Orange Blossom Days

  It was such a treat to set Orange Blossom Days in the south of Spain where I’ve had great holidays and made some dear friends over the years.

  He pasado algunos de mis momentos más felices en El Capricho, Calahondo, donde he degustado comida maravillosa y he llegado a conocer al fantástico personal, los mejores de la costa. Salvador, ir a tu chiringuito es como volver a casa. Me hace muy feliz dedicaros este libro a ti, Svetlana, Maurizio, Pedro, Juan, Antonio, Alberto, Antonio, Paco y Sylvia. Gracias por los abrazos, las cálidas bienvenidas y los muchos Bailey’s en la casa.

  (I’ve spent some of my happiest times in El Capricho, Calahondo, where I’ve eaten wonderful food and got to know the fantastic staff, who are the best on the Costa. Salvador, coming to your chiringuito is like coming home: I am so happy to dedicate my book to you and Svetlana, Maurizio, Pedro, Juan, Antonio, Alberto, Antonio, Paco, and Sylvia. Thanks for the hugs and warm welcomes and the many Baileys, on the house.)

  To Monir Alina, John and Sylvia Roots, and Sinead, Alannah and Oliver, great neighbours.

  And to Emma and Brendan of Be Clean who looked after and maintained our apartment as if it was their own, and who have become great friends.

  And huge thanks to Aurora Garcia and Carlos, who worked so hard to make Mi Capricho a little piece of paradise, and who were always extremely helpful. And of course, Tommy and Fabiana also who run a fantastic Pool Bar, and always give us a great reception when we come back.

  And to new friends Jason & Luis, owners of Atlantis Property Management and Real Estate SL, thanks for taking us all under your wings.

  And to the staff of The Hotel Petit Palace Santa Cruz, Seville: thank you for delightful stays in your lovely hotel. Looking forward to coming back for many more.

  Muchas gracias queridos amigos

  La Joya de Andalucía

  The Jewel of Andalucía

  PROLOGUE

  ANNA

  The AGM was in uproar. The clique from Madrid was protesting loudly at the attack on El Presidente.

  ‘Standards are dropping,’ roared a French owner from Block 3.

  ‘Pets were not allowed in the original constitution. And it should be kept like that. I am not prepared to pay maintenance fees to be kept awake by yapping pom-poms, and have the smell of their turds wafting across my balcony! Just because he’ – A German owner whose visage was the colour of a crushed plum pointed a shaking finger at El Presidente – ‘because he wants his dog coming on holidays with him. Probably too mean to pay kennel fees,’ he added irately, wiping his dripping brow with a freshly laundered handkerchief.

  ‘I want to know if El Presidente is prepared to pay, out of his own pocket, the money the community has been forced to pay, so he could appoint his smarmy little friend Facundo as a new concierge. How much of a backhand did he get for that?’ Moira Anderson’s indignant Scottish burr rang out over the hum of the air conditioning. The Madrileños, led by El Presidente’s cousin, erupted in furious denial at this scurrilous accusation.

  ‘Well said, Madam, well said!’ an Englishman from Block 1 applauded. ‘Answer the question, Mr President. Or even better, resign!’

  Anna MacDonald felt the throb of a headache begin over her left eye and temple. The ruckus would put the Barbary Macaques in Gibraltar to shame, she thought wearily as the noisy yakking increased in tempo.

  She and her husband, Austen, had holidayed in the south of Spain since their three children were toddlers. Taking charter holidays with JWT, which they’d saved hard for in the Credit Union. She’d always loved when the holiday brochures came out every January, and paid particular attention to the complexes that offered children’s clubs.

  As they became more affluent and their three children got older, they’d camped in France, explored Tuscany, and golfed in Portugal, but Andalucía’s charms – the Moorish cities and towns, the food, the hospitality and friendliness of the Spanish people – lured them back many times over the years and when she and Austen had first bought their penthouse apartment in La Joya de Andalucía, they’d been over the moon with delight. They’d taken early retirement to enjoy their sixties and they’d envisaged spending the long, dark winter months in their idyllic paradise. Now, several years down the road, life had changed to one she’d never imagined. And community politics, a recession, and bad behaviour had turned life in La Joya sour. ‘The Jewel of Andalucía’ had lost its sparkle for sure.

  This carry-on just affirmed that she’d made the right decision. Anna noted El Presidente’s cold, stern and forbidding gaze. I’ve had enough of you, you little dictator, she glared back at him, knowing that despite the uproar he would most likely be re-elected because most of the owners couldn’t bear the hassle of taking on the responsibility the position entailed. And many wouldn’t travel to attend the AGM in August, due to the oppressive heat. The Spanish clique would have their way once again and El Presidente would be king of his own little fiefdom. As autocratic as a Saudi despot. Yapping dogs were a new lowering of standards, maintenance fees would rise, and El Presidente would sit on his balcony, monarch of all he surveyed while his subjects grumbled among themselves at the poolside bar, plotting his overthrow at the next AGM.

  Would she want to sit here in this hotel, in the small town of San Antonio del Mar, this time next year and listen to the same sort of carry-on? Nope, Anna decided. The Spanish dream was over. It was time to face up to reality, mend fences with her family and go home. She’d run away for long enough.

  SALLY-ANN

  Sally-Ann Connolly Cooper watched the shenanigans at the AGM, amused in spite of herself. This annual event was always so entertaining. At other AGMs she’d attended, she would meet up afterwards with her Spanish lover and tell him all the news. After their lusty lovemaking they would laugh and chat as they always did, sipping champagne, before he would leave her. This year, though, everything was very different. Her lover was getting married, and circumstances had changed radically in her own life. At the wrong side of thirty, it was time she settled down, Sally-Ann thought in amusement.

  Who would have thought things would turn out the way they had? She would be going home to Texas with her twin daughters, to a very different set-up. A better, more positive situation for all of them. And she wouldn’t be saying goodbye to La Joya. She wouldn’t have to saddle up and move on from her Andalucían paradise.

  From the moment she’d stood on the wide wraparound balcony of the penthouse and looked, in awe, across the shimmering sea to the mysterious, magical High Atlas Mountains on the continent of Africa, and seen the Pillars of Hercules stand guard over the narrow strait that separated the Atlantic Ocean from the Mediterranean, she’d known that Andalucía was special. It had been her first visit to Spain. A business trip with her husband, Cal, who owned a successful holiday rental company in the States. Branching out in Europe was a relatively new development for Cooper Enterprises, but it was paying dividends in more ways than one.

  Sally-Ann sipped her complimentary Prosecco, surprised at how relieved she was at the decision she’d made about her relationship with Cal. A relationship that had brought moments of grief and joy in equal measure, and a family unit that had survived because she hadn’t let bitterness ruin her life.

  EDUARDO

  Eduardo De La Fuente strove to keep his composure while he listened to the many complaints being hurled in his direction. What was wrong with these imbécils? Could they not see the improvements he’d brought to La Joya de Andalucía? The changes he’d wrought under his presidency had brought order and ease to the ungrateful owners’ lives.

  It was imperative that he be elected to continue his raft of improvements. But he knew too that he could not face being deposed in front of Beatriz, the woman who had reared him aft
er his family had moved to New York. Her immense pride in his elevation to the position of president of the community had been heartwarming. At last he’d truly achieved something, in her eyes. Not even his position as a notary had given him this much satisfaction, Eduardo admitted ruefully.

  And very soon he would be exchanging his third-floor apartment for the much sought-after penthouse apartment he’d long desired, from the moment he’d set foot in the luxurious apartment complex. The closing of his property purchase was occurring in the next hour, in a notary’s office in Marbella. That acquisition would be his crowning glory. Beatriz would not be able to tell him ever again that ‘second best was not good enough’. For the first time in his life he’d taken a risk and it would be worth it.

  He hoped his wife, Consuela, would be pleased. Since she’d started her menopausia she’d become more forceful, less pliant to his needs and wishes. Sometimes she was uncharacteristically stubborn. And as for all this New Age stuff she’d got into with her cousin, this so-called ‘Renewal of Divine Feminine Energy’ she was embracing, such nonsense!

  Eduardo refrained from rolling his eyes in derision. Consuela was seated in the audience, looking into the far distance, a million miles away in spirit, from the AGM and him!

  How he looked forward to moving into his new abode. His eyrie, from which he would be able to overlook everything and everyone in the community. Knowing that the owner who was selling up was a fierce opponent of his, and would never have sold to him, Eduardo had bought the penthouse through a third party. A sly move but necessary. A faint flush tinged his sallow cheeks as a memory surfaced. This was not the time or place to think of her or that!

  Eduardo turned his attention back to the business at hand, noticing the Irish woman who had been elected to the position of secretary at the first AGM was glaring at him. She was very friendly with Constanza Torres, the concierge, another thorn in his side. He stared back coldly at Anna. Soon he too would be a penthouse owner and she could keep her glares to herself, as could the rest of the plebs with whom he was not in favour. He had his loyal supporters and today they would keep him – por favor, Dios – in his post as El Presidente of La Joya de Andalucía, a position in which he rightfully belonged.

  CONSUELA

  Consuela De La Fuente prayed fervently that her husband Eduardo would be re-elected to the position of president of the management committee, so she wouldn’t have to live with his gloom and ire if he was rejected. Who would have thought Eduardo would turn this heavenly place into a . . . a . . . combat zone, she thought irritably. It was her own fault. She’d always adored the south and the sea. Coming down to the Costa reminded her of childhood days when her dear Papa would drive the family from Madrid to spend a month with his brother and family in a house with blue shutters, and a shaded, cobbled courtyard, two minutes from the sea, in La Cala, further up the coast. Eduardo had had no such treats. A week in a village in the Pyrenees with Beatriz’s cousin had been his annual childhood holiday. The highlight of which was a trip to Girona.

  When Consuela had introduced him to the delights of La Cala and Andalucía Eduardo had taken to it immediately, and from the first year they were married, he’d always spent most of August playing golf, enjoying the reviving sea breezes and laid-back lifestyle and escaping the scorching heat of the capital. It had always been a relaxing holiday, until they’d bought their own apartment. Or rather he had bought the apartment without telling her . . . to ‘surprise’ her!

  Sometimes, especially at AGM time Consuela wondered if it was more trouble than it was worth.

  JUTTA

  Jutta knew her window of opportunity was limited. She had to stay calm and make the most of the AGM at La Joya that was, very fortuitously for her, taking place right now, giving her some leeway to get on with her business. She felt sick. Nerves, she supposed disconsolately. She still couldn’t believe all that had happened in the space of six weeks to turn her life upside down.

  Her phone rang. It was Felipe, her husband.

  ‘Did you get the tickets?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she said coolly, ‘I printed them out.’

  ‘OK, good, see you soon.’ He hung up.

  Jutta sighed. Felipe, the love of her life. And this was what he’d brought them to. Perhaps her father had been right about him. Her Papa had always had his reservations about his son-in-law.

  A tear coursed down Jutta’s cheek. Angrily she wiped it away. She didn’t have time for tears or regrets. She had work to do. She glanced at her watch. The AGM was well underway. Would Eduardo De La Fuente be re-elected? He was a very complex man, very power hungry. It would be a huge disappointment for him if he wasn’t voted back in.

  Jutta always enjoyed getting the gossip from Constanza. What would the concierge and Anna, Sally-Ann and all her other clients say about her when they heard the news? To think she’d once dreamed about buying a penthouse in La Joya, and becoming neighbours with the people she worked for. And it could have happened. In her mid thirties now, she’d achieved far more than she’d ever expected out of life and been well on track to realize her dreams, she thought bitterly.

  ‘Oh just stop feeling sorry for yourself and get going,’ Jutta muttered irritably. She had to feed her young daughter as well as everything else because her au pair had left her in the lurch. What did she care about the owners in La Joya de Andalucía and their drama-filled AGMs? She’d enough drama in her own life.

  PART ONE

  TIMES OF OUR LIVES

  APRIL 2006

  Opening week

  Señora Constanza Torres, the community manager for the newly completed apartment complex, La Joya de Andalucía, logged into her computer, arranged her pen and notepad tidily on her desk, and placed the stack of acceptance forms containing the names and addresses of the new owners into a clear plastic folder that was neatly labelled. Constanza was nothing if not organized.

  Today, after months of preparation, the apartments were ready for occupancy. The immaculate grounds were superbly landscaped. Lush flowering waterfalls of pink and purple bougainvillea cascaded over walls and balconies. The two swimming pools seemed in the early morning sun as though the universe had cast handfuls of glittering diamonds into their still, azure water. A hint of a breeze whispered through the drooping green fronds of the palm trees dotted around the lawns, and the scent of mimosa and lavender added to the luxurious ambiance of the gated frontline complex, which was so aptly named. The Jewel of Andalucía was her pride and joy and today, and in the weeks to come, Constanza would welcome the new owners and help them to settle in to their holiday homes on Spain’s southern coast.

  The setting was unrivalled anywhere else on the Costa, Constanza thought proudly. Within sight of the majestic, imposing rock of Gibraltar to their right; mysterious Africa looming in awe-inspiring grandeur on the horizon, and, to the left of them along the curving coastline, Estepona and Puerto Banús, playgrounds of the wealthy, international jet set. Behind the impressive development, the high Sierra Bermeja with their jagged-edged peaks was Constanza’s favourite view, especially when the setting sun slipped gently down behind them, burnishing the sky with a kaleidoscope of pinks, purples, and gold banners.

  She’d spoken to many of the new owners on the phone over the past months: soon, she would finally get to meet them in person. This new community would house a wide variety of residents from all over Europe and beyond. Most of them had been friendly, polite, excited, but a few had ruffled her feathers, most notably a dour Belgian lady who insisted she be allowed to bring her pet poodle, Poirot. Patiently but firmly, Constanza had explained there was a no-pet policy, enshrined in the Articles of Association which were part of the terms and conditions of purchase. After many vexatious phone calls, Constanza was not looking forward to meeting that particular owner.

  A rather serious and intense man from Madrid, Eduardo De La Fuente, was extremely insistent that all business be conducted through his secretary, and under no circumstances was any post to b
e sent, or phone calls made, to his private residence. Constanza wondered if he was buying his apartment as a love nest for his mistress. The secretary, a brisk, bossy, decidedly un-chatty lady, always spoke of her boss in hushed tones as though he were God and, of course, conveyed the air of superiority common to the Madrileños. Constanza was extremely interested to meet him.

  The complex was unnaturally still. No builders, gardeners, plumbers and electricians. It would never be this silent again, never be totally hers again as it had been all these past months.

  She sat absorbing the silence, preparing for the busy days that lay ahead. The bell on the intercom rang. Her first clients. Constanza patted her hair, sat up straight and pressed the entry key, watching as the gate opened smoothly to permit a taxi to enter.

  As graciously as though she were inviting guests into her home, Constanza stood, hand extended, and smiled a welcome as a middle-aged, smartly dressed couple came through her office door.

  ‘Welcome to La Joya de Andalucía. I am Señora Constanza Torres, your community manager,’ she introduced herself, both in Spanish and English, as she would to many new proprietors during the following days.

  CHAPTER ONE

  ANNA / AUSTEN

  ‘Mr and Mrs MacDonald, these are your keys and gate fob. This one is for the entrance to your building, the community gates, and the garage. This one is your door key. My name is Señora Constanza Torres. I am the community manager. If you have any problems please don’t hesitate to contact me. Let me take you to your new penthouse.’ The petite, middle-aged Spanish woman with flashing brown-black eyes and henna-hued, neatly bobbed hair, smiled at Anna and her husband Austen as she handed them the keys to their new holiday home. Her English, though heavily accented, was perfect.

  ‘Por favor,’ a slim, handsome Spanish man in a navy suit who was standing in the doorway interrupted brusquely, and began speaking in rapid-fire Spanish that Anna, with her schoolgirl Spanish, could not follow.