Page 54 of A Perfect Algarve Villa
He must get Croyde sold, replenish the Ellis cash buffer. Mark had battled his way onto the NHR, but with no buyer for London, there was no tax to save. Plan B had to work. Emily wouldn’t accept living this way for much longer.
Mark let himself into Villa Anna. Emily was still serving breakfast. She bustled past him, a loaded plate in each hand.
‘My, this is a welcome surprise,’ said a female voice from the terrace. ‘We didn’t expect a full fry-up!’
Mark froze.
‘This isn’t extra, is it?’ a man asked hesitantly.
‘No, it’s all-inclusive, as advertised,’ said Emily cheerfully.
Mark rushed to the door. ‘Emily, could I borrow you?’
‘Excuse me, one moment please.’ Emily turned his way and followed Mark inside.
He slid the door shut behind her, and leant over her, speakingearnestly. ‘You look a bit tired. Why not leave me to clear away and tidy up while you have a lie down?’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘What’s brought this on?’
‘Off you go. I’ll see to this couple.’
‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I’ve got Miguel coming soon. I can go and get ready.’
Mark dashed around the kitchen swooping on dirty dishes like a hungry bird pecking at crumbs. They needed this income.
While Mark was dealing with the washing up, his wife was having a more enjoyable time in the main bedroom suite.
‘Why didn’t we start up here?’ asked Emily.
Miguel’s bronze finger wagged at her. ‘No one comes into your bedroom unless your villa is so spectacular that guests ask for a tour. We start outside where you live virtually all year – isn’t that why you chose to move here?’ He paused, eyes twinkling. ‘Well, that and the NHR.’
She gasped, recalling her earlier message from Mary asking if she’d told Alex yet. How could she justify telling their son they were tax exiles when Emily hadn’t even told Mark her friend knew why they were in Portugal? She didn’t want to upset him, not when he seemed to have turned the corner on helping with the B&B.
Miguel swatted a hand at her. ‘Don’t look so serious. All my clients are on the tax scheme.’
What to do with the en-suite bathroom was today’s quandary.
‘Ghastly, isn’t it?’ said Miguel with a little shudder, as he emerged from the cramped space. He patted her hand in sympathy. ‘How ever do you manage with two of you in there?’ he asked, peering at her with wide eyes. ‘Quite cosy for two, is it?’
She giggled. The bathroom had been the scene of many a battle. In the mornings, they managed to avoid conflict by using the room in shifts rather than in parallel. The evenings were the danger zone. Although the room had double sinks, which intheory enabled them to perform night-time ablutions together, there was also a bath, double shower, loo, and a bidet crammed into the small room, and bizarrely, the door opened inwards, effectively creating a corridor behind the basins, and reducing the circulation space even further.
‘All is not lost,’ Miguel reassured her. ‘I have a plan.’ He placed a comforting arm around his client as he outlined his solution.
She inhaled the scent of Douro, her mind drifting to memories that didn’t involve her nightly skincare regime. She tried to recall when Mark had last put his arms around her.
Miguel patted her shoulder. ‘Together, we will rejuvenate this villa, make something spectacular out of her weary bones.’
She gave her rescuer a broad smile. Today’s suggestions were practical and didn’t sound too expensive.
Nineteen
July 9th
Ellis bank balance: (£6,134.98) Overdrawn.
90-Day Rule Tally: Emily:28 Mark:14
The post – forwarded from London by Svetlana – was stacked on Mark’s desk. He ripped open a white envelope: the London electricity bill. His eyes widened – should they start charging guests extra for heating the swimming pool? He slit open the second envelope and unfolded a typed letter. It was from the bank Ovington Square was mortgaged to, dated a week earlier. Mark’s jaw dropped.
