‘Sí?’
‘Do you want a carer or a home help?’
‘Qué?’
She knew what ‘qué’ meant – her mum used to love watching reruns of Fawlty Towers.
‘Someone to help you after you have your operation,’ she amended.
‘Sí, yes, I need help with the clothes, the food, the cleaning…’ He trailed off, then called out, ‘Come in, come in,’ beckoning her inside the gates.
Sophie had assumed they were locked because she could clearly see a chain and padlock, but closer inspection revealed the padlock wasn’t in fact locked, so she threaded the chain through the railings and pushed the gate open; it wouldn’t do to rush off now that she’d disturbed him, she decided, not wanting to be rude.
She tried not to stare at the garden as she walked up the short driveway, but it was even prettier from the inside than it had appeared from the coastal path, with flowering climbing plants growing up the high walls, and the giant palm trees waving in the breeze and casting their shade on the house. There were also the typical cacti which were so prevalent on the island, and in the corner furthest away from the sea was what looked like a vegetable plot.
Dear God, she’d give her right arm to own a place like this.
‘Your name?’ the elderly man asked her, and she came to a halt on the porch.
‘Sophie Lakeland,’ she replied.
‘Hugo Santana Negrin,’ he said. ‘You want the job?’
‘Er… um…’ Surely he wanted to know more about her, give her an interview at least, before he offered her the position?
Suddenly she found she didn’t care whether he followed the usual protocols or not – she wanted to accept. In all honesty, she didn’t want to return to the UK. She wanted to remain in Tenerife, and she wasn’t too picky about what she’d have to do to make it happen. He needed an assistant of some kind, and she needed a job and somewhere to live. It was the solution to both of their problems.
‘That’s wonderful!’ she exclaimed. ‘Thank you so much. I promise I won’t let you down.’ Then she saw the confusion on his face and realised she might have been a little premature and that maybe he hadn’t been offering her the job after all.
She bit her lip, her heart sinking, disappointment pricking behind her eyes. For a moment there, she’d envisioned herself calling this place home, even if it was only for a few months.
‘You are here about the job?’ he asked, rather more clearly.
‘Yes, I am.’
She lifted her chin and was just about to put forth an argument as to why she should be considered for it, when he said, ‘You must come in,’ and opened the door wider, jerking his head towards the interior of the villa.
‘Oh, OK, thank you.’ She stepped past him and into a shaded hallway, her pumps slapping on the marble floor. It was cooler inside, and she realised the reason for the shutters being closed was to keep the midday sun out. Then she wondered if he ever opened them at all, or whether he lived in a permanent state of semi-darkness.
She waited for him to shut the door and show her the way, noticing as he went past her that he was using two sticks to help him walk, and that he was older than she’d first thought. From a distance, and in spite of the salt and pepper hair and whiskers, she had guessed he was in his fifties, but up close she revised her estimate upwards by at least a decade. He appeared robust, though, mobility issues aside, and was quite tall, with broad shoulders which were currently hunched because his walking sticks were too short.
‘Please sit down,’ he said, leading her through a doorway and into a room which ran the full length of the back of the house.
It was a room that made her heart sing. The shutters were open and light streamed in from two sets of double doors facing the ocean. If it wasn’t for the terrace immediately outside the doors, she could almost imagine the house was floating on the sea itself. There was nothing in sight apart from water and sky, and the odd boat in the distance.
When she finally dragged her gaze away from that magnificent view, it was to find Mr Santana (or was that his middle name, and she really should be calling him Mr Negrin? Or maybe it was a double-barrelled name, Santana-Negrin?) staring at her with a knowing expression on his face.
‘La vista, the view, is beautiful,’ he said. ‘It hits you, here.’ He thumped a hand to his chest, dropping one of his sticks in the process.
Sophie made to retrieve it, but he waved her away.
‘I can do this,’ he said, doing an awkward sideways bend in order to pick it up. When he was upright again and steady on his legs, although a little redder in the face, he indicated once more that she should sit.
She sank down onto an old sofa, most of it covered by a woollen throw, and Mr Whatshisname took a more upright, high-backed chair, which she guessed was easier for him to get in and out of.
‘The job,’ he began, ‘you want to… er… ask for it?’
‘Apply?’ she said. ‘Yes, please.’ She stopped, not knowing where to start.
‘Do you live here?’
‘On Tenerife? No, but I’d like to.’ For a while, at least, until she’d decided what she wanted to do and where she wanted to go.
‘You are cleaner?’
Cleaner than what? she wondered, then she understood what he meant. ‘Not exactly, although I can clean, and cook, and do the laundry.’ She paused. ‘I looked after my mother for many years, so when I read the notice saying you needed help to recover from an operation, I thought I would apply. I nursed my mum towards the end.’
‘The end?’
‘She passed away. Died,’ she added, seeing him frown.
‘Ah. Your mother, she has not been dead long?’
‘Twenty-nine days.’
‘I am sorry.’
‘So am I, but life moves on,’ she added brightly, feeling the familiar sting of tears and blinking them away.
He said nothing more for a while, and although she was desperate to ask him whether she was in with a chance, she remained silent.
‘Can you do this?’ he asked her. ‘Should you?’
She understood him immediately. ‘It’s what I know, it’s what I’m used to. And it gives me a breathing space. Somewhere new, with new people.’
‘But doing what you are comfortable doing?’
He understood her too, it seemed.
She nodded slowly. ‘Look, Mr Santana… er, Negrin…’
‘Call me Hugo.’
‘Hugo.’ She nodded. ‘I might not have any qualifications, but I can run a house and I’ve had experience of people recovering from operations, so…’
‘Do you like dogs?’
Sophie blinked. ‘I guess so. Yes?’
‘Paco!’
There was nothing for a second or two, then she heard the click of claws on tiles and the largest dog she’d ever seen padded into view, his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth, his curved tail waving slowly from side to side.
The animal plodded over to her, the top of his head almost level with her chin, and sat down, then gave her his paw, plonking it in her lap. It weighed as much as a small child and felt solid and heavy.
‘He likes you,’ Hugo said.