Orange Blossom Days

by Patricia Scanlan

  He sat in the shade of a sun umbrella in a quiet corner of the terrace of the hotel where he’d arranged to meet Jutta. This was not his first coffee with the German woman. He’d bumped into her by chance in Marbella in March and they had stopped to exchange greetings. He’d been early for a meeting at a lawyer’s office – in his capacity as Presidente – to discuss the ongoing problem of maintenance arrears. He was just about to sit at one of the coffee shops in Orange Square when she stopped at the table to say hola, and he heard himself ask if she would like to join him for coffee. He’d surprised himself as much as her, but they had sat and had a most enjoyable conversation, about the economy, the problems he was experiencing as El Presidente, the problems her husband was experiencing in the downturn, and suchlike and he was astonished when he looked at his watch and saw that thirty minutes had passed in what seemed like five, and he was rather looking forward to their coffee and conversation now.

  He admired the German woman’s work ethic; it was similar to his own. Eduardo had been impressed in spite of himself that she would not break her client’s trust by revealing to him who was buying the MacDonald penthouse.

  They had a lot in common, Eduardo decided after their conversation. Both of them found the mañana culture, so prevalent in the south, decidedly irritating. Both of them thought the under-the-counter payments and the tax evasion that was so prevalent in Spanish society less than admirable. They had a discussion about the trial of the Infanta Cristina – sixth in line to the Spanish throne – and her husband on corruption charges, and Jutta told Eduardo that she’d been most impressed when King Juan Carlos had declared that ‘Justice is the same for everyone’, and wondered was it a sign that things were changing, and would the monarchy last.

  He liked her clipped, efficient style. She wasn’t a fan of small talk; neither was he. She was opinionated. Normally, opinionated women irked him, but her arguments were well reasoned and surprisingly similar to his own. What topics would their discussions cover today? he wondered, putting his phone on silent.

  He spotted Jutta crossing the square, shoulders back, head straight, eyes looking confidently ahead. Excellent deportment, he approved. How chic she looked in her tailored cream suit, trimmed with navy. Consuela always looked smart, but never chic. She didn’t have the height or the figure.

  What on earth was he thinking, comparing his wife to this tall elegant woman who was striding confidently towards him? Eduardo chided himself. He almost felt disloyal. He stood politely and felt unaccountably nervous.

  ‘Buenas tardes.¿Cómo está usted?’ He used the more formal greeting.

  ‘Bien gracias, ¿y usted?’ She was equally formal in her response. He liked that. She had a reserve that appealed to him.

  ‘Bien gracias,’ Eduardo smiled, indicating for her to sit. ‘Coffee, iced tea?’

  ‘I think café sin leche, por favor.’ She settled herself gracefully in the chair opposite him.

  ‘The almond cake here is rather special, if you’d care for some . . . or any accompaniment you might like,’ he added hastily, not wanting her to think he was too mean to buy her something more expensive.

  ‘I do love the almond cake, Eduardo. It’s one of my favourites. But disastrous for my waistline,’ Jutta confessed, laying her bag on the empty chair beside her and sitting, with her usual poise.

  ‘Just this once, then.’ He clicked his fingers authoritatively and gave their order to a waiter who appeared at his side almost instantly.

  ‘So, Eduardo. I’m intrigued by your phone call.’ Jutta flicked her long blonde hair back over her shoulders and looked at him expectantly.

  Eduardo cleared his throat. ‘As you know, I’m interested in buying a penthouse, and I see number five has gone up for sale. Now the unfortunate thing is that the owner has issues with me because I’ve been trying to get him to pay his arrears, and he has taken grave umbrage.’ He stared right back at her, admiring her clear green eyes, which met his so confidently.

  ‘That’s unfortunate.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘What do you propose?’

  Their coffee and cake arrived and they busied themselves with sugaring the steaming drink and Jutta took a forkful of the cake. ‘Delicious,’ she approved. ‘You were saying?’ She arched an eyebrow at him.

  ‘What I propose is this, Jutta, if you are in agreement.’ He raised a dark eyebrow and studied her intently. ‘I give you power of attorney to buy the apartment for me, in your name. The seller won’t know that I’m the buyer and it also means I don’t have to be at the closing with the notary. You can do that in my stead. Then you and I’ll meet with the notary to transfer the deed of ownership.’

  Jutta clapped her hands and laughed. ‘Of course! Masterful,’ she exclaimed. ‘And may I say that I’m honoured to be considered for your power of attorney.’

  ‘So you will do it?’ he asked eagerly.

  ‘Ciertamente,’ Jutta agreed.

  ‘Excelente, Jutta, excelente. I could not be more pleased.’ He was almost boyishly excited, his brown eyes glittering almost black as he smiled at her.

  ‘I am always pleased when my clients are pleased, Eduardo,’ Jutta said, raising her cup to him. ‘We will be the perfect team.’

  Later, that night as the AVE flashed through the dusky dark countryside, heading north to Madrid, Eduardo remembered her words. ‘We will be the perfect team.’ It was the most affirming thing anyone had said to him in a long time. She was a very singular lady, this Jutta Sauer. He looked forward to their next encounter. They’d arranged to formalize their agreement in the office of a notary colleague of his, who practised in Marbella, the following week. Perhaps Jutta might even have lunch with him that day, Eduardo hoped. There would be several more meetings, before the penthouse was finally his.

  He was glad he was keeping his purchase secret. That meant he didn’t have to tell Consuela about Jutta’s participation in the deal. He supposed it was quite an underhand thing to do to the owner. Consuela might not approve of his sleight of hand. That was his reason for keeping quiet about his interactions with the German woman. No other. He closed his eyes as the train sped along the tracks, and revisited every moment of his afternoon meeting with Jutta.

  Jutta cleansed the make-up from her face, toned it and moisturized, before wrapping a light robe around her. Felipe was overnighting in Murcia, Alicia was asleep in her room: she could hear her daughter’s even breathing on the monitor. She was tired but exhilarated. She was more used to selling property than buying. And to act as Eduardo De La Fuente’s buyer and have power of attorney was quite the feather in her cap.

  She poured herself a glass of red wine and took it to her lounger on the balcony. It was a balmy night. A full moon cast silver streamers across the sea and the cicadas chirruped in the gardens below as a light breeze wafted the scents of jasmine and orange blossom on the night air. Jutta took a sip of the fruity Rioja and lay back against the cushions. It had been a long, but interesting day. Eduardo must be tired too. He was presently on a train, racing to the capital, very pleased with his undoubtedly foolproof plan to buy the penthouse of his dreams. Once, she too had dreamed of buying a penthouse in La Joya. That dream had vanished like vapour in the wind.

  To give her power of attorney was a seal of approval she would never have expected from the haughty Madrileño. And a testament to her own high standards, she acknowledged with a hint of pride. Eduardo too ran his business professionally and ethically. They had many similarities in their work ethics, Jutta reflected.

  He was an interesting man. His self-important bearing hid his inner shyness. He was intelligent, well-read, very au fait with current affairs. Their conversation had been stimulating. He was an attractive man, too, in that fine-boned, aristocratic way of high-bred Spaniards. He reminded her of Adolfo, Duke of Suárez, the revered prime minister who had steered the country to democracy and bravely faced a military coup, standing courageously as gunmen fired, while his parliamentary colleagues dived to t
he floor to take cover. Eduardo had similar amber eyes, and a raven-haired widow’s peak, the long straight nose and firm mouth, but not the charm and easy manner of the dashing duke.

  He was sexy in an untouchable sort of way. What would he be like in bed? Or would he ever be able to let go of his inhibitions? Jutta had seen his wife down by the pool several times. Small, curvy, with dark feathered hair that framed her oval face, she was an attractive woman, but quiet and restrained and not very vibrant, unlike so many Spanish women. A woman who knew her place, Jutta guessed. Perhaps, then, she and Eduardo were very well suited.

  What would Constanza Torres think if Jutta confessed that she actually considered Eduardo De La Fuente a little sexy? Constanza hated his guts and with good cause, Jutta thought in amusement.

  What would Felipe think if he knew that she was fantasizing about other men when once, all she could think about and lust after was her husband? There was no lust in their marriage now; for her at any rate sex was mediocre. A habit. This was what their marriage had come to. She felt Felipe had let her down. He’d failed in his business because of careless recklessness. Once she’d admired her husband’s go-getting attitude, comparing it to her own cautious, restrained approach. She was exceedingly glad now that she’d listened to her instincts.

  She yawned. She needed to go to bed. She would be up early with Alicia. Her au pair had to go to the dentist. A toddler in the morning was not for the faint hearted. Draining her glass in a long gulp, Jutta locked the balcony door, switched off the lights, and slid into her bed, pleased to have it to herself. One thing she was determined about. Eduardo De La Fuente would never work with a more professional businesswoman than Jutta Sauer, she vowed, listening to the lullaby of the moon-kissed sea.

  If she didn’t know better, Consuela would have said her husband was slightly drunk, she thought, lying beside him in the dark, listening to his deep, regular breathing as he slept soundly.

  He’d arrived home from La Joya in unusually good form, regaling her with every detail of his meeting with the engineers and council personnel. Telling her bits and pieces of gossip about the owners – the Gilots and the Van der Valks had had a row about the Gilots’ wisteria trailing over the dividing wall, culminating with Japp Van der Valk taking shears to it and dumping what was on his side back over onto the Gilots’ balcony – confiding that he was exceptionally pleased that his planting regime was beginning to look extremely pretty in the red and yellow colours of the Spanish flag, despite the constant whines of some that the flowerbeds were now too regimented, and that they preferred the profusion of shrubs that had been there before he made his highhanded decision to clear them.

  And then, when they had got into bed together, he’d turned and taken her in his arms and kissed her, telling her that he loved her. He’d made love to her with a passion that she’d not experienced in years. Fortunately, Consuela smiled in the dark, his passion had coincided with one of her menopausal oestrogen surges and she hadn’t had to fake her orgasm, as she very often did. The Goddess within had had a most enjoyable time.

  The power of the presidency was suiting her husband. He was clearly revelling in his duties. She should make the most of it, she thought. The AGM in August might see him deposed and Eduardo, and life, would return to normal. Tomorrow might be a good day to tell him that she and Catalina were planning a weekend in Paris to walk the labyrinth in Chartres Cathedral, and follow the mysteries of the Magdalene.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  June

  EDUARDO / JUTTA

  ‘Here is the printout of the Agenda for the AGM for your inspection; let me know if you are happy for me to email it out to the owners,’ Constanza said in her snootiest voice, handing Eduardo a slim file.

  ‘Gracias,’ he replied, equally curt. He would go through it with a fine toothcomb.

  ‘I see you have inserted a clause that you intend to employ your friend, Facundo Gonzales, as a full-time concierge and reduce my hours.’

  ‘Señora, may I immediately point out that Facundo Gonzales is not a friend as you suggest, but a mere acquaintance, who came highly recommended and I refute your inference. I think two full-time concierges at shorter hours would be better for the community than the present situation of one full-time and one part-time. The work would be divided more evenly and get done more efficiently.’

  Constanza bristled and her eyes flashed contempt. ‘Señor De La Fuente, my work record is impeccable. But let me tell you one thing here and now: if by employing that little, lazy lump Facundo full time you think you are going to edge me out, take note, that just like a concierge up in Jasmine Gardens – who was sacked, because she was not on good terms with the president – I shall take you to court for unfair dismissal. As did that woman, who, I may point out, won her case, and a large settlement that cost the Jasmine Gardens community a lot of money. And may I add, the new concierge who took over from her was so busy running his own business while he was supposed to be managing the complex that he couldn’t see what was going on under his nose. Apartments were being let to drug dealers and other undesirables and the owners were most unhappy. He had to be sacked, and the president was voted out at the next AGM.’ She stalked away with her head in the air, leaving Eduardo fuming.

  That woman was a thorn in his side. His plan indeed had been to, as she termed it, ‘edge her out’ and put his own man in, but Constanza was no fool. She could see his strategy. He’d heard about the carry-on in Jasmine Gardens. He certainly wouldn’t want an unfair dismissal case on his watch, he thought irascibly. It looked like he just might have to put up with the Gorgon, as he privately called the outspoken concierge who did not know her place.

  Eduardo glanced at his watch; he needed to hurry. He was meeting Jutta for a quick coffee, and to give her the cheque with the deposit for the penthouse, in Fuengirola train station, before taking the commuter train to María Zambrano to catch the AVE to Madrid. It was all about travel today. His mother was flying into Madrid—Barajas and he wouldn’t have time to go into the office, collect his car and drive to the airport. As he was travelling on the AVE he was entitled to a free train ticket to Madrid airport. A small consolation, he thought, feeling tired at the thought of all he had to do.

  He knew why he was stressed – apart from that Torres woman’s antics. His mother was coming back to Spain and Isabella’s arrival always brought up emotions he preferred to keep suppressed. Was it abnormal not to want to see your mother? Eduardo wondered, packing his briefcase and overnight case before locking up the apartment and phoning for a taxi.

  When Beatriz had taken ill at the beginning of the year she’d asked to see her sister, thinking that she was going to die. Fortunately his aunt’s health had improved and she was quite stable, thanks to la warfarina drugs that she took daily. Eduardo had suggested that Isabella wait until the summer to visit and Beatriz and her sister had agreed that she would come in June. Now the time had come, and his mother would be staying with him and Consuela for a fortnight, initially, after which she would travel to Barcelona to stay with friends, and then travel south to join him, Consuela and Beatriz for a week in La Joya.

  His phone rang. It was Jutta and he answered it eagerly. ‘Hola?’

  ‘Eduardo?’ she said in her brisk accented voice.

  ‘Sí. Jutta, is everything alright?’ She sounded stressed.

  ‘I’m so sorry. I have to cancel. My daughter has fallen and is on her way to hospital. The au pair just phoned. I have to meet them there.’

  ‘Oh dear. Well don’t worry; I can lodge the deposit directly into your account if you send me the account number and IBAN. I was looking forward to our coffee and catching up.’

  ‘Me too,’ Jutta sighed. ‘Typical, when Felipe isn’t here and I have to cancel. It’s frustrating, Eduardo.’

  ‘I’m sure it is,’ he said sympathetically. ‘Look, I’m back down for a board meeting at the weekend. Perhaps we could schedule something in – only if it suited you, of course.’

&
nbsp; ‘Great, Eduardo. It would be good to catch up, and I can bring the keys and you can have another look around the penthouse if you like,’ she suggested.

  ‘I’d like that very much indeed,’ Eduardo agreed.

  ‘OK, I better fly. Adiós, Eduardo.’

  ‘Adiós, Jutta, I hope all will be OK with your daughter.’

  ‘Gracias,’ she said and hung up.

  The one highlight in his day, and it wasn’t going to happen, Eduardo thought disappointedly as the taxi took the slip road into the bustling city where they had been due to meet.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  EDUARDO / JUTTA

  ‘It’s the first time she’s looked old,’ Eduardo thought, slightly shocked when he saw his mother pushing a trolley loaded with luggage through the Arrival doors. ‘Madre,’ he greeted her formally, kissing both her cheeks. ‘Let me take this.’

  ‘Eduardo,’ Isabella’s eyes lit up. ‘You look so well, so handsome. It’s good to see you.’ She hugged him and he tried not to be uncomfortable in her embrace.

  ‘You look well, also,’ he returned, pushing the trolley towards the exit. His mother looked very fashionable in her black trousers and red linen jacket with a Hermès scarf looped in an elegant fashion around her neck. Her hair, still chestnut – he was sure it was dyed – was cut in a stylish bob and she was the epitome of an affluent, stylish, well-travelled older woman. She was in her mid seventies by now.

  ‘Eduardo, wait,’ she said as he led them to the taxi rank.

  ‘We need to talk, privately, before I meet Beatriz. I’ve taken the liberty of booking us a room for a couple of hours in one of the airport hotels. We can have dinner, if you wish—’

  ‘But Consuela will have a meal prepared. What is it you wish to talk about?’ He tried not to be irritable.