Canary Islands Mysteries - Books 1-3

2. Paula-2

Celestino.

Who should be here.

Even if he were, there is no denying Bill offers Gloria something Celestino can"t: his complete attention. Not that Celestino doesn"t care. Although I can"t count the times I"ve told myself in the face of mounting dissatisfaction, that he has to work hard to produce and sell his art, especially since there are the three of us. Alone he may have survived adequately if frugally, but with a wife and a child the burden is great. That commission for the Swedish doctor; we"ll have to live off those Euros for a month.

In an effort to push away my cares, I grab a handful of toasted maize kernels and take in the room, recalling the relief I felt when my mother relinquished all notion of shipping to the island the vintage furniture, replete with a tatty Chesterfield lounge that never fitted in any room it was put. Between us, Bill and I managed to persuade Angela to part with all her old pieces, selling some and arranging homes for the rest. Here in Máguez, they have resorted to furnishing their home via Ikea, the effect—modern, clean lines, plain colours—in keeping with the roughly rendered walls of brilliant white, the polished timber floors, the overall simplicity of design.

Hanging on the longest wall is one of Celestino"s larger pieces, a sketchy rendition of the island"s northern landscape, which they tried to buy but Celestino insisted they have. Along with the sight of it hanging there like a chimeric representation of the artist himself, annoyance at his absence gives way to concern. Perhaps the road out of Haría is truly impassable. Or the commission is taking far longer than he anticipated. My self-reassurances can"t replace a nagging thought that something dreadful, even catastrophic has happened to my husband.

I put on a brave face and suggest we play a game to keep Gloria amused.

"What shall we play?" Angela says, directing her question to no one in particular.

"Laloply!" Gloria cries.

"Laloply?"

"She means our Monopoly."

"Good plan," Bill says and goes to fetch it.

It is a game far too old for Gloria, but she loves it. I make space on the kitchen table. Angela brings in some party fare and pours everyone a soft drink.

"Lemonade?" Bill says, entering the kitchen and eyeing his glass.

"There"s rather a lot of it."

He doesn"t respond to the subtext as he lays out the board, making two piles of cards in its centre and lining up the players on "Go".

There is no Old Kent Road or Mayfair to be seen. Instead, arranged in a logical sequence of rising wealth, are the various locations on the island, everywhere from budget holiday complexes to the luxury locales of Costa Teguise, Playa Blanca and Puerto Calero. Stations are replaced by tourist sites, all of them created by Manrique and up for sale like the rest of the board. Celestino has painted a little scene in each square. The result is a visual feast of marinas, beaches, palm trees and volcanoes, and many and varied streetscapes. Houses become holiday lets, and the hotels resorts. The players Celestino carved out of clay, little figurines of islanders in native dress, a dog, a pirate ship and a high-domed wide-brimmed hat. He customised the Chance cards to suit, with the exception of "free parking", the "go to jail" card and "income tax". In keeping with his own worldview, bank errors in the player"s favour have become sweeteners and kickbacks.

He created the game after he found the original Monopoly in my parents" sideboard when searching for placemats for a family dinner, and insisted on playing afterwards. Bill and Angela were just settling into their new home at the time. What began as a tentative introduction to the game became, thanks to a bottle of single malt whisky, rowdy and intense. Towards the end, when Angela was bankrupt and I struggled with half a dozen mortgaged properties, Celestino lost Mayfair and Park Lane to Bill and won a new friend, the two men forming a bond where previously existed common civility. That was the night Celestino introduced Bill to the story of the island"s corruption. I recall the many hours Celestino spent in the following weeks designing the new board, with Gloria leaning over him engaged in every step; the day he brought it over to Máguez for a trial run, and everyone agreed it was much better than the original.

Gloria climbs onto Bill"s lap and chooses the ship. Angela takes the hat and I pick up the dog. The game is helped along by Bill"s enthusiasm but it"s strange to be playing it without Celestino. By the time we"ve all bought up the various streets, promenades and boulevards, Gloria"s attention wanes.

Outside, the wind and the rain are unrelenting. The afternoon rapidly gives way to dark. Conceding an early defeat after having to mortgage Famara Beach, Angela goes about putting the lights on.

"Those shutters need closing," she says to herself, emerging from the guest bedroom and heading to the front door.

"I"ll do it."

Angela promptly turns back.

An angry wind roars up the valley, flinging the rain at everything in its path, slamming the unlatched shutters closed, narrowly missing pinching my fingers. There"s nothing to see beyond the stretch of small, cultivated fields that fan down the hill to the village centre. Low cloud obscures the mountains. Run off from the roof gushes from a drainage outlet, eroding the soil beneath, creating several muddy rivulets which carve their way down towards the garden wall.

I duck back inside, determined to steer my attention towards my daughter, although I soon find I have no need. Gloria has decided to entertain herself by running around the house in search of her grandparents" cat, Tibbles. Bill"s doing.

"Is he under your bed?" he says as she runs towards him.

She about turns and runs off to the guest bedroom.

"No, he"s not there, Granddad," comes a little voice.

Then she reappears, breathless and beaming.

"What about under Nanny"s bed. Have you tried there?"

And off she goes.

After several more attempts she says, "Granddad, where is he?"

"I"m not telling."

"Please."

"You have to find him. He has to be somewhere."

Another unsuccessful attempt and Gloria drags Bill off to help the search. After a short while, as Gloria tires of the game, Bill leads her to kitchen, to the cupboard under the bench. Before long I hear, "There he is!" and Gloria reappears with Bill cradling Tibbles in his arms.