Читать книгу For The Love Of Sara - Christopher Lee - Страница 11

CHAPTER 6

He swam fifty lengths of the pool before getting out to dry himself. By the time he got back to the apartment Jill was up and dressed in pink shorts and a pink and white striped t-shirt. The children were still asleep.

“Enjoy your swim?” asked Jill, milking two mugs for their tea.

“A bit cold, but yes, it was nice once you get in.” He thought of how Sara had finished that sentence for him. He was going to tell Jill about seeing her in the pool, but didn’t. Then he wondered why not.

“Can you pop to the shops to get some milk for breakfast if the children want cereal,” asked his wife. “We only have enough for our tea.”

“Sure,” said Grant. “I’ll check out that car hire place next to the hotel and see what vehicles they have available.”

The supermarket was almost empty. Grant bought a large container of milk, a loaf of bread and some butter and a box of cornflakes. The car hire shop was closed, but it had a large selection of cars on offer according to the photos in the window. He would return later when they opened.

By the time he got back to the apartment the children were up. Emma and Tim had gone down for a swim. Sally and Ben were playing cards.

“Did you check out the cars?” asked Jill.

“I did,” he said. “They have a six seater 4x4 that would do us if it’s available.”

Luckily it was, and within the hour Grant had collected the keys and parked it at the rear of the apartments. The children were so excited.

“Can we go to the beach?” pleaded Sally. “I want to go in the sea.”

“Me too,” echoed Ben. “Can we go out on a boat?”

Before leaving the apartment he picked up his wallet from the bedside table and asked Jill to put it in her shoulder bag. The pockets in his shorts were too shallow. There was no safe and he didn’t want to leave any cash in the apartment as the wallet contained all of their spending money – 1500euros.

They were all in high spirits when they set off. Grant swung the vehicle out of the slip road and headed for the old part of town. It was going to be a good day.

The land looked parched with only small oasis of vegetation in the small gardens of some of the houses which lined the road. Cascades of bougainvillea created colourful waterfalls on the whitewashed walls of the red-roofed villas. Soon after entering the old town, Ben spotted a bakery.

“Let’s stop and get some cakes,” he shouted. “I’m starving.”

“You’re always starving,” chided Emma.

“We could get some for later,” said Jill. “Pull over.”

Grant signalled and pulled into the car park of a small plaza near the shop.

“I’ll go, you lot stay in the car,” ordered Jill, got out the car and walked across to the bakery.

Grant kept the engine running and tried to tune the radio which was still refusing to work. Five minutes later, Jill returned empty-handed.

“No cakes,” she said, “only bread.”

“Not to worry,” said Grant. “I have to stop for petrol, so I’ll see if there are any in the garage.”

“At least we can get sweets,” said Ben. “They must have chocolate.”

After travelling a few miles, Grant spotted a Mobile sign. There were no cars waiting to fill up, so Grant hopped out and put 50litres of fuel in the tank.

Finished, he went to the passenger side.

“Can I have the wallet, Jill?” Grant asked. Jill reached for her bag on the floor, picked it up and put it on her lap and rummaged through it. Grant held out his hand in anticipation. She looked again, plucking out an assortment of female bric-a-brac.

“It’s not here,” she said alarmed.

“Grant, it’s not here,” she said now panicking.

“It must be in there, we haven’t gone anywhere,” said Grant.

Jill tipped the remaining contents of the bag onto the driver’s seat. It was futile. The wallet wasn’t there.

“OK, don’t panic,” said Grant. “Look under your seat, maybe it’s slipped out of your bag.”

Jill got out of the car, crouched down and looked under the seat. Nothing.

Tears now welled up in her eyes.

“It’s gone,” she cried. “We’ve lost all our money. Why didn’t we bring travellers cheques? I told you we should take travellers cheques.”

It was at that point the petrol station attendant came across from the office and said something in Spanish which Grant didn’t understand. Jill was now bawling and that had started Ben and Sally off too.

“No money. Stolen, all gone.”

The Spaniard looked bewildered.

“What are we going to do?” sobbed Jill. “We can’t even pay for the petrol.”

“Yes we can,” said Grant. “I still have my American Express card.” He reached into the back pocket of his shorts and brought out a thin card holder. He brought out the gold Amex card.

“American Express no good,” said the attendant, pointing to a sign on the door of the garage shop.

“No accept.”

Grant thought quickly. He took off his watch and showed it to the attendant.

“Look. Rolex,” he said. “You keep watch until I come back with money. OK?”

The man shrugged his shoulders and took the watch,

Grant stuffed the contents on the seat back into his wife’s bag. He got in the car, throttled the accelerator and headed back the way they had come.

“Where are we going?” asked Jill.

“Back to that damned bakery,” fumed Grant.

“But I didn’t buy anything,” said Jill, still anguished.

“No, but I bet that’s where you either dropped it, or had it pinched from your bag. It’s probably a waste of time, but we have got to try.”

It was. The two elderly assistants in the shop spoke little English.

“Come on, let’s go,” said Grant furiously. “We have to find a police station and report it.”

Nobody in the car spoke as they searched for a police station. They found it in the main square in the old quarter of the town, a crumbling sandstone building with huge front doors and narrow windows.

Grant parked the car and told the family to stay inside. He had to report the loss if he was to have any chance of claiming on the insurance. As soon as he entered the building he noticed the drop in temperature and wished then he had kept his shirt on. He had left it in the car, so was only dressed in shorts and trainers. Two armed police brushed past him as he walked along the tiled corridor to reception. Inside he heard animated voices. As he entered, the moustached police officer behind the desk took one look at him at shouted “Out!” Thinking he had walked in on some private conversation and that he was meant to wait outside the room he turned and went back out.

The conversation inside reception again became animated and a few seconds later the elderly bespectacled gent who had been the object of the policeman’s anger shuffled past Grant in the corridor. Grant went back in.

“Out!” the policeman shouted again. Grant ignored the order and went to the counter.

“I have come to report the theft of my wallet,” he began to say.

“Out!” shouted the officer again. “You offend our king coming in to a government building improperly dressed.”

It wasn’t the first time he had been reprimanded for not wearing a shirt in a public place. He had once been unceremoniously ejected from Chartres cathedral for the same reason, and another time he was marshalled off Wentworth golf course. He wasn’t even playing, just spectating.

“I’m sorry,” he began to apologise.

“Go away,” ordered the policeman and turned his back.

Dumbfounded, Grant turned and left and went back to the car.

“What’s up?” asked Jill.

“They won’t talk to me because I’m not wearing a shirt,” he fumed. He grabbed his shirt from the seat and headed back in to the police station. The same officer was talking to a colleague. He looked at Grant, then turned away and continued the conversation. Eventually he came over to the counter.

“Where did you leave your wallet senor?” he asked.

“I didn’t leave it anywhere,” Grant said indignantly. “It was stolen from my wife by one of your countrymen.” Now he was getting annoyed.

“So you saw who took it?” pressed the policeman.

“Not exactly,” Grant stuttered. “It was taken from her bag in a bakery. It had 1500 euros in it.”

There was no flicker of sympathy.

“And where is this bakery?” asked the officer.

“Plaza de Torres,” he said, “less than an hour ago.”

The official went across to a filing cabinet and took out a buff coloured form. He brought it back to the counter and rubber stamped it.

“Fill this in and bring the top copy back to me. You keep a copy for your insurance.”

“So you don’t think there’s much chance of finding the money?” asked Grant.

“Not with 150 euros in it,” said the policeman.

“Not 150 euros,” corrected Grant, “1500 euros.”

The policeman’s jaw dropped. “I am sorry senor,” he said. “I misunderstood. That is a great deal of money to lose.”

Grant accepted the apology.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” he said, “about the shirt. I didn’t think.”

The officer nodded.

“I’ll drop the form in later,” said Grant, and went back to the car.

“Will we get it back on the insurance?” asked Jill.

“Not all of it,” said Grant. “There is an excess on the policy.”

On the opposite side of the street was a bank with an ATM. He crossed over and withdrew the 500 euro limit on his card.

“What do we do now dad? “asked Emma.

“Go back to the garage and get my watch,” said Grant, “Before they sell it.”

It had not been such a good day after all.

Sara was not having such a good day either. Her mother and Alan had taken her to one of the small beaches by the hotel and she was bored.

“Why don’t you play with some of the children you met at the hotel?” her mother asked.

“Maybe,” Sara replied. She wriggled closer into the hot sand and rested her head on her hands and looked idly across to a young couple about 20 feet away. She was topless and had small breasts with conical shaped dark brown nipples.

I have bigger boobs than that, thought Sara. The couple must have been in their late teens, early twenties. He was slim, almost thin, with short fair hair. He wore a small gold cross and chain around his neck that glinted when it caught the sun. Sara’s eyes became transfixed on the cross and her mind darted back to the gold cross on her father’s coffin. She blinked. Her gaze followed the line of his body over the hairless contours of his chest past his flat abdomen to the slight bulge in his light blue swimming trunks. Her thoughts raced back to Adam Cochrane sitting astride his motorbike in his tight leather trousers. The young couple broke off their embrace.

“Sara, Alan and I are going back to the hotel. Do you want to come with us, or stay here a little longer?” asked her mother.

“I’ll stay,” said the teenager. “You go back and I’ll catch you later.”

They got up and Liz brushed the sand from her beige cotton shorts. Alan put on the straw Panama hat she had bought for him at the hotel shop and the two of them headed off. Sara watched them until they disappeared, then sat up and looked around.

There was nobody from the hotel on the beach. She wondered what Emma’s dad would be doing now and if he would be in the pool the next morning for another early swim.

She brushed the sand from her legs. One of them still had a small nick on it from her mother’s razor. She had borrowed it when she showered after getting back to the room from the pool. She had also shaved under her arms, unlike one Spanish woman lying on the beach in front of her, arms above her head and hairy armpits of full view. Ugh, what a turn off, thought Sara.

Leaving her towel she walked down to the water’s edge and waded straight in. The cold Mediterranean waters caressed her thighs, and then she dived forward under the brine. She was amazed by the number of fish, most of them grey with yellow bands, all moving in unison. The seabed sloped sharply away and the water looked a darker blue as she swam towards the bottom.

She saw what looked like an old stump sticking out of the seabed. Around it swam five long grey fish with pointed snouts. She swam towards them and they darted away. She examined the stump and found a large rusty iron ring attached to it with a section of rope. Her lungs were telling her she needed more oxygen. She kicked upwards leaving swirls of sand around the stump and broke the surface some 20feet above. She drew in the life giving air and turned to float on her back, gazing up at the crystal blue sky. A jet passed overhead and she wondered where it was going.

By the time the family had got back to the apartment, Jill had developed a blinding headache, either too much sun, or PMT. Either way she didn’t feel like dinner and was glad when Grant offered to take the children to one of the nearby restaurants.

Showered and changed into a green silk shirt and sand coloured slacks, Grant splashed a palm-full of his favourite Jean Paul Gaultier aftershave on his face. He looked at himself in the mirror. Just one day in the sun and he already looked like a lobster. Lobster, now there’s a thought. I wonder if they will have any on the menu.

They left Jill lying on the settee and headed off in search of dinner.

“Will we have enough for dinner now that mum’s lost all our money?” asked Sally.

Grant smiled. “I think so sweetheart.”

They found a restaurant and the children plonked themselves down at a table. A waiter in a smart white tunic and black trousers came over with an armful of menus. The girls had omelettes, Tim had the roast chicken and Ben had squid, everything with chips. There was lobster on the menu, but when Grant saw the price of it, he had second thoughts, remembering the 1500 euros they had already lost. He had a steak instead.

As they waited for the food, Ben said he needed the toilet. Sally said she wanted to go too, and Tim offered to take them. The food arrived just as the children returned. It was an okay sort of meal, nothing special. Grant had a beer and the children all had cokes. They all wanted ice cream for desert, three different flavours served in long glasses topped with strawberry and chocolate sauce.

Grant got up and went to the loo. As he crossed the restaurant he noticed three people sitting at a table in the corner, a man and woman and what could have been their daughter. It was the girl from the swimming pool, or was it? She had her back to him, but he thought he recognised the blonde hair. When he came out he looked across again, but this time the girl had gone. As he headed back to his own seat he saw her standing there, talking to Emma.

“Hello stranger,” said Grant as he approached. “Sara, isn’t it?”

“That’s right,” she laughed.

“This is my dad,” said Emma.

“I know,” said Sara “We have already met.”

“Is it alright if we go back to the hotel with Sara?” asked Emma.

“Sure,” said Grant. “Catch you later.”

“Can we go as well?” asked Sally.

“You can all go,” said her dad, “but all stick together.” And off they went

Grant ordered a large Carlos One brandy. He looked across to the table in the corner. The woman was not particularly attractive. Grant thought she must be about the same age as him, perhaps a little older. He couldn’t quite make out the face of the man with her, the face of the man he was later going to try and kill.

When he entered the foyer he saw Sara playing the video games machine. She was on her own. He quietly walked up behind her so he wouldn’t spoil her concentration.

“Shit, now look what you’ve made me do.” She didn’t turn around even though she was addressing Grant.

“I have one life left and I need 25,000 points to be top scorer. What was wrong with your wife tonight?”

She said it all so matter-of-factly it took Grant by surprise,

“Erh, she wasn’t feeling well,” he said peering over her shoulder at the screen. “A headache, I think.”

“Time of the month, eh,” she said, still zapping aliens, “poor old Grant, on holiday too.”

That was enough for Grant. She had gone too far. He turned and headed back towards the bar when she called him back.

“I’m sorry,” she said loudly, loudly enough for the hotel receptionist to look up from the magazine she was reading.

“My mouth just runs away with itself sometimes. I didn’t mean anything.” She left the machine and walked over to him and put her hand on his arm,

“I shouldn’t have spoken like that,” she said. “I really am very sorry.”

Grant looked into her emerald green eyes and smiled.

“It’s OK, maybe I’m a bit touchy,” he said.

“So no hard feelings?” asked the teen.

“No,” said Grant.

“Well in that case,” said Sara, “come on, you can buy me a drink.”

They found a table near the patio doors, away from the dance floor. As Sara sat down Grant couldn’t help noticing her long legs as she crossed them. She was wearing a short blue denim dress.

“I suppose you want a large vodka and coke?” joked Grant.

“No. I prefer tequila,” she laughed. “But a coke will do for now.”

He made his way to the bar. It was at times like these he was grateful for his height. It meant he usually got served straight away. Sure enough the barman came across and Grant ordered a coke for Sara and a Carlos One for himself. As he weaved his way across the dance floor he saw Sara had been joined by Emma.

“Hi dad,” she greeted him. “Sara and I are going back to play cards at her place if that’s okay?”

“Fine,” said Grant, handing Sara her drink. “Just don’t be back too late.”

Shortly after Tim, Ben and Sally came back.

“We’re ready for bed,” said Sally. “We’re knackered.”

“I beg your pardon, young lady,” said Grant admonishing his eight year-old, “I am tired out,” he corrected her.

“You’re tired too, dad? That’s what I said, we’re all knackered.”

When they got back to the apartment Jill was fast asleep in Emma’s bed.

“Shush, don’t wake her up,” said Grant. “You three go to bed and Em can sleep on the put-you-up with me.”

“She won’t like losing her bed for the night,” warned Tim.

“Well, she’ll just have to put up with the put-you-up,” joked Ben.

Emma came back shortly after eleven o’clock.

“Where’s mum?” she asked Grant who was sitting out on the patio.

“I’m afraid she’s fast asleep in your bed. You’re lumbered with me tonight.”

“No way,” she said playfully picking up a cushion making to club her dad around the head.

“If you snore I will push you out onto the patio.”

When the two of them snuggled down on the settee bed Grant said to Emma; “Did you have a good time at Sara’s?”

“She’s OK,” said Emma. “She’s cool.”

“Is she here with her mum and dad?”

Emma snuggled up to her dad.

“Well, she’s here with her mum, but that’s not her dad. I think he’s her uncle. Night dad.”

She kissed his cheek and turned over to snuggle down.

“And no snoring”.

Within minutes of his head hitting the pillow, Grant was asleep, probably helped by the Spanish brandy. A few hundred yards away, Sara was still wide awake. She lay in bed waiting for her mother and Uncle Alan to come home. When they did return, some two hours later, Sara was fast asleep, which was just as well for had she glanced across at her mother’s bed, she would have seen that it was empty.