‘Go on, have one glass of wine,’ she suggested.
He smiled his client-charming smile. ‘Go on then. A small glass.’
He looked up as his wife laughed again, catching the happiness in her; she flicked a strand of hair from her face, picked up her wineglass, and fluttered her eyelashes at Terry. Surely, she could see through that man. He wasn’t happy, he was just drunk. But when had she last laughed at anything Mark said? He must make her happier.
Regretting the huge glasses of red wine – Terry had been too efficient keeping her glass topped up – Emily sank into a chair after serving breakfast, letting her arms dangle by her sides. A warm wet snout nudged her hand. She stroked the wiry hair, feeling the whiskers twitch against her palm; it was good to just sit in the sun for five minutes without answering questions about restaurants and day trips or where to find the nearest pharmacy. There was only one family today and they were catching a train to Lisbon in the morning, so they’d wanted an early breakfast. She must tell Mark; she couldn’t have him underfoot while she was cooking.
Tosca hopped into her lap, placed her paws on her chest, and started licking her face. On the table in front of her, Emily’s phone vibrated. She read the message from Mary and gasped.
Pushing the dog off her lap, she rose abruptly, collecting her car keys and the recycling box. The shopping must be done today; she wouldn’t have time tomorrow because therooms were booked out by two new couples, and she’d be flat out preparing them. Closing the front door behind her, Emily worked out that if she was super-efficient, she could strip the beds and catch thirty minutes of cheap electricity before the expensive tariff kicked in at 8 o’clock.
Early the following morning, Villa Anna’s kitchen was a hive of activity. The smell of grilled bacon filled the room and the oven hummed gently, its interior light glowing, illuminating a tray piled with cooked food. In the corridor – the current utility room – was a laundry basket filled with pool towels waiting to be hung out to dry. Emily sliced the last of the mushrooms, and scraped them into the hot frying pan, then took a step backwards as the butter sizzled and spat. She heard footsteps behind her, and then a female voice announcing they were gasping for a cup of tea.
‘Nearly ready,’ Emily called over the noise of the oven, shaking the pan then turning down the heat. She flicked on the kettle and dashed to the bedrooms.
Five minutes later she was stuffing soiled bedclothes into the washing machine, which was pre-loaded with detergent. She slammed the door shut and hit the start button. At the sink, she squirted soap onto her hands then picked up the kettle. It felt lighter than it should. She shook it. She was sure she’d put in enough water to make four mugs, but the sloshing sound suggested otherwise.
Just before 8 o’clock, an alarm sounded.
The guests had left amid promises of rave reviews, the kitchen was immaculate, and it was time for stage two of operation turnaround. Emily checked the washing machine – still forty minutes to gobble expensive electricity – and went to fetch the basket of damp pool towels. It wasn’t in the corridor.
She heard Mark’s voice, a hint of cockiness in it. ‘Lost something?’
‘I put a basket of clean towels down somewhere, and I can’tfind it.’
His arms snaked round her waist, and he placed a gentle kiss on her neck. ‘I hung them out for you.’
She pushed his hands away and whirled round, shouting, ‘You idiot!’
His eyes widened with a wounded look. She rushed past him and ran outside. Three jets of water were dousing the previously clean towels, now sagging on the washing line.
‘I was only trying to help,’ he said softly.
‘And no doubt making yourself a coffee while I was downstairs stripping the beds. No wonder there wasn’t enough water for me to make four cups of tea.’
A few days later, returning from his morning run, Mark closed the front door softly and crept past the kitchen.
Emily’s voice floated out to him. ‘I need your help.’
He backtracked to the kitchen. She was wearing a white tennis dress. ‘The guests are late, and if I don’t go now, I’m going to be late for tennis with Tina.’
Mark’s eyes were wide with fear. ‘You’re leaving me here on my own?’
‘They only want toast.’
A morning when they didn’t need a hot food licence! Why was Pedro taking so long to sort that problem?
‘They won’t eat you, Mark. Just try to be nice to them. Remember – they are paying our mortgage.’ She picked up the car keys and trotted out of the kitchen.
‘Do they want it now?’ he yelled after her.
‘Ask them!’ she shouted back.
She was right. He didn’t need supervising to make toast.
Mark imagined it was his mother sitting outside on the terrace. His face relaxed into a smile as he walked out into the warmth. ‘Are you ready for your toast?’ he asked.
Delighted that the guests were spending the day at a beach,Mark escorted them to their car and waved them off.
