‘Not allowed to work out here,’ Alex said, smugly.
‘Didn’t stop your girlfriend earning her keep in Sagres. She was working as a cleaner and she’s a qualified accountant.’
‘Yes, but Jess speaks Spanish. Portuguese and Spanish are very similar. If you speak one you can understand the other.’
‘Well, you speak English, and the only thing preventing you from working in the UK is you.’
Alex got up, finished his beer, and threw the rest of his sandwich on the floor. ‘Do you ever stop complaining?’
‘Pick that up right now!’ roared his father. ‘How dare you!’
‘I don’t know why mum stays. She should have left you years ago when you had that affair.’ He flung himself upright, a little thrill rippling through him at his father standing with his mouth hanging open. ‘Didn’t think I knew about that, did you? Mum told me when I took my first girlfriend out for dinner. She explained how important trust is in a relationship. I won’t ever cheat on Jess. You disgust me.’ Alex shook his head. ‘I’m off. When Mum gets back, you can tell her I came to see her.’
Mark told Emily how Alex had stormed off to Sagres in a huff, but the wounded look in her eyes steeled him with determination to make her happy. He made her a cup of tea, fetched the ironing board and the basket of bed linen, and plugged in the iron. He draped a sheet over the board like a tent, picked up the iron, and dabbed a hand on the face like he’d seen his mother do, feeling the heat on his fingers, then smoothed it across the linen, releasing a spurt of steam and a hissing noise. He stood the iron upright and tweaked the sheet, but gravity sent it slithering to the floor in a wrinkled white heap. Damn.
‘Emily, could you help fold this monster?’
He picked up the sheet, handing her the first corner he came across, then running it through his fingers, groping for another one.
‘Gwen should’ve taught you how to iron.’
‘Did your mother teach you?’
‘No, my father did. The army taught him; Sandhurst teaches all officers how to iron. Your ex-boss Paul still slept on pristine sheets during lockdown while his housekeeper was furloughed.’
‘I’m wondering which part of that I find most irritating. Discovering that effing bastard is good at something, or the cheek of him using taxpayers’ money to pay for his cleaner.’
‘Move on Mark, ancient history,’ snipped Emily.
Mark felt his insides shrivel. They wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for Paul! And why did she have to snip and snap whenever that man’s name came up- was she still angry he’d lost his job?
Emily snatched the iron up and pushed Mark aside. ‘Oh, go and hide in your study. I’ll finish these.’
Mark reread an email from Pedro for the third time. He’d thought it was odd the lawyer hadn’t invoiced him for the work on the couple’s residency certificates. No other Algarve supplier delayed raiding the Ellis bank account. But here it was, weeks later. He found Emily lying curled up inside on a sofa. The room was freezing cold, and there was a soft purring noise. He picked up the remote control for the air conditioning, jabbed his thumb on the off button, and paced the room, closing the sliding door, then the two windows overlooking the terrace. Mark coughed. Emily stirred, and sat up, making a soft moaning noise, and rubbing her eyes with the back of her hands.
‘Pedro has sent me a bill,’ said Mark.
‘Is it enormous?’ she asked.
‘No. The opposite.’
Yawning, she said, ‘That’s a change!’
‘The thing is there’s a rather odd reason why it’s so low.’
‘Which is?’
‘Firstly, no tax, and the reason for that, which is what I want to discuss, is, well ... Pedro has asked me to pay the money into hispersonal bank account.’
She pulled a quizzical face. ‘Our lawyer is billing us directly, diverting income from his partners and bypassing the taxman?’
He sat by her feet. She shifted her legs and sat upright, wrapping her arms around her knees.
‘Yes. Well, that was my initial reaction. Then I thought about it from Pedro’s point of view. We aren’t paying tax in his country, so why shouldn’t he game the system too? His partners probably do! The only loser is the taxman.’
‘Hold on a minute,’ she said, dragging out the words. ‘There’s a world of difference between what we’re doing, which is legitimate, and what he’s doing!’
‘Is there really? I mean, in the long run, the result is the same, isn’t it? Does the end justify the means?’
