Weeks in Naviras (6 page)

‘Oh en-suiiiiite, how lovely!’ Her voice often became very high and thin. ‘Yes, all my rooms have their own bathrooms. Piping hot water as well. Any idea how many nights? It doesn’t matter if you can’t say now. Is it your first time in Naviras?’ We nodded. ‘Do you have a plane to catch? Well, let’s just leave it open-ended for the time being.’

I was opening up my purse but Lottie stopped me. ‘No need for that now, darling. Much better to put it all on one bill at the end. Less paper. Singles or twin?’

Gail said it would be nice to have her own bathroom. ‘Excellent, singles it is,’ said Lottie. ‘Loo-eesh!’

‘Coming,’ called a Portuguese man’s voice from somewhere beyond the archway at the top of the wooden stairs.

‘Oh, I’m so,
so,
sorry I haven’t even asked your names,’ said Lottie. We gave them and she wrote them down, ‘Gail, Ellie, two singles, done.’ She stabbed the pen down onto the paper, marking a full stop before sticking the pen back in her hair. ‘Go upstairs with Luis and make yourselves at home.’

A man appeared through the archway and immediately Lottie started talking to him rapidly in Portuguese, something about ‘cinco e seis’ was all I got.

‘Afternoon,’ said Luis, walking down the steps into the restaurant and not smiling. I didn’t realise it at the time, but it really wasn’t his job to show guests to their rooms. He was meant to manage Casa Amanhã, not serve as its bell-boy, but because it was so early in the summer Lottie hadn’t recruited any of her usual seasonal staff. He didn’t offer to take our bags, he merely gestured we should follow him up the creaky steps from the restaurant to the main guest-house, emerging in a small vestibule next to a larger stone staircase. It was a bit chilly in the rest of the house and not just because it was only April, Casa Amanhã was always surprisingly cool even in the height of summer. Despite the odd complaint from visitors Lottie never saw the point of installing air-con. ‘The ceiling fans work perfectly well, without all that ridiculous noise,’ she’d say.

The vestibule was rather chaotic, with beach toys propped up against a black metal fireplace. To our right a low bookshelf, but it was hard to tell where it began and ended because it was festooned with paperbacks. They formed precarious towers on the top shelf, well-read, dog-eared and yellow.

‘You can help yourself to any of this stuff,’ said Luis absently, gesturing for us to follow him up the main staircase which ascended at right-angles. As I took my first steps up I noticed the stairs also went down another floor, but it was too gloomy to see where they led. At the second floor we stepped out onto the small landing. There were only two doors and Luis opened them both.

‘Here you go, ladies, you can just come down and ask Lottie if you need anything. Your towels are at the end of the bed. Did Lottie tell you about breakfast and stuff?’ We shook our heads and he tutted. ‘Of course, you know Lottie forgets to tell people all the simple things, like that breakfast is between nine and eleven.’ He said it lovingly. ‘Your keys are in the locks on the inside of the doors. You should leave the keys with Lottie if you’re going to the beach, because if you lose them she’ll charge you a hundred euro, okay? Have a fantastic stay.’

He turned around and went back down the staircase. Gail said she fancied going down to the beach, maybe swimming in the sea? Hopefully that would sort out our hangovers, she said. We agreed to head back downstairs in ten minutes.

I only stayed in that room once. Every other time I’d been right at the top, on the fourth floor. The view from Room Five wasn’t so impressive because the trees in the garden obscured the village. All I could see through the open French windows were the gardens and our car. But it was a nice room, even though I’d end up spending almost no time in it.

I changed into my bikini, put a T-shirt and sarong over it and found my sandals. Gail was waiting for me outside my door when I opened it, saying she was keen to get into the sea. We thought we should hand in our keys before leaving, though, and headed back into the restaurant rather than straight out the front door of the guesthouse.

Lottie wasn’t there, nor the other girl I’d seen earlier. Looking again at the dimly lit room I noticed an old piano by the front door and I walked over to it. The lid was closed but couldn’t be opened easily due to a large landscape photo in a wooden frame propped on the top, where the sheet music would normally sit. The photo, yellowed and weathered, was of a woman with straight, shiny black hair,
standing in front of a map of the British Isles. She was pointing to the Mull of Kintyre with a small, coquettish grin.

Gail squinted. ‘Do you think that’s her?’


‘Maybe, the eyes are the same.’ We walked out through the large door we’d first come through and stepped onto the driveway. It was late afternoon but still warm. We were nearing the main the road when two young men came around the corner of the low wall and strolled into the garden.

‘Aye aye,’ said Gail, the moment she saw them.

Memories of that event that I salvaged later; certainly I wasn’t aware they’d be significant at the time so I always resisted notions of destiny when remembering how we walked towards each other, James and Rav dressed similarly in creamy knee-length shorts, both of them wearing crumpled short-sleeved shirts; Rav’s white, James’s powder blue. Rav walked slightly ahead of James and spoke first.

‘Afternoon ladies, you just got here?’ His reassuring airline captain voice there from the start.

‘Yeah, just now, from Lisbon,’ said Gail. ‘You guys with the stag party?’

‘Yep, certainly are,’ said James, quite well-spoken but with a distinct estuary twang on his vowels. ‘Although the stag’s still in bed, sleeping it off.’ He smiled at me.

‘I’m Ellie, nice to meet you,’ I offered my hand which James shook a little too firmly. His hand felt damp.

‘I’m Jamie,’ he said, eyes blue and red. ‘We’ve just been down to the café in the square, it’s the only place in the whole sodding village where there’s a phone signal.’

Gail introduced herself, giving one of her little cackles as she took Rav’s hand. There was a slightly uncomfortable silence as the four of us stood for a moment, all blearily hungover.

‘Well, we’re just going to explore a bit. Maybe go to the beach,’ I said, finally.

‘Great,’ said James. ‘Hopefully we’ll see you later for dinner?’

I know exactly where we’d stood that afternoon a decade ago on the driveway of Casa Amanhã, and feel like I’m disturbing ghosts as I cross the same spot. As I make my way down the empty driveway and into the silent garden I think about Gail and wonder how she’s reacted to my death. I wish I’d made more of an effort to keep in touch with her, after James’s career really took off and I quit work. We never fell out or anything, but it became difficult to see people like Gail because there were things I just couldn’t tell her. It’s disastrous, now, to think I could talk more candidly to Liz Brickman than my supposed best friend.

Casa Amanhã’s just the same, slightly dilapidated but still proud in its own way. The stationary sun’s filtered through the trees, the light making dappled patterns on the gravel. There’s no wind, the branches of the poplars seem frozen. I cross the turning circle in front of the house and walk through the left-hand door, wide open as usual.

The restaurant seems brighter than I remember, even though the candles aren’t lit. Two couples are sitting at tables nearest me, behind them a larger table of three middle-aged women. They’re a mixture of nationalities but again nobody I recognise. A woman’s sitting at the bar, looking straight at me. It’s Lottie, but then again it’s not. Her straight hair’s dark brown and ear-length, she’s wearing a long, floaty peacock-blue dress which clings to her thin waist. It’s how she’d looked in the old photo on the piano, stunningly beautiful. She doesn’t say a word, just beckons me to come over.

‘Lottie, it’s Ellie. Do you remember me?’

She smiles. ‘Of course I do, darling, why wouldn’t I?’ She seems more subdued here, her voice lower than before. ‘Would you like a brandy mel, darling?’

I tell Lottie I’d very much like a brandy mel. She pats her hand twice on a barstool, before sliding off her own effortlessly and walking around the counter. She’s wearing yellow velvet heels; I just know they’ll never get dirty. She ch
ooses a bottle from one of the shelves, picks up two dessert wine glasses.  ‘I’m surprised to see you here so soon,’ she says calmly, her eyes on the glasses as she pours. ‘Cheers.’

‘Cheers, Lottie,’ I take a sip. The taste of honey but not alcohol. But I think to myself; why drink brandy mel if you can’t get drunk?

‘So, what do you think?’ Lottie takes a step back away from the bar, gestures at herself and does a half twirl.

‘You look incredible, Lottie.’ It’s all I can say.

‘You know
when
I look like, from my life?’

‘When you first got this place, Lottie, I know. I can see it in your face.’

She beams and immediately I want to kiss her, sort of dissolve into her. Everyone must do when she smiles like that, I think. She walks back around the bar slowly, sits down on the stool next to me, crossing her legs over.

‘Do you feel like you did then?’ I ask.

She thinks for a moment. ‘No, I feel the same person inside as when…’ She doesn’t finish. ‘There’s lots about this place I keep remembering. You came out of the ocean, too? That was quite a surprise, I’d not been in the sea for years.’ She chuckles and it’s the same one I remember, the same scrunching of the eyes but no longer wrinkles. Endless Lottie, forever. Why would anyone want to leave?

‘What’s wrong darling?’ She’s eyeing me. ‘You’re not smiling.’

‘It’s just odd. I know you, but then I don’t.’ I’m struggling for the right words, knowing full-well Lottie can’t stand rudeness. I can tell she’s the same person I knew inside, at least. She looks away from me, over to the piano in the corner, smiles and nods at nothing. I follow her gaze; the old photo of the weather map isn’t there.

‘I think you get another go at things, if you want,’ she says.

‘Have you seen James.’

‘No, darling. Should I have?’

‘He died at the same time as me, Lottie,’ I wonder if she can read my face.

‘Well, he wouldn’t be here, would he, darling? He never really cared much for the village, that was patently obvious.’

I put my hand on hers. It’s not warm, like I expect it to be. ‘I’m so happy to see you. The only other person I’ve met here who I know is Luis.’

‘Ah yes, lovely, lovely Luis. Interesting how he’s staying down at the beach bar, don’t you think? I must say I was surprised he didn’t find himself here.’

‘Did Luis not say?’

She’s still looking at me directly. ‘I don’t think Luis is quite ready to be here, somehow. That’s why he won’t leave the beach.’

‘But he died on the beach. Well, in the sea.’

Lottie nods. ‘After I’d been here for a while I went down to the slipway. It’s lovely in the village, have you noticed? That part of the day when it’s still sunny but not too hot?’

‘I know.’

‘When I got
back down to the beach bar Luis walked in from the terrace, we said hello and it was all very nice, I told him what it was like up here at the house, and I said he should come with me. But he said he’d just stay for a bit longer and come up later. When I heard footsteps on the gravel outside I thought it would be him coming through that door, instead it was you.’

‘But Luis seems happy,’ I say. It didn’t quite sound like a question.

‘Of course he is! You’ll be too, once you get used to it. And after all, Luis has plenty of time to come up when he feels like it.’

I take another sip, wondering whether to mention Luis’s odd detachment from me. ‘I guess there’s a few things we need to talk about,’ I say.

Lottie shakes her head, looks at me intently. ‘No, darling, who we were, what we did, it doesn’t matter.’ Her eyes scan the room. ‘I do hope that’s what Luis thinks, too.’

‘Maybe he’s waiting for Carolina,’ I say. ‘But from the moment I stepped out of the ocean I’ve not wanted Sadie or Bobby to be here. I want them to have wonderful lives.’

‘That’s how I felt about Luis, darling, and you. Like I say, I’m surprised to see you so soon. But delighted.’ She lowers her voice. ‘You’re the first, you know, personable person to come in here.’ She looks briefly at the other people dotted around the restaurant.

My eyes follow hers. ‘These people were here before you.’

‘All of them, I’ve never seen them before, and they don’t know me.’ She acknowledges the people at table with a smile. ‘They came to Naviras long before I bought Casa Amanhã, it seems.’ She leans forward to me and whispers. ‘This house is theirs as much as mine, it doesn’t belong to anybody and really, it never did. I was just its custodian, if you like.’

‘I missed you so much, Lottie. What happened was…’ I want to say
devastating
, but the word won’t come out. It doesn’t want to, not here.

Lottie puts her hand back on mine. ‘That’s the curse of living, darling. I think I got out when the going was good. And that’s a blessing.’ I get the impression she doesn’t want to describe her own death. What would be the point, since I know all about it anyway?

‘I was talking to a couple in La Roda,’ I say, instead. ‘They’ve been here a long time, but they said most people just come and go.’

Lottie puts her palms together, places the tips of her fingers under her chin. ‘Yes, there’s always that,’ she sounds indifferent. ‘There’s the decision, I think. Would you stay forever, if you knew that once you left, that’d be it?’ She looked briefly across the restaurant then back at me. ‘This lot show no sign of leaving. I keep thinking I’ll have to close, soon! How silly.’

‘And you’ve decided to stay?’

‘Of course, at least for now. I’m having the time of my life!’ She looks at me. It’s meant to be a joke, I think. ‘I get all the pleasure of this place without any of the nuisance of running it. I take it you’ve learnt about how things just appear when you want them?’

‘Yes, Luis showed me.’

Lottie shrugs slightly. ‘I must say,
that
takes some of the fun out of it, to my mind. The joy of eating after the cooking. But never mind, at least there’s food to taste, and I can still pour the drinks. Now, would you like anything else, some Amarguinha, maybe?’

‘Lottie, I need to go up to Room Seven.’

She straightens herself on her stool. ‘James isn’t here, darling, honestly.’

Should pretend to feel sad, perhaps? ‘Would you mind if I went up there, anyway? Just to look around, take in the view of the village, you know.’

She just looks at me for a moment, her face frozen. Then it relaxes into a smile. ‘Of course, darling. You can go wherever you like, do whatever you need to do.’

‘Thanks, Lottie. Is there anyone staying up there at the moment?’

She chuckles to herself. ‘Of course not, silly. Why would there be? There’s no sleeping here. Now, once you’ve finished up there, come back down and talk to me some more. It’s so nice to see another familiar face up here.’

‘Up her
e?’


‘In the house, darling.’

‘I’ll be back in a moment,’ I say, getting up from the stool and walking up to the vestibule, which is surprisingly altered. The children’s beach toys are in their place, but the bookshelf’s empty, the paperback towers absent. I will the books to return but they don’t. That’s disappointing, I think, as I start to climb the main staircase. This place seems to have strange rules about what’s permissible.

I seem to glide past the first floor, where James and the stag party had stayed in the large dorm room. The doors all shut. Past the second floor, with the two rooms Gail and I used on our first visit. Doors open, rooms empty.

At the top of the house there’s just a small landing with a side-table. The door to Room Seven is wide open and I walk in. There’s the large four-poster bed, the red velvet duvet cover and the gigantic white pillows sticking out the top. The familiar watercolour painting of Naviras beach on the wall, Lottie painted that. So art’s allowed, I think, but not printed material. The double French windows leading to the balcony are open, revealing the sunny and silent village beneath me.

For the second time it occurs to me that the hotel’s missing. Then I notice something, a smallish building on the top of the western cliffs on the right. I can’t make out much detail as it’s in silhouette, but it’s definitely new. I’ve stared at the view from that balcony so many times, it’s impossible I haven’t noticed the building before.

I’d taken Lottie at her word and hadn’t expected James to be here, but really I’m not looking for him. I open the door to the en-suite bathroom. Inside the familiar rectangular window, at the top of the wall above the bath.

The old painting’s there, hanging above the sink, this one painted not by Lottie but by someone else, long before any of us came to Naviras. Its name etched into a little panel at the bottom of the frame,
O Pescador
. A fishing boat, pulled up on the slipway by Naviras beach. White-capped waves and feathery clouds. An old man with a large grey moustache sitting on the rim of his boat, smoking a pipe, looking calm and satisfied with the catch at his side, a large dorada fish laid out to dry on the slipway. The fisherman’s wearing his blue cap as usual, the same brown waistcoat and white trousers. Light brown sandals. Traditional. Authentic.

Morgan Cross would’ve called it
quaint.
That’s how she would’ve found everything in Naviras. I lift the painting off its hook. There’s nothing behind it, just the whitewashed wall. Now, seeing it, I begin to feel there must be something fundamentally wrong. There should be a small alcove in the wall, covered by the painting. Actually just a brick missing from the wall, the alcove had been central to so much that had happened in Naviras over several years. How can it be missing? I have a sense of wanting to run, and to keep running. To where, I don’t know. I feel like I’m expanding, or perhaps that the room’s compacting. For a moment longer I stare at the wall before putting the painting down, resting it on top of the sink. I take a step back, willing the alcove to appear. It doesn’t, it can’t.

I know I have to come clean to Lottie, ask her whether she knows about the alcove. Surely she must and maybe she’ll explain the hole’s absence. I leave the bathroom and am about to walk out of Room Seven when I catch something out of the window. This time something that shouldn’t be there, but is. In disbelief I walk over to the French windows and step onto the balcony.

It’s snowing; only lightly but in large flakes, meandering down vertically from the sky. I watch as one lands on my hand, it’s fluffy but not cold. It doesn’t melt, just sits there on my skin like a fleck of ash from a bonfire.

The sky remains blue and entirely cloudless. It’s not clear where the snow’s coming from, but it’s falling harder now, every flake traveling at the same speed, in unison, settling on the roofs of the fisherman’s cottages down in the village, gathering on the branches of the poplars in Lottie’s garden. I’m pretty confident it’s never before snowed in this part of the world. But then, this isn’t really Portugal, I think.

It’s definitely time to speak to Lottie. I walk quickly out of the bedroom and make my way down the stairs. They’re steep but I don’t feel the need to hold the handrail, somehow I know I won’t trip or fall. On the way downstairs a thought occurs to me; if secrets exist after death, if Luis still holds the same feelings for me he’d had in life, then I’d know one way or the other by checking the wine cellar. It’d been the only other hiding place for us, not just in Casa Amanhã but the whole of Naviras.