The Villa of Dreams

by Lucy Coleman

  As for the noise factor, well, hopefully I’ll get to the bottom of that. I can’t stop the traffic, so I suspect it’s going to be a case of providing some distracting background noise of our own.

  I’m foot-weary as I turn into the little courtyard, and when I pass Maria’s kitchen door, she pops her head out.

  ‘Ah, you are a little late today. I have just made a pot of caldeirada de peixe. Can you join us?’

  A dish of Maria’s Portuguese fish stew and a little company is exactly what I need this evening.

  ‘Maravilhoso, Maria, obrigada.’ It is a wonderful gesture, and I am grateful to end what has been an exhausting day in the company of my generous neighbours. We’ll sit and chat, everyone sharing moments from their day, but I know it will be light-hearted, with a lot of laughter. Tomorrow is another day full of endless possibilities and when my head eventually touches the pillow, my mood is lighter and brighter.

  6

  Flying High

  Inevitably the contours of life are not flat. Every dip, therefore, will eventually be followed by an upswing, and this week has been no exception. What felt, on Monday, like a setback has resulted in ending the week with a stronger team and a much clearer focus.

  Delegating can throw up as many problems as it solves, as I’ve found to my detriment in the past. Some people rise to the occasion, and others sink. But when it goes well, it’s so satisfying to see your colleagues step up with enthusiasm to take on a new challenge, eager to take it forward. Antero, I now realise, has been held back in the past by his own awareness of the boundaries of his remit. But with his expanded role, he is happy to throw out ideas in our meetings. It’s obvious that he’s going to be an asset in ways I couldn’t have imagined at first. He’s incredibly calm under pressure and he’s also a master organiser.

  As for Carolina, aside from her marketing skills, she is one of the most efficient administrators I’ve ever worked with. And the both of them are totally professional to the point that I doubt anyone, aside from myself, suspects there is a growing attraction between them.

  My thoughts chunter on inside my head as I stand back to gaze with pride at my not-so-little bird sculpture. ‘There, that’s better.’

  He gazes back at me proudly from his new perch. Gone is the geometrical metal box, which sits in the corner ready to be recycled. In its place is a stack of flat, metal tablets offset to resemble a pile of limestone slabs. My noble marsh sandpiper looks happy and a sense of elation hits me square in the gut. He’s beautiful, but how on earth I’m going to get him out of the workshop and into the garden, I have no idea. He’s way too heavy for one person to move.

  Glancing at my watch, I see that it’s almost eleven o’clock, and time I sorted myself out to head up to the monument. Walking back into the house, there’s an insistent tapping sound and I head straight for the front door. Swinging it open, Reid is standing there, making me step back in surprise.

  ‘Oh, Reid.’ My T-shirt is patchy with sweat and my hair is lank against my head. ‘Sorry, please come in. Excuse my appearance, welding is hot work.’

  He can see I’m embarrassed, and he gives me an apologetic look as he steps inside.

  ‘This is charming,’ he comments, to fill the awkward moment of silence between us.

  ‘It is, isn’t it? It’s plenty big enough for what I need, and I feel as if I’m in the heart of the little community here.’

  We stand in the middle of the sitting room, looking at each other and he clears his throat. I watch as he runs a hand through his hair, an indication that he’s nervous, maybe.

  ‘I should have called first, Seren. It’s rude of me to simply turn up like this, I’m sorry. You mentioned you were going to check out the background noise up at the site today and I’ve been thinking about it. I have an idea that might solve the problem at the same time as gaining the event some extra publicity.’

  It’s hard to wonder what on earth I must look like as he stares back at me.

  ‘No, it’s fine. And I’m intrigued.’

  ‘It also occurred to me that you are still very new to Lisbon and I wondered if you’d appreciate some company. A second opinion is always helpful, I find.’

  ‘It’s a kind thought, thank you. I, um… I was about to jump in the shower and change. Why don’t I get you a cold drink and show you through to the rear garden? I’ll only be ten minutes and you can sit on the bench and listen to the birds. And the sound of my neighbours,’ I grin at him. You can’t hear another soul at Reid’s luxurious country home, no matter where you sit.

  I grab a soft drink from the fridge and Reid follows me out through the bedroom and into the garden. It feels a little awkward, but he seems content so I leave him to it, hurrying back inside. This is going to be the quickest shower and change of my entire life. I’m conscious of each second ticking by and a little annoyed that Reid didn’t ring me before turning up. What if my plans had changed? Would he have driven up to the Santuário and wandered around looking for me? I am curious to hear what he has to say, though. I had been toying with the idea of a loop of classical music playing in the background. Nothing too distracting and easy enough to sort out, as long as it meets with Rafael’s approval. But I could be way off the mark as I’m not really up to speed with popular music over here. Maybe Reid will be able to offer some advice.

  When I reappear in the garden, hopefully looking refreshed and smelling a whole lot better, Reid points to the workshop.

  ‘Aren’t you going to show me your masterpiece?’ he enquires, his eyes smiling.

  ‘No. There isn’t time,’ I reply firmly. ‘We need to head out now as Saturday lunchtime is when the traffic noise will be the greatest.’ The mere thought of Reid’s experienced eye appraising my work makes my stomach start to churn and that’s why it’s off limits.

  I turn and, with a noticeable reluctance, he follows me.

  ‘Artists are supposed to share the pieces they create,’ he mumbles, but I ignore him.

  As I lock the door behind us, and we make our way to his car, I turn the conversation back to work. ‘So, you think Rafael has a valid point?’

  ‘I do. I wonder if you are so taken with the views and the beauty, you haven’t really stood there and listened to the throb of modern living. At night, I fear the growing darkness will tend to amplify it and so an alternative distraction is a great idea.’

  His comments give me pause for thought, but it isn’t until we’re standing on the promenade in the shadow of the statue of Cristo Rei that I appreciate what he’s talking about.

  ‘Admittedly, today the wind is in the wrong direction and this is probably the noisiest it gets. But it’s like a constant drumming, isn’t it?’ he prompts.

  ‘How did I not register this?’

  ‘The traffic flow never completely stops, but it’s noisier when it’s free-flowing, as it is now. Ironically, when it gets heavily congested, it slows to a crawl and the noise level is much quieter. The wind is carrying the sounds towards us as up here there is nothing to act as a buffer. The promenade is on a level with the bridge itself.’

  We stop to lean against the waist-high wooden fence, the other side of which the scrubland falls away.

  ‘Noise affects people in different ways. To some people, it’s merely a nuisance, an irritation. To others, it’s the sound of life happening all around us. It doesn’t bother me, and it seems that it doesn’t bother you, either, but it’s there and it’s a constant.’

  ‘I suppose what matters is that it bothers Rafael. I’m thinking a little soft music in the background to take the edge off it. A soundtrack playing some of the Portuguese classical composers might do the trick.’

  Reid nods his head, pursing his lips as if he’s a little disappointed. ‘Have you heard of the wave of new fado music?’

  ‘No, it’s not a term I’ve heard before. What does fado mean?’

  Now it’s Reid’s turn to laugh. ‘If I could convey the essence of it in a sentence, I would succeed where
others have failed. It began in the early eighteen-hundreds and it’s a type of Portuguese folk music. There’s an air of sadness to it, a haunting, soulful quality, some might say has a hint of the blues. What I like about the way it’s been reinvented and brought up to date in the last few years is that modern instruments soften it. It’s a perfect solution.’

  I stare at him, raising my eyebrows. Music is music, surely? ‘Why?’

  He indicates for us to begin walking and we trace the path the models will take along the promenade. Overhead, the sun beats down and I’m grateful for the cooling breeze.

  ‘Off the record, Rafael is known for his temperamental outbursts. This makes me sound old, but he’s young and headstrong. He’ll mellow as time goes on because, if nothing else, he’ll realise it pays to make friends and not enemies, but that’s a lesson to be learnt the hard way. I hope you don’t think I’m speaking out of turn, but I thought it might be more helpful to you right now if I talk frankly. Rafael is extremely talented and has amassed a big following on social media, Leonor tells me. But he has a fiery personality and a short fuse. So your challenge is more about coming up with a solution he’s unlikely to find fault with, given that it’s not a problem you can take away.’

  ‘Your honesty is appreciated as I would be mortified to come up with something that was equally as bothersome to him.’

  As we reach the end of the promenade and are about to wander through the grove of olive trees, I stop for a moment to close my eyes, aware that Reid is watching me.

  The gusty wind is playing havoc with my hair, and his, to my amusement. The whooshing sound rises and falls. I hear the chatter and laughter of the visitors around us, but it’s overlaid by the constant clickety-clack of the vehicles travelling along the bridge. Overhead, circling birds call out to each other and somewhere, further down the coast, the sound of metal hitting metal travels on the breeze. I love all the sounds, because to me they are the beating heart of Lisbon and remind me that it is alive, but he has a point. By far the most dominant noise today is that repetitive rumble, and the more I focus on it, the more distracting it becomes.

  ‘Well, thank you for pointing me in the right direction, Reid. I will most certainly look into your suggestion. It might be more to Rafael’s liking and, naturally, I want to ensure he’s happy.’

  Reid waggles a finger at me. ‘I can save you a lot of work and guarantee you’ll get on the right side of Rafael at the same time. Come on, let’s head over to the café and grab a drink. We can sit in the shade and I’ll explain.’

  We stroll across the grass and take a shortcut along an avenue of miniature palm trees. It’s one of my favourite areas. With wide, squat, pineapple-looking trunks, and massive feathery fronds of green which hang like an arch no more than ten feet above our heads, this is my fall-back option – if it’s too windy on the day of the show, then this sheltered area will become the runway.

  I try to fathom out why Reid is taking the time and trouble to accompany me here, when a phone call would easily have sufficed. He must have better things to do in his spare time, surely? Or does he simply enjoy chatting with someone from his home country? His guard is down, and his general demeanour is relaxed today. He’s different from the man who takes part in the video calls, who is polite but to the point.

  Once we hit the gravelled area leading to the café, ever the gentleman, Reid seeks out a table tucked away in a shady area on the paved terrace. He leaves me to sit and wait as he goes off to join the queue.

  With one of the two chapels a mere stone’s throw to my right, the sound of monks singing emanates across the divide. The music is played on a continuous loop and helps to mask any background noise. It’s relaxing, even though the chatter of tourists filling the tables around me partially drowns it out.

  Today, the gusting breeze comes in waves but is partially deflected by the red and pale pink brick columns supporting the terrace roof. I’m content to sit and simply enjoy my surroundings, tucked away in a shady spot where my hair isn’t being blown all over the place.

  Reid appears carrying a full tray. I help lift off the coffee cups and place them on the table. He slides a plate of four egg custard tarts in front of me, then lifts off two glasses of water before placing the tray onto a spare chair. ‘Who can resist, right? I’m hazarding a guess it won’t be you,’ he jests.

  ‘I’m already a connoisseur.’

  ‘Enjoy,’ he says, his eyes sparkling as he lowers himself into the seat next to me. ‘Anyway, where were we? Ah, yes. I’m reliably informed that a young woman who is well-known to Rafael – a fact that is not yet common knowledge – has recently recorded her second album. The first one did very well, but, as we all know, everyone with something to sell is constantly seeking new opportunities to gain exposure. I could put you in touch with Yolanda Abreu’s agent, Senhor Sequeira, and you could take it from there. It’s a simple solution all round.’

  I pause for a moment to sink my teeth into one of the tarts. It’s good but would benefit from a little more cinnamon, I reflect, as I mull over Reid’s suggestion. Pandering to Rafael like this could be the answer. If Reid is correct, then at least it’s less likely for Rafael to find fault on the day, I suppose. He’s hardly going to criticise the work of someone he knows, is he? Whereas a random playlist could throw up all sorts of problems. ‘I really appreciate the digging you’ve done to come up with this solution, Reid. It’s very generous of you, as I know how busy you are.’

  Reid has just devoured a whole tart in two bites, and he smiles at me from above the paper napkin with which he’s wiping his mouth. With his shirt sleeves rolled back, the hairs on his arm look pale against his tanned skin, bleached by the sun. I find myself wondering if people around us think we’re a couple but realise the glances we’re getting are more likely for another reason. No doubt some people will recognise his face.

  ‘It’s the least I can do given that you’ve so graciously agreed to come to my rescue next Saturday. Besides, it really was no bother at all. I was at a friend’s birthday party and happened to find myself standing next to a music buff.’

  One look at his face and I can see that he’s making light of it, and I suspect it’s taken a lot more effort than he’s letting on.

  ‘It’s all beginning to feel very real now, isn’t it?’ I murmur, more to myself than as a part of the conversation.

  ‘Do you want to know the truth?’ he asks, leaning forward and lowering his voice.

  I shift around a little in my seat, wondering what he’s going to say next.

  ‘This came along at just the right time for me. I was becoming detached from my work, maybe even a little disinterested. That sounds petulant and ungrateful, I know. But my life has become one constant round of the same thing and the only time I’m happy, other than when I’m with my daughter, is when I’m in my studio, either here or in London. Which is less and less, because after an intense period of hiding myself away and being productive comes the slog of selling and being seen. My business manager, Tomas, is Beatriz’s eldest brother and right now he’s ramping things up and celebrating my renewed vitality, as he so eloquently termed it.’

  We exchange a brief smile. ‘That’s kind of you to share that with me. It’s a truly wonderful thing to have been blessed with such an amazing talent. It must be tough, though, to walk away from the easel and jump through the marketing hoops. The two worlds don’t really sit well together, do they?’

  ‘Exactly. I was born to paint, but the rest of it is an unfortunate necessity. However, I never lose sight of the end goal. Every hoop I jump through now gets me closer to setting up the gallery and the art studio. But, as they say, patience is a virtue and it’s one I struggle with, constantly.’

  I can see from his body language that there are things on his mind, and, for a brief moment, he seems full of conflict.

  ‘My team and I are totally committed to ensuring that the exhibition is a huge success. And it will be,’ I reassure him.

 
‘Well, word is travelling fast, so whatever you’re doing is working. I’d become a little too complacent and it’s good to take a step outside one’s comfort zone occasionally. How my work will hold up when it’s being paraded along the promenade here, who knows? But I needed that jolt to get me out of a rut. Tomas convinced me it was the right thing to do and he was right.’

  The way he’s looking at me as I process my thoughts makes my heart miss a beat.

  ‘Anyway, I’m grateful to you, Seren. And that leads me on to the other reason I dropped by today. It’s a personal matter and rather delicate, so I would appreciate it if you could keep it just between the two of us.’

  I was about to finish off the dregs of my coffee, but I put the cup down, anxious over the change in his tone of voice. Have I done something wrong?

  He looks away and I can see that he’s embarrassed. ‘Sharing my fractured life story with you wasn’t my intention, but my personal life is inextricably linked to my business. Leonor is Tomas’s daughter. I’m well aware that she’s Beatriz’s main source of information, often without meaning to be, as my niece has always been incredibly loyal to me. But just lately, well, there’s family stuff going on behind the scenes, so if you get any problems in your communications with Leonor, please email me direct, or text me.’

  Reid gives me a pointed look, which I’m not sure I understand.

  ‘I’ve always found Leonor to be extremely efficient,’ I reply. She can come across as a little curt at times, but I assumed it was because she’s under pressure managing Reid’s timetable.

  ‘It’s rather complicated, I’m afraid. Beatriz still feels her views should be taken into consideration when it comes to my work, and Tomas didn’t consult her before the decision was made to get involved with this project. That is a totally unreasonable demand obviously, but to her my art is a family business, despite the fact that we are divorced. We still have some financial links and she sees it as looking after Ana’s inheritance. The truth is that she’s only able to dabble because she has direct access to Tomas. He can sidestep her manoeuvres to a degree, but Leonor is a little more susceptible. Beatriz makes it her business to gather information and then waylay Tomas to find out what’s going on. It isn’t easy for him, as she is still very much a fervent, and active, supporter of my work.’