‘Where does he play his golf?’ I asked.
‘At Torremirona, the new course up towards Figueras.’
She turned back to the sangria and poured us each a glass. ‘I promise you,’ she said, ‘this isn’t too strong. You can come a right cropper with sangria. All the bars make it differently. There’s brandy in most of them, gin in others. Christ, I’ve had some where I’ve been sure there’s been bloody strychnine lurking in there.
‘This is safe, honest. Here,’ she picked up the plate, ‘have some grub.’
The sandwiches turned out to be filled with anchovies and escalivada — sliced peppers and onion fried in olive oil. They were all absolutely fresh, and the bread was still warm. ‘D’you bake this yourself, Shirley?’ I asked, half in jest.
‘Yeah,’ she replied, completely in earnest. ‘I buy in the dough, freeze it, then just stick it in the oven when I need it. That’s how bleedin’ bored I can get out here. I mean, baking my own bread. If my Clive can see me now, he must be roarin’ with laughter, wherever he is.’ She glanced briefly downwards as she ripped off a handful of baguette.
‘Go on, then,’ she said, escalivada sandwich held ready for action. ‘Tell us your story, then. Everybody’s got one out here. We get all sorts of couples turning up along this part of the Costa; Brits, French, Germans. Hell of a lot unmarried, very few of them with too much to say about what they did in England. Most of them are knockin’ on a bit, though. You two are the exception. You’re the first pre-wrinklies I can remember settling down out here. So what brought you?’
I looked at Prim. She smiled and nodded very slightly, amusement in her eyes as she wondered what I would say. I think I surprised her by telling the truth. ‘I was in the investigation business in Edinburgh. Prim and I did a job on a paid-by-results basis. We got a great result, got paid a lot, and thought we would move out here for a while.’
Prim nodded. ‘That’s right. But after three months, like you, we were beginning to get lethargic. Hence the new business.’
‘Lethargic in three months! And you’ve got a bloke. I’ve been here three years, and all I’ve got for company is him across there. When he deigns to pay me a visit, that is.’ She wiped her chin and jerked a thumb in the direction of the summerhouse, all in the same movement. ‘So have you cut your ties with Scotland?’
‘Yes,’ said Prim.
‘Not exactly,’ said I, in the same moment.
‘Oh yes?’ said Shirley, looking at us, from one to the other and back again.
‘What I mean,’ said Prim, ‘is that we agreed when we left we didn’t want to live there any more. What Oz means is that we’ve realised that, apart from family ties, if we want to make this business work we must have a home base. That’s about right, isn’t it, darling?’
I couldn’t do anything but nod. It was the truth, chronologically, and I could live with it, even if it didn’t take account of subsequent developments. But for a moment, it did bring a picture of Jan back into my mind, and a pang to my stomach as my internal hamster did another lap of its treadmill.
‘Shirley,’ said Prim, judging that the moment was right, ‘we might need the odd bit of research assistance with our commissions. We were wondering if you’d be interested in helping us. I mean the sort of research you can do by telephone, not knocking on doors at midnight,’ she added, hurriedly.
Shirley looked at her in surprise, then beamed. ‘You mean it?’ she said. ‘Too bloody right I’d be interested. When Clive was alive, I used to be involved in the business. But our John doesn’t like having me around in the office. He says it undermines his authority. So my business year now consists of three board meetings … that’s me and him … and a personal appearance at the staff Christmas party. I do a mean Shirley Bassey, mind.’
Without warning, she sprang to her feet, and for a moment, I thought that we were in for ‘Goldfinger’. Instead, she put her hands on her well-rounded hips and looked across the garden, towards the summerhouse.
‘Hey,’ she called out. ‘At bleedin’ last. The great man puts in an appearance. Get yer arse around here, Davidoff, and be sociable.’
Both Prim and I followed her gaze, across to the summerhouse. One of the big wooden doors stood ajar. Moving at a leisurely pace, a figure emerged into the daylight. My first impression was one of total darkness, as if someone had cut a hole in the day. He wore a black silk T-shirt, black slacks with a razor crease, black shoes and black socks. His skin, that which we could see, was deeply tanned, and his hair though it was cropped into the side of his head, and into a sharp ‘V’ on top, had the same silky sheen as his shirt. Setting it all off, he wore a flamboyant black patch, silk once again, over his right eye. The other gleamed and flashed darkly.
He ambled round the pool, with determined disinterest, his mouth set in something akin to a scowl … until, in the shade behind the palm trees, he caught sight of Prim.
In a flash, he was transformed. The scowl became a grin of delight, the malevolent eye lit up like a small sun, and he straightened. His stroll turned into a brisk, almost military walk, as he bustled forward, ignoring Shirley and me.
‘Primavera, my dear one,’ he said. ‘This great fool of a woman tells me that she had guests. I guess it is some of the unspeakable Belgians that she has here all the time. She does not tell me it is you, my brightness.’
He seized her hands in his and kissed them, pressing them to his mouth. Prim gazed, smiling, up at him. It was the first time I had ever seen her overwhelmed.
‘Oi!’ If there had been coconuts in the palm trees, Shirley’s bellow would have shaken them loose.
‘Stand up straight, you ’orrible little mongrel, and leave the lady alone.’
He did as he was told, although his shining gaze stayed fixed on Primavera.
‘This is Oz,’ said Shirley, heavily. ‘Oz Blackstone … and listen carefully to this bit … Primavera’s partner and lover. Oz, this, for what it’s worth, is Davidoff. Don’t ask me what his other name is.’
At last he turned his eye towards me. I could almost feel it as it ran me up and down. ‘Listen to her,’ he said. ‘Who needs more than one name, my friend? I am Davidoff, you are Oz, and she, the lovely Primavera. These names are enough for us.’ He turned to our hostess. ‘And this, of course, is Shirley. Sure there are a million fucking Shirleys in the world, but I bet you don’t find another like this lady.’
He spread his arms out in a great, expansive gesture. ‘We four, we are all unique. You meet us you never forget us. Not like the unspeakable Dutch! They are all the fucking same, in their caravans with the bicycles fixed on the back, crawling along the roads like fucking tortoises.
‘And Oz, my new friend, you are special above all men. You have a prize beyond jewels. You take to your bed this lovely woman, for whom even my body lusts without shame, even if it is also without hope. Spend wisely the days of your youth, my boy, for they are numbered, and they are running out.’
He was hypnotic, the man, his hands gesticulating, waving, swooping as he spoke. I looked at him, trying to guess his age, but he was even harder to place than Shirley. Davidoff seemed to have been fashioned out of leather. His dark olive skin seemed smooth as velvet, and it had a suppleness which made me suspect that it had been oiled. His hair, on closer inspection, looked almost certainly to be dyed, but there was no trace of shadow or stubble on his chin to confirm this.
The only thing about him which seemed to hint at significant age was the white of his eye. In fact, white was no longer an appropriate term. It seemed to have darkened as if to match the rest of him, to a shade of yellow which was almost approaching amber.