This room may be used before 7.00am. It is then off limits until breakfast is cleared away. If in doubt, check with Emily before entering.
If a work surface is used it must be cleaned with anti-bacterial spray, and re-polished.
Do not take anything from the fridge if there is a pink ribbon around it.
‘Pink ribbon!’ spluttered Mark. ‘What’s that all about? I can’t even make a sandwich if she ties a bow on the effing fridge? Whatever will she think of next?’ He read on.
The pool and surrounding area.
Only to be used if all guests are absent.
The outside shower must be used before entering the pool.
Mark laughed when he discovered thatif any water is dislodged,he was expected to mop it up promptly. Apparently, a mop was now kept in the shed by the barbeque, and this must (underlined twice in red ink)be used, not the one kept in the kitchen cupboard which was for indoor surfaces.
He glanced over at the newly designated inside mop, propped against the study window from his morning clean-up operation. Maybe he should sleep in here one night, discover where the effing water was coming from.
Under “sitting room”, he learned that this space was primarily for the use of paying guests and must be vacated when any returned in the evening. Why? They weren’t hiring the whole house like they did in London – why couldn’t the guests share the sitting room? Did this rule apply if the precious guests wentstraight to their rooms after dinner; was he now required to scuttle away the moment he heard a key in the front door, like a Victorian chambermaid freeing a room for their master?
He called the London lawyer. He wasn’t sure he wanted to rely on this new source of income; better speed up the Devon house sale.
Between hoots of laughter from the pool, Mark heard his wife talking – she sounded happy. She would be with that Miguel. He gritted his teeth and pulled open the fridge door, telling himself to focus on the money. He crouched to examine the contents, wondering why Emily didn’t find the sound of screeching children annoying. Would he have learned to tune out that noise if he’d spent a little more time around Alex when his son was growing up? Behind him came a pitter-patter noise. He picked up a bottle of water and turned around, his shoes squeaking on the tiles; a child was standing in the kitchen, dripping water onto the floor. Through the child’s legs, Mark saw a trail of wet footsteps. He sucked in his breath and straightened.
‘Please may I have a dry towel?’
‘No. You were given fresh towels this morning. Dry them in the sun.’
He stalked past the child. Emily was being far too lax with the guests, and she spent all her spare time with that designer, tittering over outrageous ideas for the villa. Or was there another reason why that man was always here? Did he have designs on his wife as well as her house?
With Cindy and her family settled by the poolside, Emily was standing beside Miguel trying to imagine twin life-sized lions either side of Villa Anna’s front door. Emily’s idea of tall terracotta pots had been rejected with a dismissive flutter of his hand: ‘Dreary! We can dosomuch better than that!’
She felt Miguel’s hands on her shoulders, and he wheeled her around. He pointed at the front gates. ‘Of course, we mustreplace those with a solid structure. Think of it as the curtain going up at the theatre. You can’t have holes in the curtain, the audience gawping at the scenery before the play has begun!’
Emily hadn’t thought of it that way: holes in the curtain. How lucky to have found Miguel. He was so talented. He came up with some ridiculous ideas, but her meetings with him were the balm she needed.
‘Will it be lions, or would you prefer something more dramatic? I’ve seen sphinxes done well. Or what about terracotta warriors?’ Miguel reeled off a list of alternatives – buddhas or mythical dogs? His eyes shone as he moved closer, giving her a blast of spicy citrus. ‘Do you want to be a trendsetter or a follower?’
She chuckled.
‘Elephants!’
Emily snorted, stepping backwards in surprise, unsure if he was being serious or not. ‘Elephants?’
‘No one has done elephants.’ Miguel ran his hands through his hair and darted from one side of the house to the other, backwards and forwards, squatting on his haunches and using his hands to gauge perspective.
The door opened, and Mark glared at Emily. ‘Is he still here?’
‘Darling, let me introduce you to Miguel.’
Mark bobbed his head at the interior designer, the gesture so slight and swift, Emily could easily have missed it. ‘I’m going to organize us a post-box,’ he mumbled, trotting down the steps and flicking the remote control. ‘Please close the door when you’re finished and try not to slam it.’
‘Sorry about that,’ said Emily, as the gates squeaked back into place. Miguel’s advice was free, there was no excuse for Mark to be rude.
Mark was sulking in his office. He’d waited an hour with his completed three-page form to open the post-box and been sentpacking because he hadn’t thought to take their passports – to open a post-box? Emily could try her luck next time. He took a bite of sandwich and called his mother. For once, there was a slight sullenness to her voice.
‘I never hear from you anymore.’
‘You can always ring my mobile, Mum, if you ever need me. I wrote the number on your pad by the phone. If I don’t answer, leave a message.’
