Page 18 of A Perfect Algarve Villa
‘It’ll be revenge for the barking dogs. He hates the noise.’
Emily tutted, bent down, and removed the chain. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, they only bark when he makes a racket.’ She tried pulling the chain free, but one end was padlocked onto Tommy’s side of the fence. She hurled the chain which fell clanging onto the drive.
‘I only communicate with that git through my lawyer,’ David said.
Emily screwed up her face. Would Tommy do this, even though they were invited for drinks later tonight? There was obviously a feud between their two neighbours, and Emily didn’t have the bandwidth to fight other people’s battles.
She parked the car and jogged to the washing line, unpegged the sheets, folding them into neat squares. Feeling a hint of dampness in the socks, she left them and carried the basket up the stairs, dropping it onto a side table. She opened the fridge for a bottle of water, but her eyes were drawn to the sink.
‘Oh no you don’t!’
She darted over. There were two mugs inside, each stained with dark rings. There was also a marmalade-encrusted knife, and the remains of a sandwich, both crawling with an army of ants. She snatched up a mug, charged through the house, and wrenched open the glass door to Mark’s study. He had his back to her, but he turned around, frowning, and jabbed a finger at the computer in front of him.
‘I can see you’re on a zoom call, but this is important,’ she snapped.
He switched his gaze to the screen. ‘Sorry, can you excuse me for a moment, please?’ Then he turned her way. ‘Right. What’s wrong?’
She thrust the mug his way. ‘This is.’
He cocked his head to one side and said slowly, ‘I’m in themiddle of a meeting. This is a mug.’
‘Two mugs, a dirty plate, and a knife to be precise. I’ve told you I amnotthe housekeeper. I may clean the house and do the laundry, but you can do your bit. I’m not mopping up after you.’
‘Fine,’ he snipped. ‘Message received and understood. Now can I return to earning us some money?’
An hour later, Emily was still smarting about the dirty mugs. She snatched the socks from the washing line, sending pegs spinning, and hurled them at the basket. In Tommy’s garden she saw an attendant edging his way around the infinity pool, navigating a line of beautiful rattan sun loungers topped with cream-coloured mattresses. It was a glorious setting, and an overhanging branch from her mature pine tree would provide protection from the harsh afternoon sun. Emily compared Tommy’s pool area to the one her side of the fence: the old-fashioned fried-egg-shaped pool, with square beige sections of exposed concrete where tiles had fallen off, and the cheap, unforgiving mesh-netting sunbeds. Alex must be wondering what on earth they were doing there, she thought. Next door, the pool attendant was scooping out debris with a long-handled net. She’d bet Tommy had a cleaner too, and they didn’t even have dogs moulting everywhere.
Where were the dogs, she wondered, doing a quick scan of the garden. Floria was asleep under a lemon tree, but she couldn’t see Tosca. She called out, but there was no response. Emily ran inside, yelling for her pet. She checked each room, feeling a mounting sense of panic as the number of unsearched areas dwindled. She yanked open the study door again.
‘Have you seen Tosca?’
Mark turned around, an exasperated expression on his face. ‘What is it this time?’ he demanded.
‘Have you seen Tosca?’
He shook his head.
‘Help me, please ... I think she may have got out!’
Running out the front door, Mark wondered where to start. He should have reinforced that sagging bit of boundary fencing, but the estimate had been a bewildering ten thousand euros ... for a fifty-foot stretch of fence? Tosca was a veritable Houdini, and Emily would never forgive him if something happened to that dog. Through the bars, he spotted David practising his putting on his little mini golf course: a raised twenty-foot length of pristine emerald-green grass cut so low it looked like it had been pasted there with an icing slice. He called out, ‘You haven’t seen a dog, have you? Emily thinks she may have escaped.’
David lined up his putter, swung the club, and tapped the ball, his eyes following the white dot shooting across the grass towards one of the foot-high flags. ‘She’s not in my garden,’ he said, shifting his stance and aiming at another ball. ‘You could try Tommy, but he hates dogs. He’d soon push her back your way.’
‘Thanks,’ muttered Mark.
From the main road he heard the blast of a car horn, then screeching tyres. He sprinted down the driveway, trying to dispel an image of Tosca dodging cars in front of the tennis centre. At the top of the drive, he heard whooping noises and hurtled down the track towards the road. Tosca was below him on the left, being chased around the middle court by four women in tennis dresses, a yellow ball clenched in her jaws. Mark slowed down to catch his breath, then walked over to the fence.
‘Sorry, ladies. I’ll come and collect the rascal; let you get on with your game.’
Returning with the escapologist in his arms, Mark was rewarded with a shower of kisses, followed by a cup of tea and a biscuit. Emily even returned to his office, collected the dirty crockery, kissed his shoulder, and reminded him they were due at Tommy’s for drinks at six o’clock.
It was Tommy’s wife Toni who let them in. Toni was not much taller than Emily, with a mop of grey curls, and a face that crinkled into a smile at any opportunity. She wore a short sundress that revealed limbs tanned to the sort of dark caramel Emily dimly recollected her cookery books telling her to have the courage to wait for. Toni ushered the Ellises up a flight of stairs to a roof terrace shaded by a vine-covered trellis. Emily looked down at the crystal-clear infinity pool – now entirely shaded by Villa Anna’s pine tree – and beyond that to Martin’s tennis club. Apart from the rustic land bordering Villa Anna’s tennis court, the garden was beautifully tended with exotic bushes and mulched flower beds. Maybe the untended land didn’t belong to Tommy and Toni.
Tommy was sitting in a deckchair, a can of beer in one hand, the other shoving handfuls of snacks into his mouth. He grunted a greeting, spewing out a few specks of crisp.
‘Sit, sit,’ said Toni. ‘Now what can I get you both to drink? Tommy’s on the beer, but I have a bottle of Vinho Verde open?’
‘Isn’t this a charming spot for sundowners?’ remarked Emily, taking a seat. ‘My you’re so lucky with this plot!’ She beamed at their hostess. ‘I’ll join you in a glass of wine, Toni.’
