Page 1 of A Perfect Algarve Villa
Prologue
Emily shot the estate agent a quizzical look, before arching her eyebrows at Mark, who was still grinning like a child on Christmas morning. He put his arms around her.
‘It’s time for an adventure.Weare emigrating toPortugal.’
No consultation, no explanation. Her husband – the architect of their game plan for over 20 years – expected her to uproot her perfect life in London and decamp to a country she’d never visited before.
Why?
One
5 days earlier
At six in the morning, crickets were chirping in a quiet residential square in London’s Knightsbridge. For a few seconds, facedown, hands cradling the pillow, Emily listened to the soft trilling noise. It stopped, and she rolled onto her side. She could see Mark standing by the window. He twitched back the curtain – letting in a chink of light – then turned and padded off, his brow furrowed. Why, she wondered, it was Monday, Mark lived for Mondays, it was his favourite day of the week. What was troubling him? Was it just a challenging deal? She saw him pad across the carpet and jerk open the door. A streak of fur rushed in, and Emily felt the bedclothes tug, then tighten under the weight of two small dogs. She curled her legs around them and went back to sleep.
Over an hour later, Emily heard a soft scraping noise and blinked open her eyes. Across the duvet, she saw a mug on her bedside table and flipped over onto her back, wriggling herself upright against the silk pillows. ‘Thank you, just what I need,’ she said, yawning and reaching for the mug.
Svetlana, a stocky lady who reminded Emily of a school matron, appeared in the doorway of the ensuite bathroom, hugging a bundle of laundry to her chest. Her face was distorted, and Emily braced for the storm.
‘Why can’t he put his washing in the basket like you?’ she demanded.
‘Sorry. Soggy towel on the floor again?’ Emily asked, blowing on the tea.
Svetlana’s head bobbed up and down like a wagging finger as she complained, ‘And water everywhere, the bathroom floor, the carpet, even walls – how?’
‘The walls?’ Emily grimaced. ‘He’s in the throes of a big deal; you and I have lived through this before. We’ll both suffer until it’s completed. Yesterday was ghastly.’
Yesterday, at a lunch party in Wimbledon, Emily had watched Mark’s eyes light up whenever his phone buzzed and cringed when he snatched it up and disappeared into their host’s garden without so much as an apology. Later, going through her nightly beauty regime, she’d demanded an explanation. He’d been prickly all weekend. ‘You spent half the lunch party in the garden,’ she said as she dabbed a little more night serum onto her forehead. ‘Big deal on?’
‘You don’t want to hear about it.’
‘No, I don’t. You were rude today. To me, to our son, and to our hosts.’
Mark admitted hiding behind his phone to avoid the female guests fawning over Alex and his surfing stories.
Picking up his discarded toothbrush and placing it next to hers in the holder, she scolded him. ‘Our son is a talented surfer; you should be proud of him.’
Mark stalked past, talking over his shoulder. ‘So, he can stand up on a surfboard! What about standing on his own two feet financially? He’s twenty-two, not twelve.’
In unison, they pulled back the duvet and slithered underneath. As she dropped off to sleep the hum of a black taxi gliding past the house had soothed Emily’s mind. London was such a wonderful place to live.
At least yesterday there’d been no sharp words between her two men; Mark was bound by a longstanding promise never to bark at their son in someone else’s home. Now, Emily clicked her tongue and huffed.Why couldn’t they both try to get along?
Svetlana was tying the arms of a shirt around the laundry bundle.
Emily winced an apology ‘I’ll have another word with him, but I can’t promise it will change. His mother spoilt him.’
Svetlana grunted and waddled out of the bedroom.
‘Off you go, breakfast time,’ Emily said, using her feet to ease the two furry bodies off the bed. ‘I’ve got a list to make before walkies!’ The dogs jumped off and trotted after the disappearing housekeeper.
Bonus Day. Emily could sense it, the way her two dogs could sniff out an impending rain shower. Any day now. She must pull together a shopping list. Her big ask was a villa in Spain but, she concluded, sipping the hot tea, the villa wouldn’t eat into his bonus: Mark would finance it with debt, like he did all their properties. As the level in the mug dropped, her list grew: an automatic cover for the basement pool, new gym equipment, and a trip to a health farm in Austria. She popped the empty mug onto the side table, slid out of bed, and over to the walk-in wardrobe that spanned the width of the room. Flicking through the hangers, her eyes dropped to her tummy; a 12 might be more comfortable than a 10. New Year’s resolution – no chocolate. At five-foot-three, every extra pound showed.
Still mulling her spending plans, she summoned the lift, hollering down the staircase, ‘Floria! Tosca!’ During her descent, she mentally relocated the health farm expedition to California and added a garden makeover; Mark had enjoyed a stonking year. The lift doors opened to the clattering sound of tiny nails hitting the parquet floor. Emily leaned over the “teddy-bear” faces of her West Highland terriers fondling their stubby littlewhite ears. She called out, ‘Svetlana, I’m off. When I get back, let’s tackle my wardrobe, fish out some pieces for the hospice charity shop. Why not see if there’s anything from last year’s collections you like?’
Emily clipped leashes on her pets, and the pack lurched towards the door. She stumbled down the front steps, forced to walk clown-like, her legs akimbo, to avoid tripping. They made slow progress, pausing to inspect each lamppost, before picking up speed at the Brompton Road. In front of a man sellingThe Big Issue, Emily reined in her charges. ‘I’ll collect it on my way back,’ she said, handing over a twenty-pound note. ‘Keep the change.’
She dashed across the traffic to Hyde Park, where a woman dressed in a practical waterproof coat, hands stuffed in the pockets, stood by the Queen Elizabeth gates. Mary’s coat personified Emily’s friend of over twenty years. She was a no-nonsense lady who spoke her mind, so Emily wasn’t surprised by her opening gambit.
