Roskov, Book 10, page 24
‘But if he knew about Katerina he would have left some money to her or Luka, or stepped in, so … it makes little sense to suggest that he knew.’
Rita began, ‘Or he leaves control to you, knowing that you will take care of Katerina.’
‘Well … yes … that makes some sense,’ I agreed. ‘But when the movie comes out it will change things, people will see how improbable it all was. People will see a plane coming to a rest just a few metres from Katerina.’
Rita scoffed, ‘That TV programme was stupid, they say that you can’t walk and are dead now, but here you are.’ Frieda nodded, cursing.
Carter appeared, and he sat near us on another table.
My phone trilled, Ross Daniels. ‘Just some news, and that baby you sent to New York is out of surgery and doing well they say.’
‘Ah, good. Much of a media interest?’
‘Just the usual two hundred TV crews.’
My eyes widened. ‘It’s front page there?’
‘It’s a Roskov baby story, so yeah.’
‘When … did they operate?’ I puzzled.
‘Late last night, it went on past midnight, news was announced just now.’
‘Thanks.’ Cutting the call, I told the Rasmussens, ‘The Kudulov Estate paid for a British baby from my home town to fly to New York and have a spinal operation. Baby is out of surgery and doing well.
‘But now … now comes the hard part, when all of the parents of sick kids in Britain want money for an operation.’
‘Use it to your benefit,’ Rolf suggested.
‘How!’ I protested.
‘It shows what your government is not doing.’
I raised a finger. ‘Rolf … you’re a sneaky shit, you know that. But yes, a great idea, elections next year. I see now why Ingrid gave in and married you, you tricked her with your sharp mind. That and making her pregnant.’
The twins laughed.
Ingrid pointed out, ‘He was charming, a real gentleman, and we were together a few years before I became pregnant.’
‘Did he wear high heels?’ I asked, the twins laughing loudly. ‘It was the seventies.’
‘No high heels,’ Rolf pointed out, squinting at me. ‘Well, not especially high. An inch maybe.’
‘Will you watch the movie when it comes out?’
‘Yes, I do not think it will freak me out.’
‘The actor looks just like you,’ I assured him. ‘But without the charm obviously.’
‘Obviously,’ he agreed.
When the manager introduced himself to Rolf we discussed making a road and a path up to the lake, and the manager would price up the work and discuss it with Ross Daniel’s local contact man. And he confirmed that it was the hotel’s lake.
That local man appeared after lunch, as if summoned, and we showed him the lake - which came as a shock because he never knew the lake was here.
He would check who owned the land, despite what the manager had claimed, but he was reasonably sure that it was the hotel’s property and an ancient water right - for feeding livestock.
He would as well, if it was our land, start on a road and a path, to be ready for the spring, rooms and apartments to be constructed - rooms with a hell of view. And guests would be able to legally water their livestock as well.
The staff had photographed us already, and now they wanted snaps of us with the lake in view, so we posed, and the brochure would be altered for the next season.
Unfortunately, the goats had seen us, and now ten of them were nudging us.
I told the staff, ‘Get rid of the damn goats before next spring, eh.’
‘We do that each year, sir,’ the manager admitted. ‘We know a man that will shoot them and eat them. If they come down to the hotel we hit them with sticks and they learn not to come down.’
Local man thanked, manager thanked, goats told off, and we set out to the city, soon heading down narrow streets, many of the buildings here being made of old stone.
We stopped at a restaurant that Rolf and Ingrid had used when he first wore higher heels and before they got married, a nostalgic trip back here today.
Inside, the staff were a bit shocked to see me, soon organising a good table on the upper floor, one with a good view, Carter to sit near the stairwell and guard us - as he stuffed his face.
This would be a late lunch or an early evening meal, but the restaurant was open all day and they did not mind serving us after I posed for snaps with the staff.
By 7pm we needed a nap, having been at the wine, Carter complaining that he was nurse-maiding a bunch of drunks, the minibuses taking us back to the same hilltop retreat.
Down from the minibuses, were hit with a stiff cold wind now that it was dark, and we were all hit with a need to pee and so rushed up to our rooms. In my room with the twins I turned on the heating, which was needed, the room’s air a bit chilly.
After a pee in turns, we stripped off and jumped into bed as being the best way to stay warm, and I was sandwiched - which was nice. But I was not drunk, and the twins were soppy drunk and mumbling, so it was not quite so nice.
I sighed loudly and hugged Rita - a hand full of boob, my groin in her arse, and I was tempted to slip my cock in. Just that my eyes were closing.
At 10pm I woke them with cups of tea, the room now warm. I did not want them to sleep on since they would wake at midnight and be sluggish the next day. Waking them now and getting to bed at maybe 1am seemed a sensible way to manage our lunchtime drunkenness.
A noise outside, a disturbance, and I was worried, worried that Carter had forgotten how to shoot straight. Lights off, curtains opened an inch, and several cursing staff members were trying to fetch a goat out of the pool.
Drama over, lights on again, and I explained it to the twins as they sat with drinks looking droopy-eyed and not at all with it.
What was the goat called?
I woke early, at 7am, the twins still out of it, so I sat reading the hotel’s “Island Guide”, which for me meant more than it would have done to a tourist’s passing interest. I was looking at places with a manager’s eye, a buyer’s eye, and I sat considering the potential of hotels in various locations.
A study of the beaches and their names took half an hour, a few known to me, but if I was to be invested here for years to come I would need to know more about the island.
I woke the twins at 8am, knowing that Rolf and Ingrid would be up, and complaining that we were not up. I helped them to a hot shower, cups of tea made, chocolate and biscuits provided for two sleepy girls.
After my own shower, the three of us now dressed, I led them down at 8.30am, to find a few guests in the restaurant, no sign of Rolf and Ingrid. I asked the cute waitress if they had been down, and no they hadn’t, which was odd.
A call to their room from reception, and Rolf answered, but he was as bleary as the twins. ‘Did you get drunk last night?’ I asked.
‘Well … we had two nice bottles of red handed to us.’
‘We’re having breakfast, so you old farts can go back to bed.’ Back in with the twins I explained it, and they were surprised at their drunken parents, their own brains a little slow this morning.
At 9.30am, as we were about to leave the restaurant, Rolf and Ingrid appeared looking tired.
‘Dirty drunken stop-outs,’ I called them.
‘The wine,’ Ingrid began. ‘Very tasty, and … we drank some.’
‘You finished a few bottles!’ I suggested. ‘But did you get the name of the wine?’
‘I have the label, I took it off,’ Rolf told me as the waitresses served them. That serving was supposed to end now, but we were management.
Carter stepped in. ‘There you are,’ he loudly complained.
‘What time did you have breakfast?’ I asked as he sat near us.
‘8am!’
‘Rolf and Ingrid polished off some good wine,’ I told him.
‘Well, you are on holiday I suppose.’
‘We are. Any nice lady guests for you?’
‘Fuck no, all old. We go back today?’
‘Yes, we’ve done our recon and been photographed. What was the drama last night with the goat?’
Rolf turned his head to Carter. ‘You had a goat in your room?’ he puzzled.
Carter shot Rolf a look. ‘No! A goat fell in the pool!’
‘Oh,’ Rolf puzzled. ‘You swam after it?’
‘No! The staff dragged it out, not my concern - it wasn’t armed. They wiped it in towels and sent it off up the hill.’
Rolf turned his head to Carter and frowned. ‘The goat used hotel towels?’
‘The staff did, they wiped it down, or it would freeze to death they said.’
I faced Rolf. ‘Just eat something, have some coffee, and it will all make some sense later.’ I faced Carter. ‘What was the goat called?’
‘How the hell would I know!’
The twins giggled, Rolf and Ingrid sipping their coffee and trying to figure out why their brains were slow this morning, and what Carter had done with a goat.
At 11am we checked out, Rolf and Ingrid just about with it, the twins OK, which was a bit of a turnaround, and we set off back to my hotel, not far to go.
At the hotel, Rolf and Ingrid headed to their room, Claudia and Anna now staying with Claudia’s father, no sign of Jacqueline.
Ross had been sat in the main room, his head in files, but he greeted us, asking after Rolf and Ingrid.
‘They found a great red wine and polished off two bottles.’
‘I know that feeling, but when you find a good bottle you don’t just put the cork back in.’
‘Where’s your family?
‘They were down at the rock pool, my kids about to have lessons.’
‘The water is heated some, and they have wetsuits for kids, I saw them before.’
‘If they get a chill it’s their fault,’ he told me. ‘How was the hotel?’
‘Nice, but I like modern rooms, not yet appreciating these old stone buildings. The rooms are great, but I’d go for white and Spartan.’
He nodded. ‘I like a simple room much of the time, you do when you’re a frequent traveller.’
‘How’s the empire? Any news?’
‘Some news for you. Don’t worry, but a woman in Rome levelled a rape claim -’
‘What!’
He held up two flat palms. ‘Police have already proven where you were, so she’s in prison.’
‘Prison? Already?’
‘In Italy, you swear a statement in front of a judge, and if it’s a lie you’re in trouble. She swore her statement, and they pressed her on the dates, which was her sister’s birthday - no mistake.
‘You were filming Stateside, they proved that, so she’s in a cell for a year.’
‘That’s … fucking great news. Wish they’d do that in Britain and the States as well. That way, fewer nutcase women accusing me.’
We sat, cups of coffee brought over by Michelle.
Ross began, ‘The Sardinian gang are hired, rates negotiated, and we’ll help with accommodation or we’ll have to pay extra.’
‘Rolf mentioned the huts we had before, outside the Gun Room…’
‘He asked Lars, and Lars leased ten huts - they’re on the way by ferry, more to follow maybe. I know the supplier as well. Local newspaper reported the hiring of road teams, a good write up, winter jobs being an important topic around the island.
‘Claudia’s father will bring in two crews for the holiday village, cabins to be provided, food and drink - so we agreed. So overall we can advance the schedule some and add in extra projects.’
‘Mandoch Valley is important, a golden egg for us, so use some of the crews there if we have them to spare.’
‘Some of the road gangs will be there, happy for the overtime, and the Sardinian crew will work on the second nursing home, quick progress with the plastic moulds.’
I began, ‘Aim is to have much of the holiday village ready for May next year, one nursing home ready before then, some of Mandoch valley done. Oh, you know this old guy Claude - bars in the city?’
‘Yes, he’s been around forever, good man, good staff, reliable.’
‘What about building his new bar in the holiday village?’
‘He has builders, relatives of his, so I guess he’ll use them. But these are small-time builders, small project people. He’ll submit drawings to you, and then they get approved.’
‘I sometimes worry that a nice beach is not enough, and that guests will need more. We’ll have a nice restaurant and terrace, yes, but … that’s it. Daytime activities are covered, just what to do at night.’
‘Most holiday couples here don’t want a disco, so not a worry, the disco crowd go to the north. Young family types go to the traditional east coast places, so we have a mature crowd here.
‘And it’s a Roskov crowd, they come because of your name, so they won’t complain about a lack of nightlife.’
‘I’ll try and visit more, show my face, not just lend my name to a place.’
‘Couples will be able walk up the valley, there’ll be two trails - one either side, streams and ponds, gardens, lights at night, and few holiday resorts could offer that.’
‘Sounds nice,’ I agreed. ‘You have the drawings for Mandoch Valley?’
He dug them out and I studied them. ‘Here, the public side of the waterfall pool, we can put some benches, and the council then has a concession - a van with ice cream in the summer.
‘Behind the roundabout and car park is a dirt slope between the rocks, so we can terrace it, nice walk up, places to sit and enjoy the view, and up the slope is an area about thirty to forty yards wide and sixty yards deep, before the nasty rocks start.
‘We can terrace it, and people can sit and enjoy it, maybe some toilets, piped water to drink.’
He made notes.
On the west bank of the river the road snaked around up to the planned nursing home, hotel and outside restaurant, below them three roads and three terraces of villas, thirty-six large villas drawn in and spaced out.
At the back of the beach sat one row of two-storey apartments, exactly the same design as my apartments at the holiday village.
I told him, ‘There’s space for a shit load of apartments down that beach road.’
‘Yes, we could add in second and third block next winter, cafes and shops.’
‘Council will let us run the shop at the bridge?’
‘Yes, we have the concession to the entire valley.’
‘So we make it a large shop and a small pharmacy, and we’ll make some money from it all year round with our residents, a delivery service.
‘But what about the boat jetties? We landed on a wooden one.’
‘That wooden one is becoming concrete as we speak, and on the beach itself they’re making a wooden pier that will stretch out three hundred yards.
‘Council will pay for that, part of the beaches development budget, and larger boats will be able land there.’
‘But the new road will be sufficient?’ I nudged.
‘Yes, but still an hour or more from the city; those fast boats can get there quicker. And when you drive from Mandoch on the new road you’ll pass through three small villages, none of which will want summer tourist traffic, and the prefect knows that, so boats for large groups is best - from his political point of view.’
‘Will those villages complain?’ I worried.
‘It does happen sometimes, but we’d hand them some cash or build them a new bar, and some would sell produce to passing tourists anyway. One has a petrol station, so that guy won’t be complaining any.
‘One has a roadside shop selling restored furniture, a shop next to it with local produce, so those families will be happy with some extra traffic.’
‘This part of the island is … the ugly cousin to the east side and north,’ I noted.
‘Hell yeah, and the locals are glad of the new business here; no tourists drove down that road before. And the retirement village is close enough for people living in the city to commute to.’
‘Make sure that the warehouse shop is … a big shop, we can help local people as a cheap warehouse outlet.’
He nodded.
‘Did you compensate the climbers and divers?’
‘Yeah, and they got medals from the prefect, a big show of it. But some people did ask if Old Man Kudulov had gone soft?’ he said with a smirk.
‘His soul is resting in peace now,’ I quipped. ‘It was suicide?’
‘Yes, a poison we got him, officially listed as a heart attack.’
‘And no evidence that he knew about Luka?’
‘None, and I don’t think he knew. And think about it: he knows about her, and you rescuing his grandson, then the plane crashes, and you - of all people - rescue his granddaughter. That’s less probable that finding the damn baby.’
‘It would have given him that heart attack, yes. Still, explaining it will be tricky for me.’
The day improved in temperature, the sun came out, and after a quick sleep the twins walked the beach with me, time spent with Ross’s kids, who then enjoyed a horse ride.
With Carter, I practised my golf swing, Carter quite good these days, but I had hit an unlucky rabbit on the head, so I won the bet.
And it was good to wind down and relax here some, to walk the beach and spend time with the twins, and to just sit and watch the ocean, plenty of time wasted just observing the small waves churning sand.
At 7pm we sat down to eat, Rolf and Ingrid recovered mostly, and many guests joined us, most all of them old and wealthy, half of them French, a few Belgians and some Germans, a rich old German guy now in the Gun Room.
And he shocked us when he revealed that he had spent three months in the Gun Room, in 1943 as a young soldier. He had four old photos, so we made copies, to hang on the walls.
And our old soldier, he had been transferred to a pill box on the Normandy beaches afterwards, but had left Normandy on leave two days before the invasion, his unit wiped out.
He had visited his school-days’ sweetheart whilst on leave, but she was destined to marry another man, that man killed the next day in an air raid, so he ended up marrying his sweetheart after all, three kids produced, his wife dying from cancer a few years ago.
