`Oh yes,' said Pitkeathly. The famous L'Escala north wind. Tell me, did you have much trouble selling your apartment?'
`I didn't try. I still own it, but I rent it out. I advertise in police publications, and I let only to coppers, active or retired. Being who I am, I never have any problem tenants. A very nice English lady called Mary manages it for me. It's hardly ever empty, and so the income covers all my overhead expenses out there, and puts fruit in the bowl as well. I'm a lucky guy, in every way. But tell me about you, Greg, and about your problem.'
Pitkeathly paused while Mr V's young waitress served the soup. He tasted the Caruso, which the wine waiter had opened, and nodded his approval. The young man filled the two glasses. As the staff then withdrew, he offered Skinner bread from a small basket.
`I've been in L'Escala for three years,' he began. 'Just to fill you in on my background, I own and run a medium-sized printing business called GFP. I have an office in Stafford Street, but my printing shop is in Slateford. I supply letter shy;heads, computer stationery, labels, and marketing materials, mostly to professionals and service businesses: lawyers, accountants, surveyors, PR consultancies, and so forth. My wife and I started the business fifteen years ago, and we've built the turnover steadily ever since. We don't have children, so we're both fully committed to the job. Even through the worst of the recession, we managed to make modest profits, and in the better years we've done quite well. We reinvest profits in plant and machinery, to ensure that we are always up with the technology. Quick response to customer needs is very important, and we have to maintain that capability.'
He sipped some wine, and continued. 'In the early years we pushed all of our spare money into our pension fund, and through that we bought the property which we occupy, and the factory unit next door to us — for possible expansion, you understand. About five years ago, with the business stable, the pension fund very healthy, and good back-up staff in place, we began to think that we should enjoy some of the fruits of success. So we started to look around for a holiday home. We decided that it should be reachable by car, since Jean doesn't like flying too much. And since I don't like the French too much, the Costa Brava was the obvious place. We did our research through the Sunday Times, approached a few companies with properties advertised, and took a trip out there to look at some of them. We saw Pals, Liafranc, Pallafrugel and L'Estartit, before we came upon L'Escala. But once we did, we were hooked. It was just the right size and had just the right feel to it.'
He glanced at Skinner. 'The L'Escala properties which we had arranged to view were being handled by a company called InterCosta. Does the name mean anything to you?'
Skinner thought for a moment. 'Yes, I think it does. Don't they have an office on the Passeig Maritim?'
`Yes, that's right. InterCosta seems to be some sort of limited partnership, operating in Spain and in the UK. In Scotland in fact. Our first contact, through the Sunday Times, was with an office in Stirling, in a business centre there, run by a man named Ainscow, Paul Ainscow. Have you ever heard of him?'
`Yes. I've even met him. A neighbour introduced us a few years back, in the bar of El Golf Isabel. A nice enough bloke, as I remember. Not as flashy as most of the property guys. I knew he was in that line, but I didn't connect him with InterCosta. I've seen him around a couple of times since then, so you could say we're nodding acquaintances.'
Pitkeathly grimaced. 'I hope that doesn't make the rest of my story awkward for you.'
`Let's see. Go on.'
`Well, we didn't meet Ainscow on that first trip. We were received by his Spanish director, a man named Santiago Alberni. He's a good English speaker, a very outgoing chap, and he couldn't do enough for us. He showed us two apartments in the price range we specified. One was quite noisy, with a lot of people around the pool, but the other was very quiet, and very secluded, away up at the top of the Riells area, almost in the woods, with a small garden and a south-facing terrace. Jean loved it, so we did some ritual haggling and bought it, furniture and fittings included. Santi was a big help to us settling in, and in lots of other ways. He told us where the best shops were, which restaurants to avoid, and so on. He's a great chap, and seems to have lots of friends, especially among the British community.'
He paused in his narrative to attack his stracciatella. Skinner replaced his spoon in his empty bowl.
`Yes, I've heard of Santi Alberni. I have several friends who know him, but I've never met him. Most of what I've heard squares with your experience. I did hear that he's just bought a new villa in Camp dels Pilans, where most of the head boys in the town hall live. So how did your problem arise?'
Pitkeathly took another sip of wine as the soup bowls were removed. 'That happened only recently.'
He paused as the staff returned with the main course.
Skinner looked in appreciation at his steak, which had been hammered flat, then delicately fried in a pepper sauce and garnished with a few vegetables. They ate in silence for perhaps thirty seconds before Pitkeathly put down his cutlery. `You don't mind if I go on while we're eating, do you?'
Skinner shook his head, and Pitkeathly launched into the next chapter in his story.
`Our new apartment was fine for the first couple of years, as we got to know L'Escala. But after a while, the downside began to develop. The honking Belgians for a start. I don't know if you've noticed, but the common-or-garden domestic Spanish brick has remarkable acoustic properties. It gives you no sound-proofing at all. In fact it does the opposite: it seems to carry sound. Well, a Belgian couple owned the apartment above us, a big beefy pair, and they always seemed to be there at the same time as us. Their bedroom was directly above ours, and they seemed to be at it non-stop. Like it or not — and we didn't — Jean and I heard every grunt, every moan, every groan, every squeaking spring. We used to read until the performance was over, because there was no point in trying to sleep through it. That was a major irritation, but there were others. The roads aren't great up there, and every time it rained, new ruts and valleys appeared. Also, while it was very secluded, conversely we were a long way from the centre, so we tended to drive everywhere. Finally, as time went on, we made more and more friends among the British property owners. It wasn't long before we had quite a social circle out there.'
Skinner nodded. 'I know what you're going to say now. You were invited to lots of drinks parties and, before you knew it, you discovered that your apartment was just too small for you to entertain properly. Am I right?'
Pitkeathly had returned to his steak. He nodded vigorously as he finished the mouthful.
`Spot on! That's just how it was. So the upshot of it all was that last autumn we went to Santi, and told him that we were interested in a move. That very same day, he took us to see a new development up behind Avinguda Girona, near the Guardia Civil barracks. He said that the builder was under pressure from his bank, and that he had cut his prices to achieve quick sales. Even as incomplete shells, they were beautiful apartments. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a big terrace looking out on the Pyrenees, all built to a very high standard, and all for eight million pesetas.'
Skinner did a mental calculation. 'That's under forty K at last year's exchange rate. Sounds like a good buy.'
`It was. It is. We did the deal. As a sweetener, Santi said that he would sell the other place for us at zero commission, and that he would get us over five million for it. He was as good as his word. We were due to take possession of the new place at Easter, and, in January, Paul Ainscow called to say that they had sold the old one for five million two. The buyers were a couple from Sussex named Comfort. I've never met them, not to this day. When he called us to give us the good news, Ainscow said that the Comforts had paid a deposit — around twenty per cent or so; those were his exact words — and that InterCosta had credited that amount towards the purchase of the new apartment. A few days later we received a receipt, bearing the company stamp, from Santi Alberni for one million pesetas.'