No Place in the Sun (21 page)

‘Grow up, Tom, the world is a tough place and I’m a tough woman. Get over it, kid.’

‘Just keep off my pitch, Tania; stay up in Alicante with the junk merchants and leave the Costa del Sol to us.’

Her voice hardened. ‘Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do, Tom Murphy, it’s a free market and anyone can compete, but I’m not out to go head to head with Sunspots anyway. I can deal with much softer opposition elsewhere, without fighting with you guys.’

‘As long as we understand each other.’

‘Look, Tom, I’m not out to fight with you, after all we have a bit of a history.’ She was laughing again.

‘Don’t remind me.’

‘Come on, don’t tell me it was a chore.’

‘No, hardly that.’

‘Then how about we bury the hatchet, there’s plenty in this for both of us, what do you say to dinner next week, on me?’

‘I’m not going there again.’

‘I’m not suggesting anything of the sort, just a civilised bite of food in a decent restaurant, make up for pulling the wool over your eyes last month.’

‘No thanks, I’d rather pass on that one, Tania.’

‘Come on; is a big lad like you afraid of a little girl like me? I’m not going to jump you. How about next Monday night?’

Tom thought about it for a minute, it would be better to have this discussion face to face, give her a piece of his mind. ‘Ok, Monday night it is, but bring your credit card, you owe me, big time.’

‘Ok, it’s a date.’

‘It’s not a date, it’s a meeting, get anything else out of your head.’

‘Whatever you wish, I guess you don’t fancy me any more.’

‘I never fancied you, you just happened to be in the right place at the wrong time.’

‘See you Monday, lover.’

Tom thought about his coming meeting with Tania several times during the week, he wondered what she was playing at. No doubt she was looking for more information, but this time she wouldn’t be getting anything from him. If anything, he might give her a few bum steers, send her off on a few wild-goose chases and waste her time like she had wasted his.

He didn’t tell Harry about his phone call; something held him back from keeping his boss fully in the picture. It was quite possible that Tania Sherry had a business proposition for him; why else would she be so anxious to meet him again? He wasn’t kidding himself to think that she had any feelings for him; her willingness to climb into his bed was just a mixture of too much drink and her need to find out more about the Sunspots operation in Spain. Bloody whore really, but then what did that make him? He didn’t want to think too much about that.

The sales material for Marco’s new project, Playa Marron, had arrived and Harry wanted to make inroads into it as a matter of urgency. ‘The tide is lapping at our ankles, Tom, the place will be full of foreign property agencies in another few months and we will get lost in the rush if we’re not careful. I want to try to hang on to our lead for as long as possible but I can see a time coming when this becomes a free for all and descends into chaos.’

They had an exhibition arranged for the weekend, but it was one of four Spanish property exhibitions scheduled for the city that week. The bicycle man, as Harry called him, was selling his villas, as was Tania Sherry, and an English company was trying to cash in on the boom and had sent a sales team over for two days. They were unlikely to pose much of a threat; they had booked an obscure location that was off the beaten path, and anyway people preferred to deal with local companies. Sunspots was still the big player, and they had three projects on sale, the original two and the new one at Playa Marron.

Far from suffering from the extra competition, the show proved to be a big hit. The increased awareness brought about by the extra advertising in the broadsheets, and the feeling that bargains were still to be had but not for long, was driving people to the shows in ever increasing numbers. Tom had worked late on writing the editorial pieces for the newspaper property sections, and his glowing reviews of Playa Verde and Playa Marron were driving the punters into the Old Masters Hotel in their droves. The pressure was on the sales team, but they were well used to stress and they kept ticking off the sales. Miguel had brought an assistant with him from Spain and the queues had been shortened at his desk, and Harry’s niece was marshalling buyers from the salesmen to the lawyers and weeding out the tyre kickers and timewasters.

This one was definitely a ‘Care in the Community,’ according to Walter’s categorisation system. The man was anxious to talk, and had obviously found that a salesman at a property show was a perfect captive audience for his ramblings. He had to be got rid of as soon as possible, the floor was full of buyers and valuable time was being wasted.

‘I want to buy a place in Spain, I’m going to sell my flat and move to Spain.’ He was about thirty five, give or take a few years, and had a slightly haunted look.

‘How much do you have to spend?’ Tom was humouring him, looking for a chance to ditch him and get on with business.

‘The lads said I’d get a lot of money for my place, it’s worth a packet they said.’

‘The lads?’

‘Down in Fortune’s bar, I go there on Fridays.’

‘After work?’

‘No, I don’t actually work, I was on a few training schemes though.’

‘And the lads, your friends are they?’

‘Oh yes, I have lots of friends actually, seven actually, they tell me that I’d get a woman no bother in Spain, she’d wash and cook for me and all.’

‘I think that the best person to help you would be Walter, the man over there, he’s the man for relocations to Spain, I just do holiday homes.’

‘He sent me over to you, do you have any brochures?’

Tom gathered a copy of each of the brochures and handed them across the table. The client opened a pull-along suitcase and added the brochures to a substantial amount of similar paperwork in the case, including as far as Tom could see another set of the same brochures. However there was still no sign of him moving.

‘Do you think I’d get a woman in Spain? Have you a woman yourself?’

Tom ignored the second question, it was none of this idiot’s business, and anyway he didn’t have time for a woman in his life, not just yet while this crazy rollercoaster of work was still running.

‘I reckon you’d get a woman no bother, they love Irish men, but we don’t really do properties that are suitable for relocating, more rental properties or holiday homes, that sort of thing.’

‘And who would sell me a place that I could live in?’

Tom wrote a telephone number on a piece of paper. Try this fellow, Sean Simpson, he’s an expert in that field, relocates lots of people every year, he’s your man. I wouldn’t want to take your money and sell you the wrong thing, talk to Sean. Or better still, go and see him.’

‘Ok, I’ll do that, where would I find him?’

‘He has a bicycle shop as well, down the quays, Simpson’s Cycles. You’ll get him there any morning.’

‘Oh I know that place, ‘Simpsons, Simpsons, Simpsons, big wheels in bicycle sales.’ He sang the advertising jingle in a tuneless monotone.

‘Ok, thanks for dropping in; good luck with Sean Simpson.’

‘Big wheels in bicycle sales, big wheels in bicycle sales.’ The man was slow to move; he just sat there, tunelessly repeating the jingle.

Tom drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘Could you make room for the next customer please? Thank you.’

‘Why would you need a sail on a bicycle? It wouldn’t be much use to you would it? Not unless your chain was broken maybe.’

Tom tried to keep his temper. ‘Not that kind of sail, can you move along now please?’

‘But then again, unless the wind was blowing the direction you were going in, then it would be useful maybe. So you think I should go and see this Simpson man?’

‘That’s it exactly; he’ll be glad to help. Now I’ll have to move you along, that lady wants to talk to me.

As soon as there was a lull Tom grabbed a coffee and sat down at Walter’s desk. ‘Thanks for sending me a ‘Care in the Community,’ just what I needed at the busiest time of the day.’

Walter laughed. ‘I had him at the last show as well, he was hovering around your desk then too but he didn’t get near you, I thought it was only fair that you got to meet him as well.’

‘Next time, send him to Simpson’s, that’s what I did.’

‘Sean Simpson will love you for that, on top of all the calls you make to his secretary asking her for brochures.’

‘She’s Spanish, doesn’t get the nuances, the Zoo must have a pile of Simpson brochures for Tom Lyons and Paddy Lyons at this stage. ‘As well as Mr T. Iger and Mr. Leo Pard. Simpson’s client database must read like the jungle book.’

‘Anyway Walter my old buddy, don’t send me any more like him, deal with them yourself. I reckon he’s a few cans short of a booze up.’

Walter smiled. ‘It’s not right to mock the afflicted as they say, but he’s delusional. His flat probably belongs to the Council and the local wags have persuaded him that it’s worth a fortune and that he could sell it and move to Spain. He drags around a wheelie suitcase full of property brochures and holiday brochures, probably living on a few bob welfare. Anyway, Sean Simpson will have something for him, might sell him a bicycle.’

‘Tell him to get on his bike, more like. You’d wonder sometimes though, wouldn’t you?’

‘Wonder about what?’

‘Is it him that’s mad, or is it the people buying all this stuff?’

Tom wasn’t in the humour for dining out; the weekend had been tough and he really felt like spending a night in front of the TV and getting to bed early, but he was a little curious as to why Tania Sherry was so anxious to buy him dinner.

He hadn’t been to the restaurant before, although he had heard of its reputation as one of the best places in town. He got out of the taxi and almost fell through the front door as the uniformed doorman jumped to attention and opened it suddenly. The place certainly looked expensive, with valet parking and the tables crowded with gleaming silverware on thick white linen. She was waiting for him in the small bar area, and within a few minutes they were being shown to their table.

‘Would you like something to drink, madam, sir?’ The waiter was hovering.

‘I’ll just wait for the wine, do you want something, Tom?’ Different when she was paying herself maybe, in Mesa Bella she had demolished several gins and tonic before the food arrived.

‘Nothing for me either, just the menu please.’ Two could play at that game.

They ordered the food and kept the conversation light, Tom was still very annoyed with this woman and it was showing. Tania tasted the wine and indicated to the wine waiter that he should pour it. She raised a glass.

‘Here’s to future success, Scorpio and Sunspots, may we conquer the world.’

‘I’m not sure I should be toasting your new company, seeing as how you picked our brains for your start-up.’

‘Oh come on, Tom; all’s fair in love and war. Don’t hold grudges; let’s get on with making some money. Plenty of room for us all.’

Tom reluctantly raised his glass. ‘Good luck with your scheme, but try to stay on your own side of the road, ok.’

‘Whatever you say.’

Tom had ordered a steak, and it arrived perfectly done, just as he liked it. Tania attacked the lobster slowly and methodically, like a scientist dissecting a specimen, but she just picked at the meat as she freed it from the shell and didn’t seem to be eating much. Tom kept the conversation to a fairly good humoured banter and avoided issues of contention, no point in spoiling a good meal with uncivil conversation. By the second bottle of wine he was feeling a little more mellow; Tania Sherry was actually quite good company if you ignored the fact that she was a bit mad.

‘What did you do before you got into the property business?’ Tom knew nothing of her background, but she appeared to be successful at whatever it was that she did.

‘I’m actually a doctor’, she said, ‘Doctor Sherry at your service.’

‘That’s interesting.’ He couldn’t resist a dig. ‘But if you’re a doctor, why didn’t you do your own tits then?’

She took it well and laughed uproariously.

‘Not a medical doctor, although sometimes I let people make that mistake if it suits me. I actually have a doctorate in Spanish, from Barcelona University; I spent two years there on post-graduate study.’