Weeks in Naviras (8 page)

‘Well, good,’ James replied quickly. ‘That means I’m doing a decent enough job, I guess.’

‘I suppose so. And you?’ I turned to Rav.

‘I’m in the political department,’ he said. ‘I work out our attack lines, or try to.’ Rav seemed quite drunk, his eyeballs distinctly mobile.

‘And how about you,’ asked James.

‘Just completed bar exams,’ I said, lightly, as though they’d been nothing. ‘Looking for a
pupillage at the moment, that’s not going so well.’

‘What sort of law?’

‘English law,’ I said, and James laughed. It hadn’t been funny. ‘No, probably litigation, that’s where the money is, of course. Definitely not criminal.’ I explained how I’d been a solicitor for a few years before making the transition.

‘That’s an unusual path to take,’ said Rav, pouring our fourth brandy mel. ‘I mean most people...’ He didn’t finish.

‘Most people don’t go for the Bar when they’re as old as me, you mean?’

Rav looked embarrassed. ‘Sorry, I was just basing that on people I know.’

‘Oh, I’m not daft,’ I said. ‘I know it’s going to be tough to get into chambers at my age, but I’m willing to give it a go.’

‘You know, the Tories have a society of lawyers,’ said James, perking up a bit. ‘That might be good networking for you.’

‘That’s not usually how it works,’ I said. ‘Not everything’s about who you know.’

‘I know,’ said James. ‘But most things are.’

‘My father’s a lawyer, too,’ I went on. ‘In-house, but he knows everybody. If it were as simple as just asking Daddy for help..’

‘You’re competing with embryos for a job, I suppose,’ said Rav.

‘Yep, hundreds going for every pupillage, and everyone probably thinks I’m about to get knocked up,’ I said. ‘Not that that’s about to happen.’ That last bit came out unintended.

James was smiling. ‘Still, how about I put you in touch with some lawyers in the party, anyway? You might like them.’

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘But don’t tell Gail we’ve had this discussion. She’d kill me if she thought I was hanging out with Tories.’

‘Well, Tories don’t really
hang out
,’ said James.

‘You two seem to be doing a reasonable job of it,’ I replied.

James laughed, genuinely, with straight teeth and tiny creases around the sides of his mouth. I caught Rav smiling to himself, a patient tolerant smile.

Lottie had probably heard the laughing. She came down the stairs from the vestibule slowly, one hand holding the handrail, wearing a full-length lavender dress with many sequins.  Because it was so dim in the restaurant they didn’t sparkle, they glinted. In her other hand was the complaints book.

It’s obvious to me now that Lottie never really liked James. I’d soon learn that the stag party had trashed their dorm bedroom on their first night, Luis had spent much of that afternoon repairing the curtain rail. James insisted he and Rav had been among the more sober stags, but their cards had been marked. Perhaps she’d already decided she liked me though, because Lottie came up to me immediately, putting the book down on the bar.

‘Hello again, my dear, how are you, settled in?’ She didn’t let me answer. ‘It’s a lovely room isn’t it? Just a perfect, perfect view, not so high up as it’s in the wind. Well I
see you’re alright for drinks. Do you three know each other?’

‘We do now,’ said Rav. ‘I hope we haven’t caused you too much inconvenience, Mrs, er…’

‘
Miss
St. Paul. But I much prefer Lottie, thanks all the same.’

Rav was being super-polite to Lottie. Not just because they were sheepish about their nocturnal rampage, but because when sober his instinctive sense of being respectful to elders kicked in. He’d been well brought-up.

‘It’s not a problem, darling,’ said Lottie, making it abundantly clear that her patience had been tested. ‘I just need to talk to you about the complaints book.’

‘What complaints book?’ asked James.

‘This one,’ said Lottie, opening it up to the most recent entry. ‘I found it at the bottom of the stairs. Not sure how it got there, but there’s this…’

Lottie turned the book around so James, Rav and I could read it. Someone had scrawled:
No decent gash, get some women in here, pronto!!!

James blushed deeply, Rav facepalmed.

‘You see in Portugal, a complaints book is a legal document,’ said Lottie, ‘See how the pages are numbered? If I get a visit from the local inspectors and there’s a page torn out, I could be fined.’

‘Listen, I’m so,
so
sorry about this,’ said James, looking at Rav in despair.

‘I’ll bet it was Harry,’ said Rav, after a small groan.

‘Yeah, the hand of Harry,’ agreed James. ‘Look, I’m sorry but this wasn’t either of us, it was probably the stag,’ I think he was worried Lottie would throw them out.

‘Oh, don’t look so terrified, darling, it’s not really an issue, Just a silly old book.’ Lottie shot me a conspiratorial look. ‘What I need is for you to cross it out, and write below it, saying it was put there by mistake.’

As James was saying yes, of course, he’d get Harry to come down and apologise and amend the complaints book, I was leafing through the previous remarks made by other guests. It was fairly obvious Casa Amanhã was a love-or-hate affair, with most commenters effusive in their praise. There were a few dissenting voices, though:

W
e shall not be returning,
intoned one comment, a man’s copper-plate handwriting.

Unbelievable.  No wifi in the room and no phone for a wake-up call, what is it with this place? Haven’t you heard of the frickin INTERNET!!!
The bubbly letters of a young woman. 

‘Right, I’m going to get Harry.’ Rav pushed himself off his stool a little unsteadily.

‘No, there’s no rush darling!’ Lottie said this in an offhand way before turning to me. ‘Now would you like another brandy mel? Actually, I think you should try some Amarguinha…’ This added before we could respond as Lottie disappeared into the back of the kitchen.

‘What’s she off to get?’ asked James.

‘I’ve no idea.’ We sat in an uncomfortable silence for about ten seconds before I spoke again.

‘So you’re aiming to become a politician?’

James paused for a moment. ‘Yes. I’d like to stand for Parliament, I’m hoping the MP in my home seat will step down, soon.’

‘You’re a little bit young aren’t you?  What are you, thirty?’

‘Thirty-two, actually. And that’s not so young, nowadays. Some people have already fought a seat by my age, a few have won them.’ There was a hint of bitterness.

‘Don’t you think little episodes like the complaints book might damage your public image?’

‘Uh, yes, I do actually,’ James looked slightly despairing. ‘To be honest, I’m not really up for this sort of thing anymore. I didn’t even want to come on the stag,’ He rested an elbow on the bar, ran his hand through his hair. ‘But it’s an old uni friend.’

‘And Rav?’

‘Also an old uni friend, why?’

‘Just asking, he seems somewhat more sensible.’

‘More so than me?’ James looked quite worried.

‘Well more sensible than whoever wrote that,’ I gestured to the complaints book, still open at the bar. ‘I feel sorry for his future wife.’

‘And I suppose you’re pure as the driven?’ He looked up at me with a smile before explaining how Rav had also been trying and failing to find himself a Commons seat. Although he’d been put on the approved candidates list, that was only half the battle. Less than half, actually. He’d recently got down to the final two in a fairly marginal constituency but had lost out to a woman. In an earlier time it had been common for the party to just parachute people like Rav into safe seats, but that had gone out of fashion, as things do.

I don’t think Rav overheard us talking about him when he appeared at the top of the stairs to the main house and called for James to join him. James went off quite reluctantly, leaving me alone for about fifteen seconds before Lottie came back, a bottle of liqueur in her hand.

‘Oh, Where’s he gone?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘He was summoned.’ I raised my eyebrows at Lottie.

‘Well, it’s a bit early for me,’ said Lottie, coming around the bar and sitting on the stool vacated by James.  ‘But after the shock of those ghastly words in my complaints book I think I’m entitled to a drink, don’t you?’

I nodded, was learning that when Lottie asked a question it normally didn’t require an answer. ‘How long have you had this place?’

‘Oh, I’ve lived here just over twenty years,’ she pulled the stopper off the bottle with a low thwump. ‘I’d come out here quite a few times, then when work ended suddenly in London…’ - she paused as she poured – ‘I was left with quite a bit of money, in what they like to call a severance.’ She hissed the word.

‘You used to be a weather forecaster?’

Lottie threw her head back and laughed, a high-pitched giggle. ‘Forecaster’s putting it a bit strongly, darling. I was a weather girl, for the morning TV news.  Bottoms up,’ she looked at me, making firm eye contact, before downing her drink.

‘Cheers,’ I said.  The almond liqueur wasn’t as syrupy as I’d expected. I knew I’d be drunk very quickly if I kept up that pace. ‘Was it glamourous?’

‘Well it had its moments, certainly,’ said Lottie, resting her elbow on the bar and placing her forefinger below her slightly jowly chin. ‘Getting up at four in the morning for ten years was a struggle, I must say. My first forecast was always at three minutes past six, on the dot, straight after the news. You try being perky at time of the morning!’

‘I don’t think I could,’ I said.

‘But I went to all the parties, of course. The award ceremonies, the big premieres, met all the film stars. Although of course everyone always asked me about the weather.’ Lottie had a way of making you feel like you were in her confidence, if she liked you.

‘And you told them?’

‘Well, they used to give me the three-day forecast, but also I had some training. I have to say, after I’d done it for years I always had a hunch about what would happen next. You’ve seen that picture of me, over there, by the piano? There was a running joke in the studio, they used to think I was going to corpse on-air when I pointed to the Mull of Kintyre because it looks like a male appendage,’ Lottie was pouring yet another Amarguinha. ‘They used to write it into the scripts all the time on purpose, and the cameramen used to pull faces whenever I pointed at it. I never corpsed, though, not once.’

‘So you retired here? With your husband?’

‘Oh no, darling, I never married, no children. I always preferred cooking, food’s much easier to control than people.’ She smiled at me, but lowering her head slightly, checking I understood her. ‘I’d been cooking Portuguese dishes for people in London for years, based on all the lovely meals I’d eaten out here. So, when they finally signed the deal and paid me off I came straight here. I’d heard that the old Portuguese gentleman who’d owned this place had died and it was up for sale, so the next day I put in an offer.’ Her eyes seem to unfocus, she’s looking across the kitchen. ‘My friends in London all said I was rushing, behaving like there was no tomorrow. That’s why I named this place Casa Amanhã, the house of tomorrow. Because there’s always a tomorrow, darling. You can always start again if things don’t work out right the first time.’

There was always something quite old-fashioned about Lottie, and not just because of her age. You knew you could never ask about money in detail, she found cash to be incidental, something that pre-occupied lesser people. Over the years it became apparent she knew how to run Casa Amanhã so it just turned a profit, even though her billing system was often based on guestimates. Despite being worldly-wise she trusted easily, like she was setting an example.

In the short time James was away Lottie told me about the kinds of people who’d eaten in her restaurant. TV presenters, the occasional politician, sometimes a few notorious people who’d been lying low in Naviras. She never namedropped, saying it was a ghastly habit. ‘Mind you, we don’t get many celebrities here these days,’ she said. ‘People forget who you are, once you’re out of the picture a few years. That’s London for you. Now, it’s almost suppertime and we’re terribly behind schedule. Where on earth has your friend got to?’

‘Oh God, Gail.’ I’d forgotten all about her. ‘She’s in the bath upstairs, I need to go and see what we’re going to do this evening.’ I said this, yet made no attempt to move. I wanted James to come back, and I also wanted to stay in the company of Lottie St. Paul.

‘Oh, you should definitely have supper here, I’ve got some lovely, lovely giant prawns in this evening. The very biggest.’ Lottie got up and went around to the other side of the counter, picked up the complaints book and slotted it sideways into one of the shelves behind her. ‘After all that driving,’ she rested both hands on the bar. ‘And with those interesting boys staying. They’re due to check out tomorrow morning.’ She winked.

‘I imagine you’ll be glad to see the back of them,’ I said, quietly, just as Gail, Rav and James appeared at the top of the staircase and walked down it, Gail and Rav talking loudly to each other.