‘Where is it?’ she asked.
‘On the main road. You must have walked past it. Juan left it there.’
‘Who is Juan?’
‘The man who owns the garage. It had to have an ITV.’
‘A what?’
‘Inspección Técnica de Vehículos. It’s to make sure the car can be allowed on the road. But if you see some of the cars and vans that people drive, I don’t think they have it.’
She thought Hugo must be referring to the Canarian equivalent of an MOT. ‘I don’t have insurance, though,’ she pointed out.
‘You have a driving licence?’
‘Yes…’
‘I have insured it for you. I know someone, who knows someone, who fixed it for you to drive my car.’
‘OK.’ She tried to appear grateful, but to tell the truth she was scared stiff. She’d never driven on the right before, and she didn’t know her way around, and all the road signs were in a foreign language, and—
Hugo must have sensed her panic, because he said, ‘I will come with you and show you the best supermarket, and we can buy something you like to eat, yes? You’ll have to bring the car to me and you’ll have to drive, but don’t worry, you’ll soon be driving like you are Lewis Hamilton.’ He chuckled loudly at his own joke.
Sophie wasn’t laughing; she was too nervous about the prospect of driving in a foreign country to find it funny. Didn’t Hugo realise that she had only ever driven in the UK? And he expected her to get behind the wheel now? Today? Eek!
At least she would have the very short reprieve of being able to get used to an unfamiliar car without Hugo sitting in the passenger seat and without being on a public road while she manhandled it down the track to the villa, so she supposed she had to be grateful for small mercies.
With considerable difficulty Hugo struggled to his feet and shuffled back inside, leaving Sophie to gather up the cups, then shut the folding doors and lock them. By the time she’d done that, he’d located his keys and handed them to her.
‘This is for the car. This is for the barrier at the top, and this one for the barrier here.’
‘Why are the barriers there?’ she asked curiously.
‘To stop anyone parking on the road. It is my road, and the only way to get onto the main road. Before the barriers, it was always blocked by cars belonging to the surfers. You will need these too.’ He dropped another set of keys into her palm. ‘A key to the house and to the gate.’
‘You don’t keep it padlocked all the time, do you?’
‘Not when I’m here, but when I go out, I lock it. There are some bad people about.’
Sophie’s eyes widened. For some reason she felt that nothing bad could, or would, happen in such a gorgeous part of the world, but she knew he was right.
She had to rein in the feeling that she was on an extended holiday and change her mindset. She lived here now, this was home (for a while), and back in the UK she’d never leave the house without locking it. If she had been fortunate enough to live in the middle of nowhere, she still would have locked her doors. Just because this place was idyllic, it didn’t mean there weren’t any criminals around, and with so many people using the coastal path which ran between the house and the plantation, all it would take was one thief and an opportunity.
All at once she realised just how isolated and alone she’d be for those few days when Hugo was in hospital, and she was very grateful that she’d have Paco for company. Locked gates, locked doors and a large dog were all the protection she needed.
Chapter 8
Sophie awoke to the boom of waves on rocks and she stretched slowly, letting the sound wash over her. Today was the first day of her adventure in Tenerife, and she intended to savour every minute of it, starting with making some coffee and taking it onto the terrace.
She’d always loved early mornings, when the world was fresh and new, and she sat there for a while, Paco keeping her company, watching the boats bob past. The island of La Gomera was clear this morning, with only a topping of cloud on its highest points and the sun highlighting the folds of the land and a sprinkling of white houses.
Taking a deep breath of fresh salt air, she felt at peace, and a quiet excitement bubbled inside her. Her duties wouldn’t be too hard, and she was actually looking forward to cleaning the villa from top to bottom and making it gleam.
‘Buenos días,’ Hugo said, shuffling onto the terrace and easing himself into a chair.
‘Morning,’ she replied breezily. ‘Can I make you a coffee? And some breakfast?’
‘Coffee is good. I do not eat breakfast.’
‘You don’t?’ She narrowed her eyes. Was that because he genuinely didn’t feel like eating in the mornings or because he couldn’t be bothered? ‘I’m going to have some pancakes, followed by fruit and yoghurt. Are you sure you wouldn’t like some?’
He pretended to think about it, but she noticed the glint in his eyes. ‘You can put a little on a plate if you want,’ he said, and she knew her instincts were correct.
Sophie switched on the radio and fiddled with it until she found the English station she used to listen to when she was on holiday, humming along to the songs as she set about making the pancake mix and preparing two bowls of chopped fruit topped by generous dollops of creamy yoghurt. It was ages since she’d made pancakes; they used to be her mum’s favourite breakfast and she felt a glow in her chest at the thought that her mother would approve of her making them for Hugo. He was too thin for her liking, and she fully intended to build him up before he had his operation.
They ate on the terrace with the soft wind ruffling their hair, and Sophie felt more contented than she had done for a long time. She was beginning to heal, and she knew it would be a slow process, but she understood that she’d made the right decision in coming here.
‘Is there anything in particular you’d like me to do today?’ she asked, mopping up the last of the syrup with a morsel of fluffy pancake. Hugo, she noticed, had cleared his plate and was diving into the bowl of fruit with gusto.
He shrugged. ‘Paco will need a walk.’
‘I’ll take him after breakfast,’ she said. ‘Anything else?’
‘Maybe you could wash some shirts? I have no more clean ones.’ He sounded so apologetic, her heart went out to him.
‘Of course, that’s what I’m here for. How about if I do what I think needs doing, and you tell me if you’re happy with it, or you want me to do something else?’ she offered, realising it must be hard for him to have a total stranger sharing his house. She also suspected she wasn’t just there for the practical stuff like washing and cleaning; he wanted her company too.
He shrugged again, seeming a bit uncertain.
‘Would you like me to fetch you some newspapers? I can walk Paco to the shops and pick you one up?’
‘That would be kind,’ he replied hesitantly, and she had to tamp down her sudden urge to wrap him in a hug.
‘Run me through your normal daily routine,’ she suggested. ‘I don’t want to interfere with it.’
He looked out to sea and pulled a face. ‘I make food. I walk Paco a little.’ He pulled another face, and she guessed the walking part must be difficult for him. ‘I watch the TV. I watch the boats.’