‘I know, love, but I also know how important work is, and anyway, I don’t like those answerphone thingamy jibs. It’s not like speaking to a person.’
‘Well, how are you anyway? How’s Essex? Has it warmed up yet?’
Mark sat back listening to his mother’s voice wash over him, non-judgmental, undemanding, but over two thousand miles away. How he missed his Sunday visits to Essex.
He heard a sharp buzzing noise.
‘Emily?’ He tilted his chair back and yelled, ‘Can you get that? I’m on the phone.’
The buzzing persisted. He stalked out of his office, phone by his side, and yanked open the front door. Two men were standing outside the gate, dressed in black trousers, white short-sleeved shirts, and ties.
‘Can I help you?’ he shouted.
‘Are you the owner of this villa, sir?’
Mark lifted his phone and muttered, ‘Mum I’ve gotta go, someone official at the gate, call you back.’ He released the gate, and the men walked towards him. ‘How can I help you?’ he said a little cockily.
The men showed him their identity cards. Both resembled their pictures, but they could have been offering their golf club memberships: all the information was in Portuguese.
‘This is Villa Anna?’ asked the man holding a clipboard.
‘Yes,’ Mark replied cautiously.
‘Your website says you offer hot food.’
He peered down at the clipboard, recognizing a screenshot of the website, pictures of the tennis court, the pool. There was a photo of a table laid for breakfast: a hibiscus flower nestled on each of four white napkins, a rack of toast, dainty pots of jam, and four plates piled with crispy bacon, fried tomatoes, and glistening fried eggs. He thought the designer had done a good job.
‘Only for guests, we’re not running a café.’
‘You need a Licenca de atividade de restauracao e bebidas.’
Mark’s stomach clenched. ‘A what?’
‘A hot food licence, sir,’ said the other man.
‘To grill a sausage?’
‘To boil an egg.’
Pedro wouldn’t have made a mistake like this thought Mark. ‘We did everything properly through our lawyer. He didn’t mention anything about a hot food licence.’
‘Did you ask?’
He scratched his head. ‘How do we get a hot food licence?’ he asked.
Mark left two messages for Pedro, then a third which he instructed to be marked urgent. Two days later, his lawyer returned his call.
‘There was nothing on the link you sent me about food, Mr Ellis. I will deal with this, but change the website, and don’t serve hot food until I say you can.’
Fourteen
May 28th
Ellis bank balance: (£11,458.38) Overdrawn.
90-Day Rule Tally: Emily: 18 Mark: 4
Sucking in her cheeks to stop herself from laughing, Emily tried to muster some sympathy. Mark’s hair was slick with sweat, his T-shirt looked as if he’d swum in it – Tim had given him a proper run around on the court – and there was no water for a shower. At least they’d discovered the problem before a guest did.
