by Mark Arundel
I passed a number of walled crops, plants with big leaves, which I knew to be bananas, but only because I’d read it in the guidebook.
I turned left off the Indian pass and descended towards the sea and the beach area and town where I was going to be staying. I drove into the small resort passing some apartments and a few shops before spotting the road I wanted and turning off left. The villa was number six on the quiet residential cul-de-sac and I parked outside. All the villas on this road were hidden behind high walls with entrance doors set into ornate archways.
I got out and tried the door. The lock held it fast. I pushed the security buzzer but nobody answered. My K106 held Alicia de Cortes Silver’s phone number, so I found it in contacts and called her. It rang but she didn’t answer. I left a message.
I considered climbing onto the roof of the Seat and going over the wall, but without any keys, there didn’t seem any point. I sat in the car and waited.
An electronic rendition of “Rule, Britannia!” broke the silence. I pressed the receive button on my K106 and answered.
A young female voice said, ‘Hola, I have your message.’ Then she paused to confirm who I was before she said, ‘This is Alicia de Cortes Silver. Welcome to Tenerife. Sorry, I missed your call. Where are you?’ Her English was very good, with an only slight Canarian accent.
I replied, ‘I’m at the villa. Where are you?’
She said, ‘You are early. You have made very good time. I am only five minutes away. I will come now.’
We said goodbye and I ended the call.
A few seconds later, my K106 beeped at me. It was a message. I thought it would be the address details of Geoffrey Button. It wasn’t. It was from Charlotte and it read, No address yet. How’s the villa? I didn’t bother to reply.
I was getting my luggage out of the Seat boot when Alicia arrived in a red Seat that was even smaller than mine was. She greeted me with a big smile and apologises for the delay.
‘I’m sorry you had to wait. I thought you would be later. It’s my day off and I was surfing. I called as soon as I got your message. How was your flight? Do you like this weather? Is it better than England, yes?’
Alicia’s hair was still wet from the ocean. It curled around her face and down her back. She wore a strap top, shorts and sandals. Her skin was brown and her bare shoulders shone like polished brass.
She unlocked the door in the archway and we entered into a walled garden of dry grass and small North African trees. I could smell the salt in the air from the sea.
A path led up to the villa, a single storey dwelling, painted white with green windows. A house in a fairy tale, the one in Hansel and Gretel came to mind.
Inside, the floors were marble and the furniture was white, mostly wooden and leather. It was open plan with a wall of sliding glass doors at the far end, which opened out onto a paved terrace and the swimming pool.
The view from the edge of the terrace was good enough to keep even the most ardent of visionaries happy. Built on a rocky cliff top, the villa looked out alongside a black sandy beach. The Atlantic Ocean stretched away to the horizon, broken only by a smaller island, rising through the sea haze like a giant humped back whale. Beyond the beach, the small resort held a hotel, apartments, beachfront shops and restaurants all bustling together like work colleagues at a party.
In the corner of the terrace was a hot tub, positioned to give the best view of the coastline, over the town and beyond to the giant volcanic cliffs which dominated the skyline. They really were giant, almost black and they towered straight from the ocean. I smiled at Alicia. This was a remarkable villa.
She said, ‘Do you like it? It’s wonderful, isn’t it? I love this villa.’
I was tempted to ask her if she would like to stay with me. She was as stunning as the villa. I fought the urge and instead said, ‘It’s perfect.’ She smiled.
'I will show you how the satellite television works. It’s difficult.’ She demonstrated the different remote controllers and showed me how to change between the local channels and the satellite channels.
‘Thanks. I think I’ve got it.’
‘Well, I hope you enjoy your holiday. You have my number. If there are any problems please call me.’
‘Thanks, I will.’
‘Oh, if you are looking for a good restaurant I can recommend this one.’ She handed me a card and I read the name. ‘It has the best food in the area. Come and try it.’
‘Thanks, I might just do that.’
On the back of the card was one of those we are here maps. Alicia smiled again and handed over all the villa keys. We shook, business-like, and I saw her to the outside door. She smiled one last time and waved goodbye.
I went back inside my movie star villa, as the nameplate on the wall should have called it, and pulled out my K106 and sent a message to Charlotte. It read simply, thanks for the villa.
After dumping my bags in the bedroom and opening all the sliding doors, I took a walk around my new home and familiarised myself with the layout. I ended up back in the bedroom where I took a shower and dressed in shorts and a t-shirt.
Despite the purring motor, the huge refrigerator was empty. I needed to find a food shop and stock up. I pocketed my wallet and K106 and then locked up. I pushed on my sunglasses and walked to the end of the road. As I had driven in from the right I turned left and headed down to the front. The strip ran the length of the resort, in front of the beach, with shops and restaurants catering to every tourist need. Within a couple of minutes, I found a small supermarket, went in and made a few purchases.
Back at the villa, I filled a glass with ice and poured in a Coke. Outside on the terrace, I sipped my drink, gazed out at the view and watched the holidaymakers on the beach and in the sea. I felt just like I was on holiday, but only for a moment. I soon remembered the true reason for being on Tenerife and my deadly purpose. I thought about what I should do. Until I received the address of Geoffrey Button, my options were limited. I should familiarise myself with the area and search for potential accident spots. I should also go for a swim in the sea as drowning was always an option. However, right now, I decided, I should rest. I sat down on a padded, poolside lounger and relaxed with the warm sunshine on my face and the ice-cold Coke slipping down my throat. Yes, this was definitely the life.
I allowed myself to dose. Half sleeps where dreams and nightmares won’t visit. When I opened my eyes, the sun had fallen lower in the western sky and all the ice in my glass had melted. I checked my K106. It hadn’t changed. I checked my watch. It was a little after four-thirty. I decided to go down to the beach and take a swim.
I locked up and carried my towel over my shoulder. It was a short walk along the road and down the steps to the beach. The sand was very fine and black, a clear sign of the island’s volcanic history. It was a small, sloping beach with a scattering of black rocks. The sand was still hot, heated by the daylong sunshine. A few other holidaymakers remained but the numbers had dropped considerably from earlier. They must have headed home full up with the sunshine.
I walked down to the water’s edge, chose a rock, dropped my towel, kicked off my flip-flops, pulled off my t-shirt and went in. The sea was not as warm as the sand. The waves quickly covered my shorts at which point I dived in and swam out strongly to the rope of buoys strung across the bay to indicate the safety split between swimmers and boats. It gave me another idea for a possible accidental death. I swam across the bay and back for about ten minutes. The refreshing cool, seawater heightened my senses. I realised I was starting to get hungry and swam in. The sticky sand gave me a free pair of black beach slippers as I walked up to my towel. I rubbed my skin dry, collected my things and schlepped back through soft sand. I climbed the steps and arrived on the pavement, which warmed my sandy feet like hot plates. This was feeling more and more like a genuine holiday. Stephen Bradshaw had been right. It was easy to see now why many of his operatives combined their assignments with their holidays. I wondered if that rea
lly was true.
Back in the front garden of the villa, I washed my feet clean of the black sand using the hosepipe. I opened all the sliding doors again and then dived into the pool to clean off the salt. The pool water felt like a bath after the cool Atlantic. I swam a couple of lengths underwater and then got out. I patted myself down with the towel and then sat in the lounger and let the late afternoon sunshine dry me.
After ten minutes, I felt hungry again. Standing in the kitchen, with a view across the bay, I made a sandwich and opened a large bottle of water. I took my snack outside and ate at the table overlooking the resort as the sun set out to sea. The humpbacked island was fading behind a sea mist and the low rays drew wriggling snakes of gold across the surface of the water. It was a photograph moment like a poster advertisement promoting holidays in the Canaries. I checked my K106 again. Still, there was nothing. I wondered why the address had not arrived. There was obviously a problem. I considered contacting Charlotte but decided against it. I would wait to hear from her. She would contact me when she had something.
I decided to take a drive, before it got dark, to check out the area and the coastline. I locked up and jumped aboard my yellow Seat, which was stifling from the beating sun. I turned the air conditioning dial to maximum and it clicked incessantly like a nervous beetle. I ignored the clicking, made a U-turn and sped off. At the end of the road, I turned left onto the main strip and drove past the supermarket I’d visited earlier.
The road followed the coastline and climbed uphill with shops, apartments, villas, an occasional statue, a good show of palm trees and restaurants all slowly passing me by. After a couple of minutes, the road climbed steeply through a sharp double-bend and I had a clear view of the sea and a high drop to the rocks below. This was the old part of the village. It was where the locals had their fishing boats and old men sat in doorways listening to Spanish football matches on their portable radios.
The road continued to climb. A street cafe, more shops and more apartments came and went. I reached a roundabout and realised one way took me back down towards the sea, probably into the village and the marina, and the other, away, inland towards the hills in the distance. I decided to briefly explore the hill route and then come back and drive down to the village.
After a few more minutes of winding upwards, the road levelled off and I arrived at a newly built police station. Parked outside were two police cars. They were both dusty and neither of them looked as though they’d moved in a while. The front door was wide open. The place looked almost inviting and I guessed the local policia were friendly and not overly busy. Any crime was probably minimal in this area and the police force’s response and behaviour were an equal match. This was good. I kept driving, as I didn’t want them to see me staring. I found a place in the road to turn around. The knowledge that the local police squad weren’t a crack force made me feel easier. I drove past the station again and saw the door was still open and nothing had changed. I smiled to myself. On the car radio, a woman was singing passionately in Spanish and I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel in support of her endeavours.
Back at the roundabout, I took the other exit and drove sharply downhill. The Seat turned and bumped several times before the road led me into the village. There was a tennis club, a cluster of boutique shops, a hotel and more apartments. The road ended abruptly at the marina. Concrete walls formed a square and it was full of fishing boats, white yachts, speed boats and sail boats of a dozen different sizes.
The sun had fallen and it was much darker. The Seat’s headlights were adequate at best. Helping them out the street lamps and lights from the shops and restaurants sent warm yellow glows across the road and lit the apartments and the concealed driveways.
I drove across the village, beyond the hotel and found an area full of bars and cafes. It was livelier than the marina with early evening tourists out for a drink before dinner.
The busy, narrow road encouraged slow driving and I looked about, noticing one bar had live music and another was advertising authentic paella. I guessed the restaurant was nearby, remembering the map on the back of the card Alicia had given me. A parking space appeared and I pulled into it without really thinking why. I got out and the evening air was still and warm. I sensed the closeness of the sea and started to walk. A brightly lit shop appeared in the gloom. It was still open but empty of customers. The young female assistant stared at me through the open door. Her face displayed resentment because she had to work and was not free as I was. I smiled at her in sympathy and her young face brightened but only for a moment.
A sign for the restaurant appeared and I followed it, turning and walking steeply downhill toward the sea. At the bottom, on the corner, was the welcoming glow and soft music of a modern restaurant and bar with an open terrace. It was stylish and elegant with the tables covered in white cloth and laid out for a busy evening ahead. Candles flickered warmly and the barman had the look of a bullfighter. He styled his black hair swept thickly from his forehead and his open white shirt promised romance and over-confidence. I went in and approached the bar with the relaxed gait of a holidaymaker.
‘Hola, señor,’ the barman greeted me, and then sensing I was not Spanish asked, ‘what would you like, señor?’
‘A Coca-Cola,’ I said.
He filled a tall glass with ice and snapped the top from a glass bottle of Coke. I imagined him swirling a red cape as he passed it to me.
‘Thanks.’
He nodded at me but didn’t speak. I turned away and sipped my drink. Only two of the tables had patrons, both elderly couples, perhaps retired locals who liked to eat early. My eye caught sudden movement from the side of the bar and I moved my head to see a big smile followed by long, wavy hair, which was now dry.
I received a friendly welcome and then she said, ‘You have found us already. Have you settled in so quickly?’ Alicia was charming with genuine warmth. I noticed a little make-up that hadn’t been there earlier. It made her look older.
‘Your restaurant is lovely.’ I held up my glass. ‘The best Coca-Cola on the island.’
Alicia laughed and asked, ‘Do you want a table? Are you hungry? Before I could answer she continued, ‘We have a birthday party here tonight, sixty people, but I think I can squeeze you in.’
Alicia squeezing me in was a very appealing thought.
‘Lovely,’ I said.
She smiled happily and said, ‘This way; I have the right table for you.’
She pulled out the chair and I sat at the table for two with a view of the dark sea. The lights from a scattering of boats danced on the waves and blinked like Morse code. She handed me a menu.
‘Is everything okay at the villa?’
‘Yes, thanks, everything’s great.’
‘Good. What do you plan to do during your stay?’
‘Relax, swim, read a book, you know, holiday things.’
‘What is your work in England?’
‘I work for a bank; in the corporate investment department.’
‘Investments, are you rich?’
‘No, it’s other peoples’ money. I’m just paid a salary, unfortunately.’
‘You do not look like a banker.’
‘No, what do I look like?’ She studied me while she thought.
‘I don’t know, something else, a soldier, perhaps.’ Was it witchcraft of just feminine intuition?
I handed back the menu and said, ‘I’ll have the fillet steak, medium rare, and another Coke.’
Alicia smiled, took the menu from me and walked off to the kitchen. I watched her go. She was wearing a tight top and close-fitting black trousers with sandals. Surfing was obviously good for the figure.
I didn’t have to wait long before a young waiter brought me a bread roll with butter and my drink, which he quickly followed with a juicy looking fillet steak. After the first mouthful, I realised how hungry I was and cleaned my plate in no time.
Alicia returned smiling and asked, ‘Was it good?’
‘Very good; tell the chef for me. Is he from France?’
She frowned and then laughed and said, ‘No, he’s from Barcelona, but I will tell him.’
The waiter cleared the table and handed me the dessert menu.
Alicia watched me and said, ‘They are all good.’ I nodded as I read down the list.
She asked me, ‘Can you decide what you want?’ I was tempted to make the obvious remark but stopped myself. By coincidence, they also had a sticky toffee pudding with ice cream. I decided to have it and compare this one with the one back at the restaurant in London.
‘Good choice,’ Alicia assured me. ‘The chef baked it this morning. It looks wonderful.’
With that body, I wasn’t surprised she hadn’t tried it. I smiled and asked, ‘Can I have a coffee?’
‘Cafe con leche—at the same time?’
‘Yes.’
‘Okay, of course.’
Alicia headed back to the kitchen and I watched her go.
A few more diners were arriving and I guessed they were the beginning of the birthday party. Some of them were carrying cards and gifts. The waiters swirled around them and they began to take their seats.
Just then, an electronic beep emitted from my pocket. I pulled out my K106 and read the message. It was giving me the address of Geoffrey Button. The message contained a green arrow indicating there was more. I scrolled over and a satnav display appeared showing my exact location and giving me directions of how to find the apartment. How good was that? I loved satellite technology.
I was still studying the bright K106 screen when Alicia returned with my dessert and coffee. She put them down on the table and observed, ‘A message from home?’ Then with a mischievous grin suggested, ‘Is it your wife wondering where you are? Perhaps you didn’t tell her you were leaving for Tenerife.’