Page 39 of Atticus Arnott's Great Adventure

Chapter Thirty

O n pitch number thirteen at Solma Vacaciones, there was no sign of life in Winnie, and her awning, with the sides pulled back, stood slightly askew. A table was covered with glasses, and several empty bottles and cans stood littered alongside.

‘Cooee!’ Cheryl called out as she placed a fluffy mule on the tarp covering Atticus’s pitch, where the water-resistant canvas was covered with leaves and windblown sand.

‘Anyone home?’ she enquired, noting the debris scattered around.

She wore her voluminous lime-green kaftan, which floated as she moved, and her vibrant orange hair, freshly curled, bounced on her deeply tanned shoulders.

Movement in the camper made Winnie rock as bodies stirred. Moments later, Ness jumped out, wagging her tail, delighted to see Cheryl.

‘Hello, lovely,’ Cheryl said and began to pat the dog. ‘Where’s the boss? Is he still asleep? ’

‘No, I’m here,’ Atticus said, blinking against the light, following Ness into the sunshine.

‘That was some party last night.’ Cheryl grinned. ‘I’ve come to check that you are still alive. Ruby’s doing a fry-up if you fancy starting the day with a plateful of carbs.’

‘That sounds wonderful,’ Atticus replied and rubbed at his head with his hands. ‘But first, I better clear this lot away,’ he said, sighing when he saw the vestiges of the pop-up event that had occurred on his pitch when he’d arrived back from Tabarca with Britta.

‘Is Britta still here?’ Cheryl asked. ‘Bring her too.’

‘Thank you, she is, but has to be at work by lunchtime.’

‘Then she’ll want a restoring breakfast before she clocks on.’ Cheryl smiled. ‘That was some punch Erik made. I wonder what he put in it?’

‘It packed a punch, that’s for sure.’ Atticus shook his head as he remembered the barrel of alcohol that Erik had turned up with, closely followed by most of the resident campers, who brought along musical instruments and chairs.

The party that followed went on late into the night, and Atticus felt sure that dawn was rising when the last of the campers, in a noisy, multicultural conga line, staggered back to their mobile homes.

‘Well, Ruby is helping out at Steve’s bar today, and she can give Britta a lift to her cottage if it helps.’

‘That’s very kind, Cheryl.’ Atticus smiled. ‘Thank you.’

‘Sort yourselves out, then come over,’ Cheryl replied, gathering her kaftan as she headed off into the sunshine toward her chalet.

A little while later, having showered and refreshed themselves, Britta and Atticus tidied the pitch. Britta dumped debris into a plastic sack while Atticus took a broom and swept away leaves and sand.

‘I’m ready for some breakfast,’ he said. ‘I can’t remember drinking a great deal, but whatever Erik gave us was very strong.’

‘Yes, I agree,’ Britta replied. As she knotted the sack of debris and placed it to one side, her phone began to ring. ‘Hello?’ Britta said, holding her mobile to her ear. ‘Oh, Mr Rodrigues, how are you?’

Atticus stopped brushing and leaned on his broom. He didn’t want to listen in on her conversation but was curious – he recognised the name. Mr Rodrigues was the owner of Casita del Mar.

‘I see,’ Britta said after a few moments. ‘Well, thank you for letting me know.’

Atticus noticed that Britta was flustered. Her hand gripped the phone tightly, and her face had paled.

‘Is everything alright?’ he asked.

‘Well, no, things aren’t alright at all.’ She gave a quick shake of her head.

‘What’s wrong, my love?’ Placing the broom to one side, he moved towards Britta and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Has Mr Rodrigues upset you?’

Britta sighed and scraped a hand through her hair, tucking it behind her ear. ‘He plans to sell the cottage,’ she announced. ‘He says it will sell quickly because those cottages by the beach never come on the open market and are very desirable.’

‘Good heavens, that’s a shock. Come and sit down,’ Atticus said and reached for a chair. ‘But he must have given you plenty of notice, surely?’

‘I have one month.’ Britta sat down with a heavy sigh.

‘Oh, I see.’

Turning her body, Britta shrugged. ‘It’s okay, I… I’ll find somewhere else,’ she stuttered.

But Atticus could see that her shoulders were tense, and her knuckles were white as she gripped her fingers.

‘Yes, of course.’ Atticus took hold of her hands. ‘Try not to worry. You know I’ll help you.’

Britta looked up. Tears were forming in the corners of her eyes. ‘I love that little c…cottage,’ she said as her cheeks became wet. ‘It’s my s…safe place.’

‘Hey, come on. We’ll find you a safe place again; don’t get upset.’

‘S…sorry, it’s my problem; I will sort it,’ Britta sniffed.

‘Your problem is my problem,’ Atticus said. ‘Look at me.’ Crouching down, he placed a finger under her chin and tilted her head until their eyes met. ‘We’ll sort this out, and everything will be fine, I promise.’

‘Okay,’ she sniffed and stroked his cheek.

Ness sat beside them and scratched at his leg with her paw.

‘She says you can always come and live in Winnie,’ Atticus joked and patted the dog’s head.

‘Winnie could be a travelling art gallery,’ he added, then frowned.

‘Well, that might not be the best solution, but please don’t worry.

’ He reached for Britta’s hand and kissed it. ‘Let’s go and get some breakfast.’

‘Maybe Cheryl and Ruby will have an idea or know of somewhere,’ Britta said.

‘Maybe,’ Atticus replied.

But as he placed his arm around Britta’s shoulders and they made their way to their friend’s chalet, Atticus could sense Britta’s distress and felt anxious too. His mind was racing with the weight of what she’d just told him.

Britta was about to lose her home. The cottage she’d transformed was so cosy and suited her quiet way of life.

How could she replace such a perfect place ?

There had to be a solution, a clause, or someone who could help.

Britta needed someone to fight for her, and he knew that he couldn’t stand by and let this happen.

Britta was upset and dabbed at her eyes. ‘It will be alright. I’ll have to figure something out,’ she said bravely as they approached Cheryl’s chalet.

But it wasn’t alright to Atticus. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘We’ll find a way.’

When Atticus left Britta and she went to work her shift at the café, he headed straight to find Erik at the campsite.

‘Hah! My friend, have a beer!’ Erik greeted him with a grin as Atticus stepped onto his pitch. Erik was in the middle of another workout, but unperturbed by the interruption. Noting the worry etched on Atticus’s face, Erik paused. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked.

‘I need help,’ Atticus said, twisting the cap from his beer. ‘Britta must move from her cottage. Mr Rodrigues, her landlord, wants to sell it, and I don’t know what to do. The place is perfect for her, and finding something like it would be impossible.’

Erik raised an eyebrow. ‘Sit down.’ He pulled out two chairs and motioned for Atticus to join him. ‘I don’t see the problem.’

Atticus sat, his brow furrowing. ‘She’s so upset, and I need to find a solution. Do you know Mr Rodrigues?’ he asked.

‘Never heard of him. Don’t need to,’ Erik replied with a casual shrug. He took a long drink and wiped his toned chest with a towel. ‘It is simple,’ he commented. Then, studying Atticus, Erik leaned back and announced, ‘Buy the cottage.’

‘Eh?’ Atticus stared at Erik, bewildered.

‘It’s easy. If you love the woman, buy the place. Problem solved.’

Atticus blinked, his mind racing. ‘But… how does a Brit go about buying a house here?’

Erik waved away his concerns. ‘Yeah, I know there are difficulties for the British buyers with EU regulations, but if it helps, I’ll buy it for you. We’ll sort it out.’

Atticus stared at Erik, completely taken aback. He was astonished that his new friend had an instant solution and Britta’s problem could be overcome. ‘Well, I never thought…’ he began.

‘Can you afford it?’ Erik’s asked.

Atticus nodded. ‘Er… Yes, I can.’

‘Then it’s settled. I’ll take you to my legal guy, who handles all my Spanish business. He’ll take care of everything.’ Erik stood, slapping Atticus on the back. ‘All good?’ He held out his hand.

Atticus shook Erik’s hand firmly, still trying to process the sudden turn of events. ‘All good, I suppose,’ he replied.

‘Then we’ll go to see my man straight away, but first, we celebrate with more beer.’ Erik smiled and reached for another bottle.

In the heart of the town, where ornate architecture adorned a cluster of buildings, Erik and Atticus made their way to Resano Abogados de Propiedad.

The property lawyer’s offices were behind a solid wooden door, where a brass plaque proudly announced the business’s name and the year it was established.

An elderly secretary, her greying hair scraped into a severe style, was dressed in black and greeted Erik with a warm smile.

In his office, Senor Resano puffed on a huge cigar.

They made themselves comfortable in deep leather armchairs, and Atticus looked around at the piles of old books, framed diplomas, and memorabilia that reflected the lawyer’s many years of professional achievement.

Distinguished by neatly combed silver hair, Senor Resano’s face suggested a well-lived life.

His tailored suit, complemented by a conservative tie, matched his old-fashioned waistcoat.

Atticus thought Senor Resano was as ancient as the building itself and wondered if he was in safe hands. But Erik reassured him that all would be well and that he could trust the man’s legal expertise .

Senor Resano, however, was hesitant to act on Atticus’s instructions.

‘You are gifting a property to a woman you’ve only known for a few weeks?’ Senor Resano questioned. He puffed furiously on his cigar and smoke billowed around them, swirling in chaotic circles. ‘I have to ask if you think this decision is wise?’

Atticus waved his hand to disperse the dense blue clouds of smoke.

‘I know that you think the relationship might not work and I might lose a great deal of money,’ Atticus argued. ‘But at my time of life, there is really little to lose and much to gain from making a deserving person happy.’

‘If you insist. It is a generous thing to do.’ Senor Resano shrugged. ‘But,’ he added cautiously, ‘I must inform you that, given the current political situation, a Dutch national can purchase property here more easily than a British subject.’

One phone call later and Mr Rodrigues was delighted to find a buyer so soon after deciding to sell, with no need for agents. The price agreed upon was favourable to both parties.

‘So that’s settled,’ Atticus said. ‘Please complete the paperwork as quickly as you can, and I will arrange to have monies transferred.’

‘It is a fine property,’ the lawyer said, rising to his feet to shake Atticus by the hand. ‘I have it on good authority that the area will be developed in time, and those cottages will be worth a great deal.’

‘Please don’t share that information with Mr Rodrigues.’ Atticus smiled as he shook on the deal.

‘I appreciate you fitting my friend into your busy schedule,’ Erik thanked the lawyer. ‘Your next visit to Nancy’s will be on the house.’

As they left the building and stepped out of the fug and into the sunshine, Atticus, taking a deep breath of clean air, was puzzled. ‘What did you mean,’ he asked, ‘the visit to “Nancy’s” will be on the house?’

‘It is a service I provide, but a service you haven’t needed.’ Erik shrugged. ‘I own Nancy’s. It is why I stay at Solma Vacaciones, to be close, yet not far away.’ Turning to Atticus, he grinned. ‘I have another Nancy’s in Amsterdam too.’

‘I know Nancy’s, the motel-like building set back from the main road junction, by the track leading to Solma Vacaciones,’ Atticus said. He remembered Ruby pointing out the building when he first arrived. ‘What sort of service?’

‘Nancy’s is my business in Spain, and in Amsterdam it is located in the Singelgebied area of the city, which is known as the red-light district.’

‘But what sort of business is it?’ Atticus was persistent. But as he saw Erik smile, the penny soon dropped.

‘Nancy’s is a place for gentlemen to relax, spend time, and ease their frustrations.’

‘Ah… A brothel.’ Atticus nodded.

And as they began to walk away from the lawyer’s offices, Atticus began to smile too.