by Lilac Mills
When he dropped down beside her, smiling and daubed with sand and salt, she couldn’t help smiling back. He was as easy to be with as he was on the eye. There was none of the Darcy-esque smouldering she associated with Alex, just—
Stop damned well thinking about Alex, she told herself crossly. She had to move on; although she realised it wouldn’t be with Dominic. Or any other man, for that matter. Not for some considerable time, at least. She had to give herself some breathing space, some time to recover from the last few months and sort herself out, before she jumped into a relationship.
‘You know what you said about me coming to live with you?’ she said to Dominic, who was tucking into his hot dog with enthusiasm. ‘Did you mean it?’
‘Of course I did. I wouldn’t have offered if I hadn’t. Herrick is staying with me at the moment too, until he gets a place of his own.’
‘You take in waifs and strays on a regular basis, do you?’ She wasn’t sure she felt better or worse about the idea after hearing that.
‘Yeah. No sweat. If someone needs a place to crash, they can stay at mine.’
‘Is Herrick here now?’
Dominic shook his head, unable to speak for a moment because of the huge mouthful he’d just bitten off. When he’d finally chewed and swallowed it, he took a slug of beer from the bottle he was holding before he answered. ‘He’s doing the lunchtime shift at the restaurant where he works. Are you still interested?’
‘I am, but not for about a month.’
‘That’s OK, as long as I know, I’ll make sure one of the rooms is free.’
‘Where do you live, exactly?’
‘I’ve got an apartment in Playa San Juan.’
‘That’s just down the coast, past Alcalá, isn’t it?’
‘Yep. You can actually walk to it from Villa Delfín, if you wanted to come and have a look, although it’s a bit of a trek. Or I could show you on the way back.’
‘Yes, please.’ She’d like to see where she’d be living, and it was good to know that she’d be able to pop in and visit Hugo.
After everything had been packed away and goodbyes had been airily exchanged, Sophie and Dominic made their way back to his car and started the drive to the villa, stopping off along the way to see the apartment.
The building was located down a side street not far from the marina, with a decent-sized balcony and a view of the sea if you craned your neck. There were two double bedrooms and one single, a large living/dining room, a separate kitchen and two bathrooms. It was spacious and light, and she could easily imagine herself living there. What she couldn’t as easily imagine was living there with Dominic. He was so exuberant and larger than life, despite his laid-back attitude, and his presence completely filled the apartment.
It was going to take some getting used to. And the fact that there could be a succession of strangers wandering in and out was somewhat disconcerting. She was used to a more sedate life.
Then she paused – how old was she? At her age, a sedate life should be the furthest thing from her mind. She was young and free, and she should be enjoying herself, partying and stuff. She wasn’t entirely sure what ‘stuff’ might entail, but she definitely should be doing it.
New country, new place to live, new job (hopefully), new life.
New Sophie.
There was one more thing she needed to do and she held off doing it until she was back at the villa and alone in her room.
‘Aunty Anne?’
‘Hello, love, how are you?’ Her aunt’s warm tones caused tears to gather in the corners of her eyes. She was her last link to her mum, and it was going to be hard to let go.
‘I’m good, thanks. You?’
Sophie listened as Anne shared details of the babies, how Denise was planning to return to work, and that Anne would be looking after the little ones three days a week. Then there were the two boys to discuss – the eldest was already fretting over his exams in the summer, and the whole family were feeling the effects.
‘They’re thinking of moving, you know,’ Anne said. ‘To a bigger place with a granny flat for me.’ She sounded so excited Sophie had to smile. The twins had given her aunt a new lease of life, and Sophie guessed that being needed and feeling useful was part of it.
‘I’m thinking of moving too,’ she said.
‘That’s nice. Have you got yourself sorted with somewhere to live? It’s amazing what you can do on the internet.’ Anne had a smartphone and used it for Facebook and WhatsApp, but the rest of the technology it contained was an endless source of amazement to her.
‘I’m staying in Tenerife for the foreseeable future. I’ve got a place to live and I’m looking for a more permanent job.’
There was silence for a while, then, ‘If that’s what you want, then you should do it.’
‘You think?’ She knew she sounded hesitant, but her aunt’s support meant the world to her. She needed someone to tell her she wasn’t being silly, or overambitious, that she was capable of taking this huge step and not falling flat on her face.
‘Definitely. I’m not getting any younger, and one thing age has taught me is that life is over far too quickly. Take the opportunities when you can, because you may not get them again.’
‘But what about you?’
‘Is that what’s bothering you? I’ll be fine. I’ve got Denise and the grandchildren. Of course I’ll miss you, but you’ve got to do what’s right for you. And if this is it, then you’ve got to go for it.’
Sophie heard the hitch in her aunt’s voice and she blinked away threatening tears. ‘It won’t be forever,’ she said, ‘and I’ll be back for visits.’
‘I know you will, my lovely. And we’ll keep in touch by phone and Facebook and whatnot.’
Sophie didn’t trust herself to speak.
‘Your mum would have been so proud of you,’ Anne said, and then the tears did fall, and the pair of them were laughing and crying, and promising to take care.
And when she finally got off the phone Sophie felt as though she was turning the page on a whole new chapter of her life, and the thought both scared her and excited her. But at least she had her aunt’s blessing.
She had the strangest feeling that she had her mum’s too…
Chapter 30
Sophie was having second thoughts. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to be a new person. She was quite happy with the old Sophie, and the thought of moving in with Dominic worried her. The thought of not having a job worried her. The thought of having to look for one scared her to death.
But she didn’t intend to live in Dominic’s flat forever. Eventually she’d get her own place. She knew it wasn’t going to be cheap to rent an apartment on her own, but she’d be happy with somewhere inland where the prices weren’t as high; and she didn’t expect it to be in a posh complex with a pool either. A flat above a shop would do just fine. As long as it was somewhere she could call her own, that was all she wanted. And as for a job, she’d get one eventually. All she had to do was believe in herself. She was capable of this; she’d cope.
‘I am going to play zanga with friends later in Tamaimo,’ Hugo announced, breaking into her thoughts.
Tamaimo was a village in the mountains above Los Gigantes. She’d passed through it a couple of times on the way to somewhere else, and it struck her as being far less touristy than its showier neighbours on the coast; sleepy and lived in mostly by locals, with hardly a tourist in sight, apart from those driving through it.
‘What’s zanga?’ she asked, hoping it wasn’t too energetic. Hugo wasn’t up to much in the way of exercise yet, and she imagined him bending and stretching trying to play boules or something similar.
‘It is a card game,’ he said. ‘And I am very good at it. It is for old men with nothing better to do than sit outside a café drinking strong coffee and smoking strong cigarettes,’ he told her.
‘What time do you want to leave?’ She’d have to drive him because he wasn’t quite ready to drive himself yet.
‘An hour?’
‘OK.’ They were out in the garden again, Hugo watching Sophie plant little courgette seedlings. In a few months, he should have a decent crop of the vegetables; as long as he remembered to water them every evening, she thought.
It gave her a pang to know she wouldn’t be there to see them mature. She was really going to miss the garden, almost as much as she’d miss Hugo. Surprised at how much she enjoyed grubbing around in the dirt and watching things grow, she wondered if Dominic would mind if she put a couple of pots on his balcony and grew some tomato plants. There was nothing quite like the satisfaction of eating something you’d grown yourself, and they tasted so much more flavoursome than the ones you bought from the supermarket.
It was something to ask him, the next time she saw him.
After a shower and a quick spot of lunch, Sophie drove Hugo to see his friends. They were already there, four elderly gentlemen with lined faces and ready smiles, with a bottle of something alcoholic in the middle of the table, along with several tiny cups of black coffee. A pack of cards sat next to the bottle and one of the men patted it when he saw Hugo get out of the car.
He was greeted by what sounded like friendly teasing and she left him to it, arranging to collect him later. She hoped he wouldn’t get up to any mischief between now and then because, despite their advanced years, those men seemed a rowdy lot. With a warning to Hugo to behave himself, and feeling more like his mother than an employee half his age, she drove back to the villa for another spot of gardening.
Chickens, she mused as she drove. They could keep chickens and have fresh eggs every morning. They didn’t need to have a flock of them – three would be enough. Not that she knew anything about chickens, or how to care for them, but she— Wouldn’t get the chance to find out, that’s what.
Will you stop this silliness, she told herself. All these ridiculous thoughts about what she could do with the villa were fruitless. It wasn’t hers. And it mightn’t be Hugo’s for much longer either. Which brought her back to thinking about Alex and whether he was doing anything to sort out Hugo’s problem. Or was it a case of out of sight, out of mind? Somehow she didn’t think so, and she dearly wished she could pick up the phone and speak to him. Just hearing his voice would be wonderful.
It would also be rash and silly, and would do little to help her forget him.
She simply had to trust that he was doing what he could and let him get on with it. Besides, she didn’t have his number. Which was a good thing really.
It was almost time to put her tools away and take Paco for a stroll, she noticed, feeling the beginnings of a blister on one of her palms and a pleasant ache in her back and shoulders. As she stretched out the kinks, she realised that physically she felt better than she had done for months. She was toned and tanned and felt incredibly healthy from the mixture of good diet, warm sunshine and plenty of exercise. Her mind and her heart would catch up with her body eventually, she knew. Grief didn’t come with a time frame, and it affected everyone differently. But she could tell she was slowly healing from the pain of her mother’s passing and the sorrow was no longer as sharp or as debilitating. She would always carry it with her, the same as she would always carry her mother’s memory in her heart, but it was manageable.
She deliberately ignored the other ache, the Alex-shaped one.
A noise at the gates alerted her that someone was outside. She was used to people passing by, either dawdling along the coastal path with their dogs, or joggers with their harsh breathing and buds jammed in their ears. There were cyclists too, and lots of casual walkers out to stretch their legs. Some slowed down when they reached the villa, peering in through the gates at the pretty garden (just as she had done – it seemed such a long time ago now), and occasionally someone would actually stop and press their face against the wrought-iron for a proper gawp (she’d done that too).
She usually tried to ignore them, but whoever was standing there – she could see a figure out of the corner of her eye – was taking his or her sweet time about moving on. It was more than idle curiosity. How would they like it if she wandered past their garden and stopped for a good long stare?
Feeling a little cross, she turned around slowly, hoping the fact that she had noticed their unwelcome scrutiny would shame them into moving on.
It didn’t.
The figure was a man and he continued to stare, rather rudely she thought, especially when she put her hands on her hips and gave him a questioning look, raising her eyebrows meaningfully.
When he still failed to move, or even to speak, she said, ‘Can I help you?’ in a tone clearly meant to convey that no help would be forthcoming whatsoever.
‘Is Señor Santana at home?’
She realised she’d spoken in English and that the man had answered in kind. His accent was Spanish, and his tone formal. He was dressed formally too, in a suit and tie, with shoes that might have once been shiny but were now covered in a fine layer of dust from the track leading to the villa from the road.
She squinted, seeing a black car in the distance and guessing it was his. ‘Sorry, he’s not. Can I help?’
‘You are…?’
‘Sophie Lakeland.’ She didn’t want to volunteer any further information until she knew who she was dealing with.
‘You live here?’
‘Yes.’
‘With Señor Santana?’
‘That’s right.’
He studied her for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision. ‘You have heard of The Zykov Corporation, yes?’
Sophie hesitated. Wasn’t that the name of the company who’d sent the letter to Hugo upping their offer? It was, she was sure of it.
‘Yes, I have,’ she replied confidently, thinking that this guy was definitely not Russian.
‘He has not replied to the letter we sent him.’
‘He’s been… unwell. An operation.’
The gleam in the man’s eye unnerved her. ‘He is better now?’
‘Getting there.’
The gleam faded and he nodded slowly. ‘Is he considering our offer? We will not offer any more than this.’
‘He is considering it,’ she said, uncertain whether Hugo was or wasn’t, but not wanting to jeopardise any plans he might have. If he did in fact intend to sell up, then it wasn’t her place to alienate the buyer. Although this man’s attitude was making her cross and there was something rather creepy and slimy about him.
‘Tell him Zykov will not wait for ever. Tell him, we have other… er…’ He hunted for the right word. ‘Options. You should also tell him to take care.’
What the hell did he mean by that? ‘Excuse me?’
‘He is no longer a young man. He should be careful with his health.’
Sophie blinked. She hadn’t really heard what she thought she’d heard, had she? No, he couldn’t have threatened Hugo. She’d taken it the wrong way; his accent was quite strong, and although his English was good, there had clearly been something lost between his mouth and her ears.
‘I’ll be sure to pass the message on,’ she said.
‘And make sure you tell him we wish him to soon be well. Adiós.’
‘Adiós,’ she repeated numbly, and watched him pick his way back along the track.
She continued to watch him until he got in his car and drove away.
Slowly she put her tools away, had another swift shower, and called to Paco to go for a walk. She needed to think. She needed to clear the man’s skin-crawling presence from her mind.
She also needed to speak to Alex. Urgently.
‘Sorry, Paco,’ she said as she went into the living room, and the dog’s ears drooped in disappointment when he realised he wouldn’t be going for a walk after all.
Hating herself for snooping again, but this time doing it deliberately and for a good reason, Sophie opened one of the drawers in the ornate sideboard. She’d not had any reason to look in here, or the cupboard underneath, but now she embarked on a
methodical search. She hoped Hugo would have made a note of Alex’s number somewhere, and she knew he must have it on his phone, but she didn’t want to ask him for it.
It took her a while, but eventually she found what seemed to be an old address book. It was battered and well-thumbed, with curling pages. Many of the entries looked like they’d been made some time ago and several were crossed out.
Sophie went straight to the A page, her disappointment keen when she didn’t see Alex’s name. She flicked through the rest of the pages, not really sure what she was looking for, but hoping that something would jump out at her. She suddenly realised she didn’t even know Alex’s surname. It wouldn’t be Santana Negrin because Hugo’s sister was married and—
Actually, come to think of it, didn’t Spanish surnames differ to English ones in the way they were passed down? She could have sworn she’d read that somewhere…
Fetching her phone from the table in the hall, she typed a question into the search engine and read a couple of answers. Yes, she was right. Spanish women didn’t normally change their surnames when they married, and Spanish children took their father’s first surname and added it to their mother’s first surname. Alex’s mother would have the same surname as Hugo – Santana Negrin – therefore Alex’s name should be Alejandro something Santana.
All she needed to do was to look through the address book until she found a ‘something Santana’, and she’d have his number. If, that is, Hugo had actually written it down. And if there wasn’t more than one ‘something Santana’.
She found it under the Ms and didn’t bother looking any further. ‘Marrero Santana’ – ‘Alejandro’ in brackets next to it.
She closed her eyes briefly and swallowed.
In a minute or so she’d be speaking to Alex, and her heart sang with joy.
Oh dear, she really did have it bad, didn’t she? And it was much, much worse than she’d been letting herself believe.
If she didn’t know any better, she’d think she must be in love.