bother so they needn’t start complaining. Most of the Spaniards voted for him, apart from Pablo Moralez and his clique.’
‘Ah sure they’ve been feuding from the time La Joya opened. Jostling for position, like two bloody tomcats marking their territory. The complaints they made about each other when I was secretary of the committee were unreal. Thank God I’ve done my spell, I’d hate to be on the new management board, with him in charge,’ Anna remarked. ‘Poor Constanza, he’ll make her life hell. She’s been dreading this all along.’
‘And maintenance fees are going up another hundred per annum. And they’re going to name and shame the non-payers and take them to court.’
‘At least we’ve paid up to date,’ Anna said. ‘Is it hot?’
‘Scorching. You’d hate it.’
‘I know, I really can’t handle the heat in August. But I miss you.’
‘Do you?’ She knew he was smiling.
‘Especially in bed at night. I may have to go and look for a toy boy,’ she teased.
‘Ah don’t do that, I’ll be home soon enough and you’ll get fed up of me.’
‘I’m glad Tara and James are going out to you for a few days. It’s the only holiday they’ll get.’
‘I’m looking forward to them coming, I just hope you won’t be knackered looking after Michael on your own. There’s a lot of running around after him,’ Austen reminded her.
‘Austen, I have a bit of news for you, and don’t let on I’ve told you—’
‘Good or bad?’ he said warily.
‘Well, surprising . . . but good I suppose . . .’ Anna hedged.
‘Hit me with it,’ he sighed.
‘Chloe’s pregnant—’
‘What? Is she mad? She’s hardly six months married.’
‘At least she’s married,’ Anna said humorously.
‘Aw Anna, could they not give themselves a chance to get on their feet?’ Austen groaned.
‘Well at least they didn’t buy a house and end up in negative equity, and they’ve rented a good-sized apartment. They’re not doing too bad.’
‘When is it due?’
‘January.’
‘That’s our winter break scuppered so,’ he said irascibly.
‘Sure you can go over and play golf,’ Anna placated.
‘And what about you? It’s not fair on you,’ he retorted.
‘Austen, this is where we’re at in our lives, we should be grateful to have such happy, healthy children. We’re healthy ourselves. We’ll have plenty of time in Spain. We’ll be back out this September and October,’ she pointed out.
‘Yeah, I suppose. Don’t mind me. As long as they’re happy that’s all that matters.’ He made an effort to show some positivity. ‘Was it planned?’
‘Was what planned?’
‘The pregnancy . . .’
‘Erm . . . not by Will, I’d say, being honest. I know why Chloe got pregnant. Two of her good friends are expecting and life is all talk about babies, and baby showers, and being yummy mummies and going for coffee mornings and so on, and you know what she’s like! Can’t bear to be left out. Has to keep up with her gang. It’s a peer thing with half of them,’ his wife surmised astutely.
‘It will be a different kettle of fish when they all have bawling babies,’ Austen drawled.
‘Exactly. Talk later, love,’ Anna laughed.
‘OK, bye.’ Austen hung up and went to the fridge and got himself a bottle of San Miguel. The ice-cold beer hit the back of his throat, and he gulped it thirstily. It was boiling outside and the constant air conditioning was making his throat dry. He was hungry too. The AGM had taken forever.
He couldn’t be bothered cooking he decided, even though he’d salmon in the fridge, and steak from the acclaimed Irish butcher in Calahonda. He strolled into the bedroom, pulled his T-shirt over his head, freshened up, put on a clean shirt and made his way to the restaurant on the beach. He caught a waiter’s attention and signalled for a beer. He’d have to nurse it so he wouldn’t be over the limit, driving to the airport later.
Austen sighed, conscious of the empty seat opposite him. If Anna were here she’d have a G&T and stretch out her legs and say, ‘This is the life,’ and squeeze his hand before turning to watch a couple of small fishing boats landing their catch on the beach, or the yacht under sail that was drifting
past towards Estepona or Puerto Banús.
He could understand that she didn’t like to be here in August. It really was stinking hot, and even the sea breeze didn’t make much difference, but late September was a lovely time to come, unless anything else went belly-up, he thought ruefully.
‘You look very cross, Austen,’ he heard a voice say, in familiar accented English.
‘Ah Jutta, it’s yourself.’ He stood up politely to greet her.
‘Sit down, sit down,’ she urged. ‘I’ve just come from doing an inspection before clients arrive tomorrow and I have to have a drink and some food before I face that highway from hell,’ she laughed. ‘Where is Anna?’
‘She’s at home; August is too hot for her. I came out for the AGM. Sit down,’ he invited politely, not sure if he wanted company or not.
‘No, no,’ she demurred, ‘I don’t want to invade your privacy.’
‘Nor I yours,’ he echoed, ‘but I’ve just ordered a beer and I can order you a drink, no problem.’
‘Perhaps I will, then, it’s busy here now and I don’t want to take up a table,’ Jutta sighed, running her fingers through her blonde hair and sinking gracefully onto the chair opposite him.
‘I hear Eduardo De La Fuente has been elected El Presidente. Poor Constanza,’ she remarked.
Jutta was an extremely elegant woman, always very well presented, Austen noted. Not a hair out of place, no damp red cheeks from the heat, make-up immaculate, smart in her white linen trousers and crisp red blouse.
‘Funny you should say that, Anna said the same thing when I told her,’ he said, nodding his thanks to Domingo, the waiter, who had brought his beer. Austen raised an eyebrow at Jutta. ‘Wine, beer, spirits?’
‘A dry white wine for me, thank you,’ Jutta smiled.
‘And bring the menus, Domingo, por favor,’ Austen said.
‘He likes to be in control, that man, De La Fuente. He thinks Constanza should treat him the way his employees do, not as an equal,’ Jutta observed. ‘Unfortunately he is now in a position to tell her what to do, that’s where the problem will lie.’
‘It will be an interesting year, for sure,’ Austen grinned. ‘Constanza is pretty feisty; he won’t have it all his own way.’
‘Well I can guarantee you, if he can’t get her to resign he will find some way to get rid of her. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I’d throw him,’ Jutta said equably and Austen laughed, as always entertained by her absolute sense of assurance that things would be as she predicted. Jutta was what his late mother would have called a ‘know all’, with something to say about everyone and everything. And a high moral authority which made her look down her nose at others, including the Irish, who, according to her ‘couldn’t grasp the concept of apartment maintenance fees because they were a race of house owners’. ‘The Brits would die of hunger if they couldn’t have their full English fry-up every day’ and ‘the Spanish couldn’t do a business deal without a bribe’ in her view, despite the fact that her own husband was Spanish. He and Anna would listen to her proclamations in silent amusement when she took coffee with them each summer and presented her annual invoice.
Nevertheless her business was growing and successful, and she was now expanding to add property sales to her services. She was good at her job, Austen conceded. ‘I believe you’ve gone into the sales area,’ he said, as they raised glasses when her wine and the menus came. ‘Tell me, how badly has the property market been hit here?’
‘Austen, it’s a disaster,’ Jutta said calmly, perusing the menu. ‘There are wholesale repossessions in the buy-to-let sector. Of course that doesn’t apply to you—’
‘Are we in negative equity would you say?’
Jutta sat back and pursed her lips. ‘I think you won’t lose money in urbanizations like La Joya, or the likes of Jasmine Gardens, and Mi Capricho, down the coast. High-end frontline properties won’t make the mad money of a couple of years ago, but they won’t lose their value. It’s different with the huge housing developments, one on top of the other – with the shared pools and few amenities – up the hills in Mijas, say, where if you haven’t got a car you’re stuck. Or the Costa Blanca, where my husband has business interests. That’s where the repossessions are. The banks are taking villas and apartments back at an enormous rate. You know if you miss two mortgage repayments the bank comes after you immediately, in Spain?’
‘I’d heard that. I suppose it’s a relief that at least we won’t lose, should we ever have to sell, and hopefully the market will rise again.’ Austen drank the cold amber liquid in his glass, enjoying their conversation. Jutta knew her stuff and was interesting to talk to; it was better than sitting on his own while he waited to go and collect Tara and James when their flight got in around ten.
CHAPTER THIRTY
JUTTA
Jutta tucked into her crispy lemon whitebait with relish. She was pleased now with her decision to eat in the restaurant rather than go home. Her father was staying for a few weeks to recuperate from his knee replacement, and had been even more demanding than usual. She was at the end of her tether. Thank God she was flying back to Germany with him at the weekend. And this time at least, she’d be pushing him in a wheelchair.
She liked Austen MacDonald. He was an interesting and intelligent man to converse with and Jutta liked intelligent men. He was rather handsome too, she admitted, with his neatly cropped grey hair, intense eyes and rugged good looks. A man who looked after himself. A man who kept his physique in good shape, unlike Felipe who was beginning to thicken at the waist and develop jowls.
Her husband was drinking too much. She knew it was because of financial worry. He’d once come to her looking for money to pay a wages bill. That had shocked her, depressed her, and irritated her in equal measure. She’d given him the money he’d requested but had told him in no uncertain terms never to ask her again and to pay it back as soon as he could.
So yes, it was pleasant indeed to sit outdoors and eat with this handsome, successful Irishman, whom she knew would pay for their meal and drinks, because that was what real men did and Austen MacDonald was a real man. In a million years she couldn’t imagine him having to ask his wife for money to pay his employees’ wages.
‘Another glass of wine?’ Austen asked.
‘Why not, Austen, why not?’ Jutta said gaily, raising her almost empty glass to him. She could always get a taxi home. She deserved some R&R, she decided.
‘It’s not a good time to have a child. Business isn’t good. There are way too many variables right now, Jutta,’ Felipe maintained as he sped along the A-7. He’d collected her from her flight back from Germany and his heart had sunk when yet again, she’d brought up the subject of having a child.
‘Felipe, we can’t keep putting it off. I want a baby—’
‘You want a baby so your sisters can stop emotionally blackmailing you to have your father stay with us more often,’ Felipe retorted.
‘That too, certainly,’ Jutta didn’t deny it. She’d come home from her latest sojourn with her father, and from confrontational sessions with her sisters and brother regarding his care, about who was doing this, and who wasn’t doing that, determined that her childless state would not be used against her anymore.
‘That’s no reason to have a child,’ her husband pointed out.
‘It’s only part of the reason. Your parents are always asking when are we going to present them with a grandchild. I don’t want to be pregnant in my forties. I’m old enough now as it is, Felipe. The time has come. We’ve discussed it often enough over the last couple of years. We can’t keep putting it off,’ she declared in her most firm and dictatorial tone. ‘I came off my pill in Germany,’ she added crisply.
Felipe laughed, amused at his wife, in spite of himself. ‘You always were a bossy little Fräulein with a mind of her own, and you are an even bossier Frau. What happens if el buen Dios doesn’t bless us with a child?’
‘We will adopt,’ she said determinedly. ‘But I th
ink God will bless us, Felipe. The women in my family are very fertile.’
‘Perhaps I won’t be.’
‘I think you will be,’ Jutta laughed, pleased that her husband hadn’t argued too vehemently against her decision. The sooner she got pregnant the better. She would hire an au pair immediately after the birth; Jutta didn’t intend for motherhood to interfere with her work.
Her sisters would have one less salvo to fire her way, and by January, if all went well, she would tell her siblings that her father would have to stay at home and not make his annual winter pilgrimage to stay with her because of her pregnancy. Felipe might smarten up his act too, and start behaving responsibly in his business dealings, once he had a child to support.
It could be very much win, win, Jutta mused wondering why she’d left it so long.
November
‘But you’ll be past the dreadful tiredness and sickness of the first trimester. Surely you can take Papa for ten days, so we can take our skiing holiday,’ Anka demanded furiously. ‘It’s not as if we’re asking you to take him for three weeks this time, like you always do.’
Jutta’s lips thinned. ‘Anka, I’ll ring you back, I’m with a client,’ she said irritably and hung up. She’d lied, she wasn’t with a client but she didn’t want to be bullied into a decision there and then about whether to take her father to stay in January.
She gazed out at the gunmetal sea roaring onto the shore. A howling gale raged outside and great banks of sullen clouds swept across the Mediterranean from Africa, with the threat of rain to come. A few hardy souls braved the strong winds and staggered along the beach, plastic ponchos flapping. It was unusually cold and wet on the Costa, and the tourists and owners who had flown to Spain for the winter were not getting much sun.
If the weather stayed the same in January, Oskar wouldn’t even be able to sit out on the balcony as he liked to do, and they would all be cooped up together in the apartment. Could she bear it? Jutta thought wearily, burping because of rampant heartburn.
Orange Blossom Days Page 26
