by Iris Danbury
‘I see. I was sorry to give him such trouble in bringing me here.’
‘Don Ramiro does not think of trouble if he can help someone,’ returned Senora Molina with some emphasis.
Caran smiled at the woman who was evidently such a staunch supporter of Don Ramiro.
‘Is it far from here to the villas?’ she asked, thinking of her luggage that had to be conveyed there somehow.
‘Vicente—he is the son of a neighbour—he will take you and your cases when you are ready.’
Another instance of Don Ramiro’s thoughtfulness, Caran supposed, and now she was slightly regretful that perhaps she would never see him again, even to thank him for his help.
She followed Vicente, a lithe young Spaniard, through the courtyard and waved goodbye to her hostess. Outside along the street she made a mental note of the name, Caile de San Pedro. Later on, she would try to take a small present or a few flowers to Senora Molina by way of thanks.
Vicente turned numerous corners, led her down side streets and eventually to a point where the cobbled roadway faded into an indeterminate path of puddles and mud strewn with large stones.
‘Is this the right way?’ she asked her escort.
‘Si, si, senorita,’ he assured her.
Certainly the winding path led down towards the shore and that was the right direction, but surely there must be another and better approach. Most cars would find it difficult to negotiate.
At last the path led to a tangle of bushes, oleanders and yuccas sparkling with raindrops, and a patio in front of a small villa.
Vicente dumped the cases by the front door. ‘It is the villa?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she answered absently. ‘Thank you for bringing me here.’ She handed him a twenty-peseta note which was apparently more than he had expected, and with a smile and repeated thanks, he turned and disappeared through the garden as though glad to get away.
As far as she could see there was no name on the villa, although she had been told that hers was the Villa Joyosa, the first one you came to from the road.
Well, this was the first one apparently. Mrs. Parmenter had said that an old woman, Manuela, living in a small shack near by, would hand Caran the keys of all the villas as soon as she arrived, but there was no sign of anyone waiting, and probably the woman had waited last night, but given up when the rainstorm broke.
Gingerly, Caran tried the handle of the front door and was relieved when apparently the door was unlocked. Inside, she found herself in a small hallway leading to a fairly large living room. Everywhere were signs of a very untidy occupant; books and papers littered the table, a man’s donkey jacket lay across a chair, a half-full bottle of wine was dumped on the window-sill, along with a couple of oranges and a bread-knife.
This was certainly not the villa intended for her own occupation, unless some intruder had taken possession of it. Then the explanation occurred to her. Mrs. Parmenter had mentioned the one permanent tenant, a Mr. Eldridge, and this must be his villa.
Caran walked towards the front door when it occurred to her that possibly Mr. Eldridge might actually be here in the villa. He might be ill, unable to look after himself.
She turned back and knocked at what might be a bedroom door. ‘Anyone at home?’ she called in English, then in Spanish. When no one answered she opened the door a few inches and peered in. A rumpled bed, pyjamas on the floor, a pair of wellingtons in a corner; on the dressing-table a few masculine toilet articles, hairbrushes, electric shaver and so on.
Evidently Mr. Eldridge was not ill, not here anyway. Just incredibly untidy. She was quietly closing the bedroom door when an angry voice behind her demanded to know what she thought she was doing.
‘Who are you?’ he asked in Spanish. ‘What do you mean by coming in here and—’
‘Please forgive me,’ she interrupted him in English. ‘I made a mistake.’
He stood there menacingly, a tall, broad-shouldered figure in a thick grey sweater, dark brown mud-stained trousers and rubber ankle-boots. His face, which she would judge to be short of handsome at the best, of times, was now twisted in a dark scowl. “Then if you’re looking for one of the villas, it isn’t this one.’
‘I am now quite aware of that,’ she said coldly. ‘If you’d only give me a few seconds to explain.’
He stood there with folded arms, a smouldering, surly expression on his face. ‘I’m waiting, but make it snappy. I haven’t time to waste, especially this morning.’
His attitude almost undermined her confidence and had the circumstances been different, she would have fled, but she knew that she had to stand her ground, for this was obviously the permanent tenant, Mr. Eldridge, and she must not antagonise him too much.
‘My name is Caran Ingram,’ she began in a quiet, controlled voice, ‘and I—’
‘Caran?’ he echoed. ‘What sort of name is that?’
She met his glance squarely. ‘If you don’t like my name, I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with it,’ she retorted. She was not going into explanations with this arrogant brute. ‘If you’ll allow me to continue, I’ve been sent by Mrs. Parmenter, who owns these villas, and I’m staying here for—’
‘I hope you’ll enjoy yourself, then,’ he interrupted. ‘This isn’t exactly the best time of year for a holiday in these parts and as for the villas—’
She interrupted him now, her head thrown back, her hazel eyes blazing. ‘If you could please listen without interrupting me, you wouldn’t jump to the wrong conclusions. I’m not here on holiday. I’m employed by Mrs. Parmenter to manage the villas and see they are properly run.’
‘You!’ He managed to infuse a world of contempt into that one word. His scornful glance surveyed her from top to toe, taking in her cloudy auburn hair, her usually pale, oval face now pink with indignation, her cream two-piece travelling outfit and her white shoes, now mud-splashed by this morning’s walk. ‘I don’t believe it,’ he continued quietly. ‘I can’t believe that even an English absentee landlord, or rather landlady, would be such a fool as to send someone like you to take on this sort of job.’
‘You know nothing about me or what I’m capable of, Mr. Eldridge!’ she blazed at him.
‘I’m beginning to guess.’ The faint hint of a smile lurked around his mouth.
‘If you’ll kindly tell me which of the villas is the Joyosa, I’ll be glad to go there immediately. I was evidently misinformed. I was told that the first villa I came to from the road was the Joyosa. I’m sorry I intruded.’ She spoke in sharp staccato sentences, hoping Mr. Eldridge would perceive, if he were capable, her resentment.
‘You must have come in from the town end, down that rough and muddy path. The Joyosa is actually the first villa if you approach from the roadway.’
She marched towards the outer door and picked up one of her suitcases, but he took it from her hand. ‘I’ll bring these and show you where the Villa Joyosa is.’
He did not speak again until he deposited her luggage in the porch of the villa which was to be hers.
‘Thank you, Mr. Eldridge,’ she said icily.
He pointed to a wooden nameplate over the door. ‘This one has its name, as you see. I hope it turns out joyously for you, Miss—what was it?—Ingram, but I must warn you that you can manage all the rest of the villas and their occupants as much as you like if they’ll stand for it, but you must leave me alone. I’ll stand no interference from anyone. That was understood when I took the place. No spying or prying at all.’
‘I’ve already apologised, and it can hardly be said that I was either spying or prying.’
‘Then perhaps you’re accustomed to peering into other people’s bedrooms?’
‘I thought you might be ill.’
‘And you see I’m not. Well, I’ll be off and leave you to your manager’s job for as long as you’ll stick it.’
He turned swiftly and stomped off through the gardens.
A totally impossible man, she thought stormily. It was a pity she
had accidentally started off on the wrong foot with him, but as he was the only permanent tenant, she need not bother about him, especially as he was so determined to be left alone.
At the moment Caran had other and more urgent problems to solve, for now she was at the door of the Villa Joyosa, her new home, and no keys. She walked around the outside of the villa, but every window was firmly shuttered and a back door was also locked.
She regretted now that she had not asked the man Eldridge where exactly was Manuela’s house. There was no one else to ask, so Caran must find the place herself. She walked a short distance up the road and found several small cottages. Outside the first, two small children were playing, but when Caran approached, they ran indoors. The door of the next cottage stood open and Caran banged loudly on the wood, only to be greeted by an impatient shout of ‘Que desea?’ Caran replied that she was looking for Senora Manuela and almost at once an old woman in a rusty black dress came to the door.
She was very small and Caran towered over her. ‘I am the English senorita, Miss Ingram,’ she explained. ‘You have the keys of the villas.’
‘Si, si, senorita.’ Manuela trotted inside the cottage and in a moment came out with a bunch of assorted keys, most of them ludicrously large as though they were to open the massive gates of a castle.
‘You’d better come with me,’ Caran invited. ‘I shall need to know what I can about the villas.’
At first Manuela hesitated, then declared that she had the midday meal to cook.
‘But these keys aren’t labelled,’ Caran pointed out. ‘How shall I know which fit the doors?’
With a quick gesture, Manuela slammed her front door, which immediately shot open again. ‘I come,’ she said testily.
‘Did you come down to the villas last night?’ Caran asked her as they walked down the road.
Manuela paused to stare at the English girl. ‘No. Why should I?’
‘Oh.’ Caran thought it useless to pursue that subject further or go into explanations of how she had spent the night in the town. All the same, Mrs. Parmenter’s management seemed to be extremely lacking in efficiency.
By now the pair had arrived at the Villa Joyosa and Manuela sorted out one of the bunch of keys and tried it in the lock. But evidently it was not the correct one, and she tried two others, of which the second fitted. The interior was dark with the shuttered windows and the whole place smelt musty, but Caran could attend to all these things afterwards. Her in-tuition warned her that on this first inspection of the villas she must have a witness to accompany her. After the unfortunate incident of Mr. Eldridge, Caran was anxious to be careful.
The next villa, Turquesa, was also shuttered, but when she and Manuela came to the third, called Cristal, the front door was open. ‘Is someone living here?’ she asked the old woman. ‘I understood that all except one were empty.’
‘No, there is no one there,’ declared Manuela, ‘but you have the key.’
She took Caran’s wrist as though to guide her away, but at that moment a woman’s voice began a snatch of song and three small children came running out of the villa, only to pause and eye Caran shyly, but then they ran towards Manuela, tugging at her dress or crabbing one of her hands.
‘I’d better see who occupies this villa,’ Caran said decisively. Manuela, with the children still clinging to her skirts, tried ineffectually to prevent Caran from entering, but Caran was not to be hindered. She walked quickly through the living room into the kitchen. A young woman was washing clothes in the sink arid when she saw Caran she broke off her song in mid-syllable, put her wet hands to her mouth, then screamed piercingly at the sight of Manuela.
‘What goes on?’ demanded Caran. ‘Who are you and why are you living here?’
Between the hysterical sobbing of the younger woman and the shrill explanations of Manuela, Caran gathered the story. This was Manuela’s elder daughter, Gabriela, who with her husband and five children, had been turned out of the cottage where they had lived because they could not pay the rent.
‘So Gabriela brought the children here,’ explained Manuela. ‘Only for a week or two until her husband finds another place.’
‘But that was quite wrong,’ declared Caran. ‘These villas are private and should not be used like that.’
‘Why not?’ demanded the old woman. ‘They are empty in winter. In summer rich people come to live here. Why must we not put a roof over the children?’
Caran was aware of a certain sympathy with the local people who would obviously be tempted to occupy an empty villa where there was no supervision. Besides, Manuela held the keys.
The daughter, Gabriela, maintained that she had looked after the villa well and kept it clean. She had done no damage.
Caran said that she would consider the matter, but Gabriela and her husband must speedily find somewhere else to live.
What would she find in the next villa? she wondered. But the one named Esmeralda had no occupants other than a few spiders. Manuela refused to conduct Caran to the last villa, Zafiro.
‘Is it occupied by another family?’ Caran queried, half amused by the old woman’s reluctance.
‘No, no, senorita, but a man is living there. He does not like visitors. He does not let me have the key.’
Caran smiled. ‘I’ve already met him—Senor Eldridge. Yes, we will leave him alone today.’ Caran had no desire to meet that man a second time today. She took all the keys from Manuela. ‘I shall need some help, Manuela, in cleaning out the Villa Joyosa today. Can you ask your daughter?’
‘Not that one. My young daughter, Benita, will come,’ Manuela promised. ‘This afternoon.’
Before Caran could ask any further questions or get more information, Manuela had scuttled away down the path that led towards the road where she lived.
Caran gave a deep sigh. No wonder Mrs. Parmenter had decided to engage someone to live on the spot to look after her five villas!
‘They must all be repainted and repaired,’ she had told
Caran, ‘and the work must be completed by the end of January or sooner. The tourist agents send their inspectors then and I lost a lot of bookings earlier this year because they said my villas were below standard for letting.’
The estimates and arrangements for the redecorating had all been made, Mrs. Parmenter continued, so all Caran had to do was set things in motion.
Caran now walked thoughtfully towards her own villa, the Joyosa. There was certainly an irony about the name. How much joy was she going to extract from this already discouraging situation? The villas themselves would revive if they were cleaned and painted, the gardens needed clearing and tidying, but how was she to evict Gabriela and her family? As to the detestable Mr. Eldridge, she would leave him severely alone.
She was beginning to see the meaning of those wary glances and abrupt changes of subject when she had mentioned the villas to Don Ramiro and then to Senora Molina. Was it only because the whole cluster was ill-kept? Or was there some other reason?
Caran dumped her suitcases inside, but before unpacking them her first task was to open the shutters and windows of the villa and let in some fresh air and light. She made a brief tour of the rooms. Once it was all cleaned, the living room would be attractive, she thought, with its whitewashed walls, now grimy and with cobwebbed corners. The floor of olive green and white marble was dusty and stained, but needed only a thorough scrubbing. The furnishings were sparse, just a table of black wood and three or four chairs with cushioned seats. A long, low chest stood at one end and Caran, peering inside, found that the last occupants had left a line assortment of empty wine bottles behind them.
In the bedroom she was dismayed to find that a bedspread seemed to have been thrown over the mattress, for there were no pillows, sheets or blankets. Perhaps all the linen was in a cupboard somewhere, but her search revealed none.
The kitchen was small, but probably adequate for holiday use in a villa intended for only two people. Some of the other villas were much
larger, accommodating up to six persons.
With a start, it occurred to her that there was only one single bed in the bedroom. Where was the other? Mrs. Parmenter had given her a fairly rough inventory of the contents of the various villas and Caran decided to refer to it as soon as possible.
By midday she had cleaned out a chest of drawers and a wardrobe and stowed away her clothes and possessions, but there was no sign of the girl who was coming to clean the place.
She went along to the villa occupied by Gabriela and her family and asked when she might expect Benita.
‘My mother told you Benita would come?’ queried Gabriela. ‘But she works in the town.’
‘Who? Benita? Then when was she supposed to be coming?’ demanded Caran.
Gabriela shrugged her plump shoulders. ‘Perhaps tonight after the shop is shut.’
Caran was aware that Continental shops keep open much later than English ones. In any case it would be dark by about five o’clock and she had not yet discovered what lighting there might be.
‘Well, I must have the rooms cleaned properly today,’ she said firmly.
Gabriela’s dark eyes held an expression of anxiety compounded with fear. Then she turned to what seemed to be the eldest of her brood and gave the child instructions to go up to the cottage where Manuela lived and tell Benita to come as soon as she came home for the midday meal.
‘I will also come,’ promised Gabriela. ‘You have no hot water.’
‘Oh? Then you must tell me how to make the arrangements for hot water and the cooking and so on. Also, there is no bed linen.’
Gabriela told her that all the spare linen was stored in the Villa Esmeralda, the largest of the five, where the cupboards were more capacious.