Chapter Three

Richard was half way between the bank and Fig Tree Villas when he remembered. Barry was throwing another of his interminable pool parties tonight, Anna had warned him earlier. A couple of wasted hours listening to Sheila going on about mosquitoes, Ginnie whining about her cats and Anna taking any opportunity she could to humiliate him. He checked his watch. It wasn’t unheard of that he had to stay late at the bank because of some major development or other, he’d just have to make one up. Driving steadily along the sea road, Richard pulled over at the Sunset Bar.

Once inside, the beer slipping down his throat like liquid bliss, Richard unbuttoned his collar, pulled loose his tie, and stared out to sea. Cyprus. What in God’s name was he doing here?

He’d wanted Abu Dhabi and they’d given him Paphos. What kind of a joke was that? There’d been an opening in the Emirates and it would have been a huge responsibility, managing and developing their corporate and personal client base. Abu Dhabi. A bit dry, perhaps, but at least it was an international centre, and could have led to greater things. But Paphos? It was just a parochial town, a career cul-de-sac, a tourist spot for wrinklies, where the most exciting business development that ever happened was the opening of a new restaurant.

Life seemed to cheat him at every turn, Richard thought glumly, drinking more of his beer. Nothing ever turned out the way he’d expected: his career, his marriage, his home, nothing. Everything he tried and everything he did seemed to go wrong. It was as if he was cursed. Even now, looking down at his dishevelled clothes, damp with sweat, his buttons straining from too many after work beers, Richard felt a wave of self-loathing. He’d stumbled into a pit, and instead of heaving himself out again with a renewed sense of determination, all he seemed capable of was lying still and waiting for the maggots to get him.

It was shortly after their wedding, four years ago, that he’d put in a transfer request. See more of the world, he’d explained to Anna and his boss; get about a bit. Anna had rather liked the idea of expat life, of a large house and servants and taking tennis lessons and lunching with other expat wives; of giving up her own job in PR and finally living the kind of life she’d always felt she deserved. Oh yes, Anna had been all for it at the time. Now she never stopped punishing him for it.

He’d wanted the Emirates, and they’d given him Cyprus. Richard looked glumly out to sea. Some holiday-makers gathered at the table in front of his, clutching a two day old Daily Mail and laughing about some mishap or other with their room key. Three children sprinted along the beach, a dog at their heels, and a Cypriot couple walked arm in arm in the opposite direction. What was he doing here? At most he dealt with mortgages, personal loans and expat bank accounts, nothing more dynamic than that. Occasionally he’d help to fund a new hotel, or re-mortgage a restaurant, but it was hardly high finance. And the worst of it was living with Anna’s scorn. His colleagues? They’d forgotten him by now, and he could handle that. But Anna? Day in, day out, he’d suffer her indignation and verbal snipes. The house wasn’t large enough, there were no servants, they lived too close to their neighbours, all of whom without exception were uninspiring and dull, his job still didn’t pay nearly enough, and why hadn’t she married her old boyfriend James, who was now making over a million a year in the City?

Richard ordered another beer. Under the circumstances, it seemed like the best thing to do.

***

On the other side of town, Tanya parked her old Golf two blocks away from the Lebanese restaurant where she was due to meet her client. She couldn’t run the risk of him seeing that old wreck - she had to look successful. Tonight, I am going to sell this house, she kept repeating, gathering her case and checking her lipstick in the wing mirror. It was a matter of pride. Mr Makhtabi’s enquiry had come in when her boss Yannakis was out choosing his wedding list with his fiancé in a department store in Nicosia. And cleverly, Tanya had made the appointment for the evening of their joint family celebration, so that he couldn’t muscle in and spoil everything.

He didn’t trust her to do the big deals, Tanya thought, admiring her new suit in the reflection of a shop window. It was pale blue and fitted her slender body neatly, the skirt finishing just on the knee, making her look professional yet approachable, attractive but still someone to be taken seriously. She hadn’t really been able to afford it, of course, but had considered it an investment, convincing herself that it would result in more sales. Being on commission only, sales were hugely important to Tanya and her ever-troublesome bank account. The last deal she’d done had been six weeks ago, when she’d rented out number nine at Fig Tree Villas. But even then, despite Nathalie’s paying a full year’s rent in advance, she still only got her usual rate of commission, and that had only just covered what she’d owed on the previous month’s rent. She’d had to settle for paying the minimum of her credit card again, and then of course, she’d only gone and bought this new suit, making things even worse. And now her car had started stalling on her and wasn’t firing up every time. She knew she should get it serviced, but feared the bill.

How she’d love to do a big enough house sale to wipe that debt clean. It would be like a new start. As she approached the restaurant she took a deep, calming breath. Tonight I am going to sell this house, she repeated. Tonight, I am going to sell this house.

The Almustafa restaurant was on a street just off the sea road, and was a great night out if you enjoyed Lebanese food, which Tanya did, to a certain extent, and having a laugh with belly dancers and Arabic music. A bit pricey, so it wasn’t somewhere she went often, but it was glamorous in an over-the-top kind of way, with purple walls and brass accessories and the constant smell of smoke and Arak, the aniseed drink they loved so much which Tanya couldn’t stand. Now, in the early evening light, it looked faded and gaudy.

She approached an Arabic-looking man sitting at a near table dressed in a Western suit - she’d been half-wondering whether he’d be in a dish-dash, or whatever they were called - and asked politely if he was Mr Makhtabi He didn’t look like the oil sheikh or prince she’d been hoping for, but was around the same age as her dad, with greying hair, a dark moustache and two gold rings on his fingers. Immediately he rose to his feet and greeted her. Having found her client, Tanya sat herself down and started producing documents and floor plans.

The upcoming development, Odyssey Villas, Tanya explained, was an exclusive complex of twenty homes set around a lagoon-style pool, based inland towards the Troodos mountains. It was to be more upmarket and luxurious than its sister complex, Fig Tree Villas, with twenty-four hour security and its own gym, sauna and spa facilities.

Tanya was too busy with her presentation to notice how his eyes roved over her body, taking in her pretty blonde hair, her slight figure and the gentle curve of her breasts. As she leant across the table to point out some feature or other on the landscape, he’d steal a glimpse of her cleavage, or a peek at her thighs. Tanya had never appreciated how attractive she was, or perhaps more importantly, how attractive her youth was. She’d always wanted to be older and more self-assured, and considered only being born in the late-eighties a huge disadvantage.

‘You’d get to choose your own finishings and fittings, of course,’ she continued, oblivious of Mr Makhtabi’s eyes on her breasts, ‘and we have this catalogue here to help you.’

‘Everything must be gold,’ he insisted with a proud laugh, his accent rich and thick, like Arabic coffee. ‘My family will accept nothing else.’

‘Gold is our most popular colour, at the end of the day,’ she told him with an informed smile. ‘Gold taps, bathroom fittings and what have you, people like that.’

‘And the garden?’ he enquired. ‘We will see our neighbours, and they us?’

She shook her head. ‘Our landscapers are planting trees and shrubs in specific places to maintain everyone’s privacy at all costs. Security, privacy, luxury, they’re our watch words, basically.’

Mr Makhtabi leant back, studying the architect’s drawings, as Tanya tried to read his mind. With eight bedrooms and as many bathrooms, the house was surely big enough for his needs, unless he had loads of wives, of course, but she could hardly ask that. And it was certainly grand-looking, with marble columns on either side of the door and a large balcony overhead. They liked that, the Arabs, or so Yannakis had told her.

‘There will be statues planted around each entrance, of course,’ she added. ‘All the Greek gods. They’ll be classic and tasteful, but at the end of the day they’ll add a certain je-ne-sais-quoi to the whole development.’

‘Statues? Statues are good!’ The man laughed, slapping his thigh.

‘Now the eight bedroomed mansion,’ she said the word carefully, trying to emphasise its grandeur, ‘that you’re looking at is Zeus. He was the great god of the Greeks, ruler of Olympus, a very grand man, basically,’ she improvised, ‘So there’ll be a statue of him by the entrance.’

Mr Makhtabi looked at Tanya approvingly. ‘It all sounds most fitting. Come now, join me in a glass of Arak?’

She shook her head. ‘I’m driving, I’m afraid. I’ll have another Diet Coke, though.’

‘Leave your car and get a taxi. Come and celebrate the purchase of my new home.’

‘You’re going to take it?’ Tanya tried to keep the excitement out of her voice.

‘Only on one condition. That you come and have some champagne with me on my yacht. It’s moored out in the harbour out there.’ He nodded in its direction. ‘A beautiful girl like you should have a glass of champagne in her hands to match that beauty.’

‘That’s extremely kind of you, Mr Makhtabi, but I’m afraid I can’t.’ Tanya tried to sound friendly but firm. As if she’d join him on his yacht now, Tanya thought. Did he think she was born yesterday? ‘And now, if you’re going to take Zeus, may I ask you to fill out this form?’

He leant forward and whispered, smelling of garlic and aftershave. ‘Bring your forms to my boat. I promise I will make it worth your while.’

As much as she longed for the deal, Tanya knew better than to put herself in such a position. ‘Mr Makhtabi, I understand that you may need to think about this for a few days. Maybe discuss it with your wife?’ she added pointedly. ‘So let me give you this form and you can complete it at your leisure and either post or fax it back to me. All right?’

This was delivered with such a sweet smile that her client gave in, accepting the paperwork.

‘But one night,’ he added. ‘When you don’t have your car, we must celebrate this deal, it’s only right. You must see my yacht in the harbour, Leila, she’s called, after my daughter. We will have a party, and you will sample some excellent champagne.’

‘It sounds extremely tempting,’ Tanya said as professionally as she could, getting up. ‘But right now I’ll leave you with all the information. Here’s my business card, and if you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to call me.’

She shook his hand and left the restaurant feeling light-headed. It was a deal, she was sure of it, and for Zeus, too! With her commission on the deposit alone she could pay off her rent, clear some of her credit card, get the car fixed and perhaps buy those sandals she’d spotted in the window of her favourite shoe shop!

And now, if she hurried, she might just get back in time for Barry’s party, and some free nosh, which was better than opening a tin of spaghetti hoops any day. She rushed back to her car, which struggled but eventually came to life, and began the journey home.