‘This is not his own personal garden. His private fiefdom,’ the irate owner had raged down the phone at her, until she told him crisply to put his complaint in writing. He’d taken her at her word, she noted unenthusiastically, as she counted six separate emails on her computer screen.
Jutta completed all her vacant apartment checks before heading to Anna’s penthouse. The sun was shining after several cloudy days, and the wind had died down, although it was chilly. She turned right to walk along a shrub-lined path towards the entrance to Anna’s block, and saw, coming towards her, Constanza’s bête noire. El Presidente was linking arms with his elderly aunt and Jutta surmised they had gone for a walk on the boardwalk that ran along the beach adjacent to the grounds. ‘Buenos días,’ she greeted them politely.
‘Ah, Ms Sauer, is it not?’ The notary looked her up and down.
‘Señor,’ she nodded, looking him up and down.
‘I propose to cc you, and the other agents, into any emails that I send to the owners you and they represent. I wish to have the names of all the agents who work here. I would be obliged if you would forward me your contact details so I can add them to my database.’
‘Hmmm,’ she said coolly. ‘My contract is with my clients. I’ll ask if they are happy for me to be cc’d into their emails from you.’
‘Why would it be a problem?’ he said haughtily.
‘For example, if any of my clients were in arrears, or in a dispute with you, they might not like me to know that. And to be perfectly frank, I am a busy woman. My time is valuable. My PA has a lot of emails to deal with already. I’m not sure she, nor I need extraneous work—’
The elderly lady leaning on her stick gave a little moan and grabbed Eduardo’s arm.
‘What is it, Beatriz?’ He looked at her in alarm.
She tried to speak but her eyes rolled in her head and she blacked out, collapsing against him, to his shock, as he caught her.
‘Can you carry her?’ Jutta asked. ‘It’s too cold to place her on the ground; your apartment is too far away. I have the key to an apartment here.’
‘Thank you, yes.’ Eduardo had no problem lifting his frail aunt into his arms as Jutta hurriedly opened the entrance door, praying that the lift was on the ground floor. It was and she followed Eduardo into it and pressed the penthouse button. ‘Beatriz, Beatriz, wake up, querida,’ Eduardo urged, and his aunt’s eyelids fluttered open.
‘Eduardo . . .’ she murmured weakly.
‘Hush now, we will get you lying down in bed to make you more comfortable and then we will call an ambulance,’ he soothed and she closed her eyes and rested her head against his shoulder.
The lift came to a smooth halt, and Jutta hurried to open Anna’s front door.
‘In here,’ she indicated the master bedroom along the hall and Eduardo carried his aunt inside and laid her on the king-sized bed.
Jutta pulled back the pale lemon drapes and looped the eggshell blue tieback into the hook before hurrying to get a glass of water for the stricken woman.
Eduardo was on his phone issuing brisk instructions to the cardiac ambulance call centre, all the while tenderly rubbing his aunt’s hand. ‘All will be well,’ he said reassuringly, taking the glass of water Jutta proffered and holding it gently to her lips. Jutta placed a Hilfiger throw that was on the end of the bed over the elderly woman to keep her warm.
‘Her breathing is quite laboured,’ she murmured.
‘Yes, she has a history of heart problems,’ Eduardo said worriedly, observing his aunt’s grey pallor.
‘Eduardo?’
‘I’m here, Tía, what is it?’ he asked, and Jutta would never have expected such tender concern from the pompous Madrileño.
‘I think you need to contact Isabella,’ she said feebly.
‘Let’s see how you get on at the hospital,’ he soothed.
‘I would like to see my sister,’ she whispered.
‘Very well,’ he agreed. ‘I’ll get in touch with her.’
‘Gracias,’ Beatriz said and closed her eyes again.
It would be such a tragic irony, thought Jutta, hearing the wail of a siren getting nearer, if the old lady died of a heart attack in Anna’s apartment. She resolved if this was the case not to mention it to the grieving owner, and would tell Eduardo to do likewise.
The ambulance men, when they arrived, radiated reassurance and consideration as they placed an oxygen mask over Beatriz’s nose and mouth, and gently opened her clothes to take an ECG.
‘She’s having an event,’ one of them murmured to Eduardo, as he studied the readout a little while later. ‘Does one of you wish to accompany her in the ambulance?’ He looked from Eduardo to Jutta.
‘Oh, I’m not related,’ Jutta said hastily.
‘I’ll go, this is my aunt,’ Eduardo replied calmly.
‘Muchas gracias,’ Beatriz managed to say to Jutta as she was lifted into the chair.
‘De nada. I’ll say a prayer for you.’ Jutta bent down to her so that Beatriz could hear what she was saying, and saw a faint smile flicker across her face.
‘Muchas gracias for your enormous assistance, may I give you my card?’ Eduardo said at the door.
‘Of course, Señor, I would like to know how your aunt does. I’ll text you and you may text me back.’ Jutta dismissed their earlier froideur. She understood only too well the trials and tribulations that went with having the responsibility of an elderly relative.
‘Ciertamente,’ he agreed, passing an elegant business card to her, before taking the stairs to be with his aunt as quickly as possible.
What a day, thought Jutta, listening to the wail of the ambulance siren disappear into the distance as she poured water into the kettle to make herself a strong cup of coffee before beginning the inventory of the contents of Anna’s kitchen and utility room.
She’d just finished itemizing the saucepan press when her phone rang again and she saw Sally-Ann Connolly Cooper’s name appear. She could let it go to her voicemail, which would direct Sally-Ann to Jutta’s office, but the American woman rarely called, so she decided to answer it.
‘Sally-Ann, how are you?’ she answered crisply.
‘Good, Jutta, good, and you?’
‘Fine, thank you. How can I help you?’ They did the polite social dance around each other. Jutta didn’t particularly like Sally-Ann. She was too brash and too opinionated, but she was a valuable client, and her husband, Cal, owned property in Alicante with Felipe. She needed to keep the Americans sweet.
‘I want to book the penthouse for all of August, and I was wondering would you have any other apartment, preferably in the same block, to rent to me?’
‘I need to check our calendar, Sally-Ann. I just have one other apartment for rent in your block, but I have a couple more in the other ones. I’ll get back to you a.s.a.p.’ She could have opened up her booking calendar but she was conscious the other woman was ringing from the US, and she preferred to take her time taking bookings. She’d never double-booked and she wasn’t going to start now. Why the other woman couldn’t have emailed her query she didn’t know, she thought crossly.
‘Thanks y’all,’ Sally-Ann replied in her distinctive American accent that had taken Jutta a while to get used to.
Jutta sat down at the table and took her iPad out of her bag and logged in. She studied the spreadsheet of bookings for La Joya, and saw that the apartment two floors below was available for the last two weeks of August but not the first two. She’d availability for all of August in Block 2. She pressed the call-back button and heard Sally-Ann’s voice as clear as a bell. Jutta gave her the information.
‘I suppose I could book Block Two for the first fortnight and change over to my one for the last two weeks,’ she said.
‘There might be one other option,’ Jutta said thoughtfully. ‘Anna MacDonald is selling the penthouse next door to you—’
‘Aw, is she selling? What a shame,’ exclaimed Sally-Ann. ‘Mind, I’m not surprised. She sai
d she couldn’t bear to come over to stay, the last time I spoke to her, before Christmas.’
‘I wonder would she rent it to you if it wasn’t sold by then? I know you’re friendly. Shall I ask her?’
‘That would be perfect!’ Sally-Ann enthused. ‘It would suit me down to the ground, actually.’
‘Let me get back to you,’ Jutta said. ‘But just in case, I’ll provisionally book the two apartments for you.’
‘Thanks, Jutta. Appreciate it.’
Why hadn’t she suggested going down the rental route to Anna? It made sense. She might as well have an income from it while it was empty and awaiting a buyer, Jutta mused, as the phone dialled the Irish woman’s number.
‘Hello, Jutta, have you a buyer already?’ Anna made an attempt at humour.
‘No, Anna, but I’ve a proposal for you. Your neighbour, Sally-Ann, is looking for an apartment to rent in your block, along with her own penthouse. There’s only one available for two weeks, and she wants it for the month of August. I was wondering would you be interested in renting while you’re waiting for a buyer? I can get my girls to bag up all your personal items, and prepare it for letting if you’d care to. It would be a source of income until you sold it,’ she added.
‘Oh! I see. I certainly wouldn’t mind Sally-Ann having it but I’m not sure about renting it out. Can I think about it? I’ll let you know by the end of the week.’
‘Of course. And don’t feel any pressure. I’m taking an inventory now. I would hope to have it on the market by the weekend.’
‘Good,’ said Anna wearily. ‘Talk soon. Bye.’
‘So she said she wouldn’t mind you having it, either way if it hasn’t sold,’ Jutta reported to Sally-Ann.
‘But if it’s sold, I could lose the other apartments. I really do need to be sure I have a second apartment for August, in La Joya. Perhaps I’d better take what you’ve offered me,’ Sally-Ann said regretfully.
‘OK, if that’s what you prefer, no problem,’ Jutta agreed. ‘I’ll send you the confirmation email.’
A busy but satisfying day, she concluded several hours later, having logged details of all the fixtures and fittings in the penthouse. She was hungry; she might go and eat in the restaurant below, she decided. Her daughter, Alicia, was recovering from a kidney infection and was cranky. She would demand attention as soon as Jutta walked in the door.
She would eat in peace and then go home to her sickly child. After all, what was the point in employing an au pair who was well paid and enjoyed good conditions if she couldn’t even have a meal in tranquillity, Jutta reasoned, closing the curtains in the penthouse before locking up. She loved her daughter, but she loved herself too. Too many mothers made martyrs of themselves. That was not her way. In fairness to Felipe, he was an excellent father, Jutta conceded. He adored their daughter and had endless patience with her. Much more than she had. Alicia’s paternal grandparents treated her like a little princess, and Jutta had to guard against them spoiling her. Felipe had texted her to say he was in the Don Carlos at a business meeting that was almost over; if she waited a while he would be home before her and could put Alicia to bed. She deserved this time to herself: she was looking forward to a white wine spritzer and a plate of mussels.
She wondered how Eduardo’s aunt was. Would he text her to let her know of Beatriz’s condition? She’d seen another side to El Presidente today. Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, Jutta thought in amusement, clickity clacking her way along the shrub-lined pathway in her Bionda Castana lilac pumps which were the exact shade of her cashmere jumper.
She’d seen the Spaniard looking her up and down and known with confidence that she presented an impeccable businesslike image in her tailored navy trouser suit, accessorized by her Chanel bag and sunglasses and discreet gold earrings.
An excellent businesswoman, and wife, and an adequate mother and daughter, Jutta admitted, not shying away from what would be for some, an uncomfortable truth. She settled back into her chair in the warm restaurant, looking forward to her solitary meal.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
ANNA
‘Don’t do that, pet,’ Anna said to her grandson who was scribbling on one of her magazines.
‘I’m drawin’ you a picture,’ he said indignantly.
‘Oh, oh thank you. Why don’t I get you some pages then?’ Anna sighed. She’d a thumping headache and would have liked nothing more than to crawl into bed and stay there, but Michael had been home from playschool early, because of a burst pipe due to freezing conditions and she’d had to go and collect him.
It had been a nerve-racking drive. She’d always hated driving on snow and ice, and envied Austen’s calmness and knowledge of when to apply brakes and when not to and knowing about rear wheel and front wheel drive and the like.
Anna couldn’t believe that as the days increased since her husband’s death, so too, exponentially had her grief. She could not credit either how physically painful that grief was. Her heart literally ached. Sometimes she felt it was being cut to ribbons with razor blades. Christmas had been an absolute agony, although she’d spent it with Tara – who was pregnant again – and James and Michael.
She couldn’t face being in her own home without Austen. She hadn’t decorated, not even a holly wreath on the front door, and hadn’t done any festive baking, so that when she came back home on the second of January, it was as though the season had never happened.
‘Why?’ That was her constant question to Austen, to God, or whatever energy had created them. Just, why?
She was very angry. And, Anna conceded, she was becoming dour, and sharp. She knew she had to make an effort, especially for the family, but they expected so much from her. She was the glue that held them together. She was the focal point now for the family, but she didn’t want to be. She didn’t want to have to comfort and sustain her children; she wanted them to comfort and sustain her!
And, she was angry with her daughters. It was because of their child-minding requirements that she and Austen had had disagreements. His words about her putting their daughters’ needs before his came back to haunt her often. She was riddled with guilt remembering the way she’d hung up on him a few days before he died, after their argument about when she was coming out to Spain with him.
Had their arguments contributed to his heart attack? They must have, she reasoned. Although Tara maintained it was the stress and worry caused by the loss of their savings. No doubt that had contributed too. And easier for Tara to think that it was financial worry that had caused her father’s sudden death, rather than her and Chloe’s childcare impositions.
She would never, of course, verbalize her resentments to her daughters, Anna thought crossly, much as she’d like to vent. She wouldn’t burden them with that particular guilt trip. But it was hard to keep silent sometimes, and her restraint added to her resentfully carried burdens.
She lay down on the sofa and closed her eyes to shut out the thin wintery sunlight. Michael was engrossed in his drawing, her granddaughter was having her nap, she’d have a little one too, Anna decided.
It seemed as though she’d only closed her eyes when she heard a cry on the baby monitor. Anna’s eyes flew open. Ah no, child, she thought irritably, as the whimpers turned into a full-blown wail. She hauled herself off the sofa and went upstairs to where Charlotte’s cot now reposed in Chloe’s old bedroom.
‘What are you doing awake? Go back asleep,’ she said firmly, to no avail. Her granddaughter, tousle-haired and red-cheeked stood up and held out her arms when she saw Anna appear at the door.
Anna picked her up and felt a brief moment of unexpected happiness as the toddler nuzzled into her neck, thumb in her mouth.
‘Come on then, Anna, one foot in front of the other,’ she muttered, remembering her words to Jutta earlier. She was very glad she’d made that phone call, Anna reflected, walking slowly down the stairs with her granddaughter in her arms.
Tara and Chloe had urged her not to act too hastily in selling u
p when she’d discussed it with them at Christmas. ‘Will and I could go out for a week on our own, and then you could mind the baby and fly out a week later and we’d all be together,’ Chloe suggested.
You mean you’d have a cheap babysitter thought Anna sourly, knowing what way her daughter’s mind worked. And how selfish of her to think it was OK for Anna to have to deal with an infant on a flight to Malaga, on her own, having had responsibility for her for the previous week while Chloe had a week ‘off’ in the penthouse. Her daughter’s sense of entitlement was incredible. According to her she ‘needed’ and ‘deserved’ a week off after all she’d been through since her father’s death.
‘What about me?’ Anna wanted to shout. ‘WHAT ABOUT ME?’ She could hardly believe, either, that her youngest daughter had even thought that far ahead. It was all she could do to get by, day by day, so overwhelmed was she by grief, loneliness, unutterable sadness and always, the underlying anger and resentment.
Anna didn’t want to go back to the penthouse. She couldn’t imagine being in La Joya without Austen. So what was the point in paying out the huge expenses incurred by having a property abroad? She’d enough to do to pay her taxes at home; she wasn’t interested in paying Spanish taxes and the increased maintenance fees for La Joya if she wasn’t going to use it. Deciding to sell up had not been a hard decision and at least she’d done one positive thing today.
Anna sighed from the depths of her being. It was almost five months since Austen had died and she hadn’t even selected his Memory Card, let alone posted them out. It was a chore she was dreading, but it had to be done to honour his memory and show appreciation to all who had come to his funeral and shown her and the family such kindness. Tears blurred Anna’s eyes at the memory of Austen’s funeral, and how she had stood beside his casket in the open hearse, greeting the throngs of mourners who had come to support them.
‘Are you very sad, Nannie?’ Two anxious blue eyes stared at her from the bottom of the stairs, where her grandson stood with his picture held out to her.
‘Yes, darling, I am,’ she admitted, struggling to swallow the lump that constricted her throat.
Orange Blossom Days Page 32
