The Villa of Dreams

by Lucy Coleman

  ‘This is lovely, Vitor, thank you. Cherry and blackcurrant… a wonderful choice.’ I have no idea whether he understands what I’m saying, but he gives me a slight nod of his head, then wipes the neck of the bottle before placing it on the table and leaving.

  ‘I often feel like I’m staying in a hotel when I’m here,’ Reid admits. ‘It was only a family home for about five years. When I married my now ex-wife, Beatriz, we lived in London where our daughter, Ana, was born. Beatriz missed Portugal and we came to live here seven years ago. Shortly before the divorce they moved to Porto, to be with Beatriz’s family, and I’m left here wondering why I built such an enormous place.’ He pauses for a moment, frowning, and I can see that his thoughts are elsewhere. ‘Anyway,’ he resumes, his expression brightening, ‘here’s to a successful collaboration, Seren.’

  Reid raises his glass and I tentatively clink mine as he looks at me with an expression of curiosity on his face. I’m guessing he’s in his early forties, as his unruly shoulder-length hair is still jet black. From time to time, he scoops it back and there’s something curiously mesmerising about the action, which he does unconsciously.

  ‘So, what is your story, Seren?’

  I realise that he’s trying to establish a rapport by telling me a little about himself and it’s his way of breaking the ice. I’ve worked with clients before who need to understand what makes you tick before they can do business with you. Given that this project is so unusual, I’m wondering whether Reid is beginning to have second thoughts. Is that the reason he invited me here tonight?

  ‘For the last six years I worked for my father as an events coordinator and marketing manager. He owns a large exhibition centre in the UK specialising in trade fairs.’

  Reid frowns. ‘And yet you’ve ended up here, in Lisbon. I’m surprised.’

  How honest do I need to be to gain his trust? I wonder.

  ‘It’s not always easy working with family and it was time to find a new challenge.’

  Reid twizzles the stem of his glass between his fingers, staring at me as he does as if he’s sizing me up. ‘I get that. My father is an architect, but I take after my mother, who was the one who encouraged me to paint. I still think my father would have preferred for me to follow in his footsteps. To try to make up for that, I involved him in the design of this place.’ He casts around, a frown suddenly creasing his brow.

  ‘But you are thrilled with how it turned out?’

  ‘Yes. It’s not that. Sorry, I miss my daughter and this house feels empty without her. It’s her fifteenth birthday today. Beatriz and I aren’t on speaking terms right now and I wasn’t invited to the party.’

  My goodness. Did Reid invite me here tonight because he’s lonely and sad? I’m a little taken-aback and not sure quite how to respond, but I should say something. ‘I feel for you, that must be tough. But you do get to see your daughter?’

  He nods. ‘Yes, from time to time, but not as often as I’d like. Ana has a good circle of friends and five cousins around her, but it’s a difficult age. A father who hasn’t been involved in her daily life for the best part of two years now isn’t exactly a priority. I took her to dinner a couple of weeks ago and then shopping for her present. She’s not an ungrateful kid, and I hope as she gets older our relationship will improve. Beatriz has a large family, so I should at least be thankful for that.’

  A movement catches my eye and we both turn to see Vitor and the young woman walking towards us each carrying a tray.

  ‘I promise you are in for a real treat,’ Reid says, winking at me. ‘Gisela isn’t just a cook, she has a passion for food worthy of some of the best chefs around. Simple, Portuguese fare served with love and with a creative twist.’

  It strikes me as rather sad that Reid is here alone and the only people around him are employees. And yet he’s relaxed enough to let down his guard and treat me as if we are friends, rather than simply business acquaintances. It’s not quite what I was expecting from this evening, that’s for sure.

  We end the evening in Reid’s personal sitting room, which looks out over the extensive views from the front elevation, down over the valley. While the deciduous trees are only just in bud, it’s still a vista of evergreen conifers, pines and cypress trees. The corner room has two large, panoramic windows, and both are open. It’s a pleasant evening, although I’m glad of the little linen jacket I brought with me as a breeze has sprung up. It’s wonderful to hear the slight whisper from the movement of the tall trees surrounding the property.

  When Reid begins to quiz me about where the original idea came from to link the Cristo Rei and his art to a fashion shoot, he’s not just making conversation; I can see that he’s genuinely interested. It’s difficult keeping my enthusiasm in check as I explain the thought processes, but Reid is a good listener and he doesn’t interrupt my flow.

  ‘It’s hard to describe exactly what I’m visualising in here,’ I tap the side of my head with a finger.

  A look of amusement flashes over his face and I begin to feel embarrassed.

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ Reid replies, his tone reassuring and gentle. ‘As an artist I construct each piece over and over in my head many times before I even pick up a pencil, or a brush. By the time I’m touching the canvas there’s already a master plan for each stroke. I would have been disappointed if you’d rattled off a well-rehearsed, one-liner sales pitch. Seeing the Cristo Rei through the eyes of someone new to Lisbon, it’s beginning to make sense to me now.’

  I give him a grateful smile.

  ‘I will have the portfolio of designs for Bernadette Brodeur sent across to your office by the end of this week. I hope she will be pleased. The fashion shoot element was a big surprise.’

  There’s a touch of reserve in his voice which makes me frown.

  ‘You have concerns?’

  He lifts his coffee cup, taking a sip and then placing it back on the low-level table between us.

  ‘It’s the first time any of my artwork has been brought to life in another form. How it will translate is making me feel a little anxious. You are a lady with big ideas and I’m a man who can appreciate someone who thinks outside the box. However, this is not simply ambitious, but also unique. And with that comes an element of risk, for all of us.’

  The fact that he’s a little cautious approaching this is a good thing and now it’s my job to convince him he has nothing to worry about.

  ‘Seeing a concept on paper doesn’t bring it fully to life, does it? Let me paint you a mental picture of the vision. Humour me here, for a few moments. Imagine the models standing in the shadow of the Cristo Rei statue. The full length of the promenade is in front of us and it becomes a fashion catwalk. The backdrop is the stunning river Tagus and the iconic Ponte 25 de Abril suspended above the water. Overhead, the vibrant blue sky begins to mellow as dusk descends and the whole scene is lit up.’

  I pause, to check that he’s with me and he raises an eyebrow; I can see he’s engaging with me as I walk him through it.

  ‘Now close your eyes.’

  Reid does as I ask, and I continue staring at him for several seconds, studying his face, before I realise he’s waiting for me to begin.

  ‘Gracefully, the models glide along, slowly twirling every ten or fifteen metres, arms outstretched and their silhouettes mirroring that of the statue itself. The ankle-length gowns will form a perfect T-shape as they unfold their arms to display your designs. Capturing scenes from your artwork celebrating this amazing part of the world, it’s going to be a spectacle that has never been seen before. It will be an homage not simply to your work, but to Lisbon and to nature’s beauty.’

  I’m staring at him now in earnest. Since the second his eyelids closed shut, they haven’t even flickered, and he takes a few moments before opening them. His skin is tanned, the line of his jaw strong and determined. He’s a man used to being in control and I can understand his need to reassure himself this project is in good hands.

  ‘That’s
a strong visual you’re describing there, Seren. You have a creative eye. This idea of yours is refreshing, so many marketing initiatives are gimmicky. Let me hazard a guess… do you paint?’

  I shake my head, tipping my chin down to touch my chest, as my cheeks begin to colour under his intense gaze. I’m enjoying this way too much for my own good. ‘No.’

  He waggles a finger at me. ‘I’m not giving up that easily. You’re a little uncomfortable, so I’m guessing it’s a hobby… could be pottery, or jewellery making, maybe?’

  Reid isn’t going to let it go.

  ‘Metal sculptures,’ I reply. ‘I like to weld.’

  Tipping his head back for a moment, he cups a hand around his chin. ‘That wasn’t the first thing that jumped into my head, admittedly, but why am I not surprised? It’s very you.’

  What on earth does that mean? He hardly knows me and yet I get the distinct feeling he isn’t just listening to what I’m saying, he’s trying to read between the lines. Or is my body language giving something away? I sincerely hope not, because I’m beginning to feel a little exposed. Reid is an interesting man, but, given the situation, I wasn’t expecting our conversation to get quite so personal.

  ‘Bernadette is the right person to ensure your artwork is turned into catwalk masterpieces. And once you’ve approved the samples, she’ll begin work on the range of soft furnishings that will go on sale in the gallery. You will be involved at every stage, I can assure you, Reid. This is going to grab people’s attention and, hopefully, pull in a whole new audience of visitors to the gallery to view your work.’

  It might be wishful thinking on my part, but he seems content – for now.

  ‘Well, it will be the first time anyone has ever worn one of my paintings, so you will forgive a little nervous apprehension creeping in. But it’s inspired.’

  Our eyes meet and, for one second, it’s as if everything around me has faded into nothingness. My ears begin to buzz, and my mouth goes dry. We aren’t just looking at each other, we’re experiencing something.

  Horrified, I squirm around in my seat, edging myself forward and glancing down at my watch.

  Reid takes the prompt and I sincerely hope he doesn’t think I’m being rude. ‘Right, it’s time I drove you back home, Seren. I’d like to thank you for your company and for taking the time to set my mind at ease. It’s true that I was excited about this project from the start, but now you really do have my full attention. Whatever you need, just ask. You can contact me any time of the day,’ he pauses, ‘or night.’

  Part II

  March

  4

  New Life, New Friends

  Spring has officially begun and despite the early-morning chill, the sky is an unbroken blue canvas and the sun is already beginning to warm things up. It’s Saturday morning and Carolina is due to arrive at ten a.m. I’m sitting in the narrow, elongated forecourt in front of the little place I’m renting. It’s pleasant sitting here, waiting for my visitor and listening to the sound of the birds. I wave at neighbours who stop for a moment to catch their breath, calling out ‘Olá, Seren’ before making their way up to the top of the hill. I usually reply with a simple ‘Bom dia’, which is good morning. I figure it’s a start, until I have the time to take classes, as I begin to commit a handful of words and phrases to memory.

  To the left-hand side as I look out, the boundary is the side wall of Maria’s house. Set within the imposingly tall, whitewashed wall is a door to her kitchen and above it a small window. On the opposite side, an equally pristine wall creates a private little courtyard, as well as providing shelter when the wind whips up.

  Earlier this morning, Maria and I sat together for a while enjoying a cup of coffee. We often do this at weekends while she waits for her daughter-in-law and grandson to appear. It’s a pleasant way to pass a little time before she makes a start on breakfast.

  My new life is in sharp contrast to my former routine, where I always had a lie-in on my days off. And I rarely sat outside unless I had friends over for dinner. There never was an opportunity for me to sit and think, to simply unwind. Whether it’s the more temperate climate here, I don’t know, but I’m learning to take time for myself and it’s both restorative and energising.

  The charmingly rustic and bijou dwelling I’m renting belongs to Maria’s brother and abuts the house their family has lived in for three generations. It makes up in charm what it lacks in size and it’s more than adequate for my needs. With a mass of pots full of glorious colour lined up against the textured stone walls, it’s a little oasis. It’s located on the narrow, winding street named Fernão Mendes Pinto which leads up to one of Lisbon’s most famous tourist spots, but it’s off the beaten track.

  Set back off the charmingly sedate street, the front façade of this pretty, wedge-shaped one-storey property captivated me. The width of two generously proportioned, country-style doors sitting side by side at the end of the courtyard intrigued me. Both are painted white but are set within solid stone pillars with lintels above, which are a gloriously summery cornflower blue. Offset with the faded pink, terracotta pan-tile roof, the frontage gives no real clue to what lies beyond.

  The first door leads into the kitchen, which opens up into a quirky yet functional space. The second door leads into what was once just an alcove but is now a useful storage cupboard, then on into an open-plan sitting room which is almost totally square. With white walls and heavy, dark-wood furniture, the intricate Portuguese-tiled floor adds a rich vibrancy. Azulejo tiles can be seen everywhere in Lisbon and Maria told me, with a great degree of pride, that the tiles were made by her father and laid by her brother.

  Three doors lead out of this room. One heads back into the kitchen, the other two on the opposite side of the room take you into an average-sized bathroom and a large bedroom. Curiously, the access to the rear garden is via the bedroom. It’s a rectangle running the entire width of the rear of the property, consisting of a small patio and a grassy area bounded by shrubs. Beyond that, in the far corner, is a large, brick-built outbuilding which is now a workshop. My little residence doesn’t have a name, just a number: 28a, Fernão Mendes Pinto.

  What I love is that the little community here is mixed. The larger homes on the other side of the road are owned by more affluent people but are interspersed with terraces of smaller homes and a myriad of little courtyards such as this one – offering glimpses of hidden treasures. People are respectful of each other’s space but, as I’ve found to my relief and delight, welcoming to all.

  Carolina suddenly appears around the corner, stepping into the courtyard and waving out as she walks towards me. ‘Olá, Seren,’ she calls out. ‘This is a beautiful little spot. What a find!’

  I stand and we greet each other with beijinhos, a swift kiss on each cheek as is the custom with friends and family. It’s all new to me still, as the other people I mix with are simply colleagues. Here, one’s working life is kept totally separate to one’s private life, whereas in the UK when you start a new job, often a part of settling in is building friendships together outside of work. Popping into the pub for a quick drink is acceptable, whereas here it isn’t common practice.

  Meeting up with Carolina today is the next step in our growing friendship and it occurs to me that she, too, must miss her family. Even if you are Portuguese, leaving one’s home behind means starting afresh in a place where you don’t know anyone at all.

  With Maria, my relationship is different again; she simply grabs both of my hands and brings them together, muttering something under her breath in Portuguese. She’s a deeply religious person and I think it’s a blessing of some sort. She has taken me under her wing and her kindness is appreciated more than I can possibly convey.

  ‘It was a stroke of luck finding this place,’ I reply to Carolina. ‘Come inside. Have a look around while I get my things together. There are some beautiful old wall tiles in the kitchen.’

  ‘It’s perfect for you, especially being so close to the Sant
uário Nacional do Cristo Rei.’ She laughs and I nod my head in agreement.

  The statue of Christ is central to the success of my project and I wonder if I hadn’t been drawn to this cosy little property, whether it would have been an opportunity missed. I’m sure that I would have visited it at some point, as it’s a huge draw for visitors, but probably not so soon after my arrival.

  The day I came to view the property, Maria suggested I make my way up to the monument to familiarise myself with the area. It was early evening and the gates were already shut, so I walked along the boundary of the extensive site until I could get the best view of the statue in all its glory. He’s hard to miss, although partially obscured by the tall trees bordering the grounds. Standing on an eighty-two-metre high pedestal, the statue itself is nearly thirty metres tall and it can be seen from miles around. His hands reach out to the heavens and I noticed a halo of light sitting around his head as the angle of the setting sun encompassed him. I knew then that I was meant to stay here, in Almada.

  Being on the south bank of the river Tagus isn’t quite as convenient for work, given that I have the daily crossing by ferry to Lisbon. But it feels right, and when I popped in to see Maria on my way back to the hotel that first day, she was thrilled when I broke the news. That chance visit left an impression with me that didn’t go away. But I could never have imagined it would inspire an entire project, or that my future career would then hang upon the wild thought when inspiration struck.

  ‘Oh, my goodness! This isn’t quite what I was expecting, I’ll be honest,’ I comment as Carolina looks at me knowingly. We are standing beneath a midnight blue canopy extending along the traditional, limestone-cobbled pavement. It bears the logo of the café, Pastéis de Belém 1837, in large lettering. I love the ambience these sweeping swathes of stone give to the streets. The cobbles are beautiful, but I’ve learnt that flat shoes are a blessing.