Once Bitten...

By Joyce Wigglesworth

Linda is flying out to view her property in Majorca, bequeathed by her exhusband, Alan. She has no idea about what trouble lies ahead. Alan, a drug dealer, abandoned her and their baby, Beth, six years ago.

On take-off Linda panics and clutches the hand of the man in the next seat. He, Ryan, is returning to his Garden Centre business. He recognizes her plight and offers his help.

They view the property, and seeing its potential, Ryan offers to buy it, but two men seem anxious to gain access, which necessitates police intervention. Later, when Linda returns to sign paperwork, she takes her mother Monica and Beth for a holiday.

There are sinister eventsan attempt to kidnap Beth, a catastrophe at sea, and strangers lurking near the property. There are happy times too, and good friendships are forged, but Linda and Ryan find it difficult to commit romantically. They have too many bad memories.

Beth makes an exciting discovery that solves many problems, but will Linda ever solve hers?

This story has laughter and tears and shows that true friendship is a treasure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jul 13, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477213896

Joyce Wigglesworth

Joy was an avid reader and book lover as a child. She grew up with her four brothers in various parts of Doncaster, South Yorkshire. Still, a Doncaster resident, she now lives in a lovely village on the outskirts of the town where she and her husband have brought up their four children. As a primary teacher, Joy has been able to encourage children in reading and writing skills. She has had short stories published in a Creative Writing magazine and has contributed to the book Voices: Memories of Doncaster 1939–1945, a book about wartime life. Now, as a young-at-heart pensioner, Joy has written her first novel and is working on the second. Joy is an active woman and is a keen indoor, flat-green bowler, where she enjoys the camaraderie as much as the bowling. Many of her story characters are based on the people she meets in games at home and in nearby towns. She is very much involved with her growing family, village, and church activities and still loves writing.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Putting aside his empty mug and plate, Ryan left the comforting warmth of the station buffet and strolled on to the platform, an icy breeze making him pull his coat lapels closer. As he stood waiting for the train that had just been announced—the 9.30 train to Manchester—he made a striking figure. He stood erect, with one hand in his pocket, his weather beaten face giving evidence of his outdoor life and many of the cold, pale faces around him turned for a second look.

He was soon settled in the warm carriage and his thoughts turned once more to the events of the previous day. Aunt Hilda’s funeral had been a small affair, but for Ryan it seemed to close the door on his life in England. I’ve no reason to come back now, he thought. This may well be my last trip to Doncaster. I wish I could have been here to say a big Thank you to you Auntie. You were a wonderful help to me when I needed it.

A young woman bustled past and settled on the opposite side of the aisle, taking his attention for a moment and she sat with her back to him. He guessed she was in her twenties for her dark brown, shoulder length hair was lustrous, and the hand, which kept fiddling with an enamelled earring, was delicate and well-manicured. That looks like a wedding ring on her finger, he thought. Lucky bloke! Then after rummaging in his bag, he was soon absorbed in his novel.

Seventy-five minutes later the train arrived at Manchester airport and Ryan was soon busy selecting a trolley to transport his luggage up the ramp to the lift, which would take him to the checkout hall. In the queue behind him was the young woman, who had travelled on the same train and Ryan could see her face clearly now. A beauty, he thought, noticing the slim, shaped eyebrows and clear pale skin. She was fashionably dressed in dark jeans and a deep mauve fleece jacket, but she seemed to be uneasy. Just left her husband and already missing him, he guessed, or was she returning home as he was? He moved on to the departure lounge and after a quick snack he ambled to gate five.

Once there, Ryan could see that his plane to Majorca was already on the tarmac near the gate, and he was soon walking up the plane steps, then down to his aisle seat near the back. He was busy searching for his book in his bag, when he heard a soft voice say, ‘Excuse me,’ and to his surprise it was the pretty young woman he had been watching earlier. She had booked the window seat next to his.

‘Oh. Sure. Would you like me to lift your bag into the locker for you?’

‘Yes please,’ came hesitantly and she settled in her seat.

The plane was soon full of chattering passengers and before long the flight attendant came to check seat belts. Ryan fumbled for his watch. Bang on time, he thought as the plane slowly moved to the runway, turning in a wide arc. A slight pause, then with a jolt, the plane accelerated and Ryan was surprised when his hand was quickly seized in a painful grip.

‘Ouch!’ he gasped. Turning to the woman, he was even more astounded. He had heard of people going green with nausea and now he saw it for himself. Eyes staring wildly in her pale face, and green around the mouth she had a look of sheer terror.

‘Hey! It’s alright,’ he assured her. ‘The sick bag is in the pocket in front of you.’ Then realising that she was afraid, he added, ‘You’ll get used to the movement soon and when we get going you’ll think it’s like travelling on a bus. You are quite safe up here you know,’ he went on, putting his free hand over hers and gradually the grip relaxed. ‘You’re a tough cookie. You’ve got a grip like a bear,’ he said, grimacing and wanting to make her laugh. He was rewarded when the colour came back to her cheeks.

‘Oh! I’m terribly sorry. You must think me a fool. Truth is I’ve been dreading this flight all week. I’ve always been afraid of flying and this is my first try out.’

‘Then I think you’re very brave and not at all foolish. Just try to relax now and look at the rain clouds as we pass through. My auntie told me when I was a lad, We must all fight our fears. He grinned as he mimicked his auntie’s voice.

There was silence for some moments and Ryan glanced down at his book wondering what to say next. The plane continued its ascent and soon they left the grey mist and emerged into a clear blue sky.

‘Oh! Look at those clouds,’ she gasped. ‘I’ve never been above them like this. Aren’t they amazing? Are we still over Manchester, do you think? By the way, I’m Linda. Thanks again for being so understanding. You were right—it really is a bit like being on a bus, but there’s so much more to see.’

‘That’s OK Linda. I think we’ve left Manchester well behind and we’ll be soon passing over the coast. I’m Ryan, by the way and I’m an old hand at flying. Remember this, the pilot wants to get home for his dinner, too. It’s easy for me as I’m flying home and I can’t wait to get back to some warm sunshine, especially after the lousy few days I’ve just had.’

‘Warm in November? I’ve brought warm layers with me, though I’m only going for four days. It’s a kind of business trip,’ she added.

‘I’m in business too,’ he said, ‘in fact it’s a business I set up about five years ago. We run a market garden and plant nursery centre and we grow a variety of vegetables and salad ingredients. We sell most locally, except our tomatoes, which we now export to Britain. Believe me, they’re good.’ He laughed. ‘It surprised me when I started, but I just love the work, though I have very little time for myself. What kind of business are you involved in?’ he continued, then seeing her hesitate he added, ‘Sorry I shouldn’t be asking personal questions.’

‘No it’s not that. It’s just that I’m feeling a bit uneasy about the trip,’ she explained. ‘You see, it’s not really a business. It’s just that I’ve had a small property left me, out somewhere near Palma, I think.’ Then taking a deep breath, she went on, ‘my ex-husband died recently and there was no other next of kin. His solicitor has contacted me and asked me to go out to look over the property, to decide what I want to do with it. I don’t know much about it yet, apart from the fact that there’s not much money, just some run-down land.’

‘Oh. I’m sorry about your husband. I guess it’s been upsetting for you,’ Ryan commiserated.

‘Not as upsetting as leaving my daughter with my mum, while I deal with everything.’

‘So, you’re lucky enough to have a daughter. How old is she?’ he asked, thinking that he could easily imagine a young baby snuggled up to her. He sucked in his breath softly.

‘She’s six now, and she’s a cute kid. I’m very lucky really. My mum lives with us and she has Beth after school, until I get home, as well as having her in the school holidays. Since my Dad died three years ago we’ve, well we’ve kind of helped each other. She’ll be spoiling her right now and I don’t know who will enjoy it most. I didn’t tell Beth where I was coming—she would have created and felt it was her right to come with me. Little devil, she is—but cute.’

As Linda chatted on about Beth and her antics, Ryan was fascinated to watch her and he tried to think of a way to describe the colour of her eyes. Brown, pale brown, no—amber with deeper brown speckles and her face reminded him of the young catwalk models on the T.V.—delicately flushed cheeks, fine eyebrows and full lips. Kissable lips he thought, and… He put an abrupt stop to these musings. He wasn’t going down that road again! Once bitten, twice shy, or in his case, twice bitten, shy forever. He would certainly never allow himself to become remotely interested in a female, unless of course it was for business purposes, but he continued to watch her facial expressions as she asked non-stop questions about life in Majorca. The time flew.

The preparations for landing brought a halt to conversation as Linda became tense. Ryan tried to take her mind off the plane’s dips and turns by pointing out the clusters of buildings that were now becoming clearer. He realised that the next few days would be quite an ordeal for her—a woman travelling alone, with no knowledge of Spanish. She didn’t know Majorca and had a big decision to make.

When the plane finally came to a halt, he turned to her and said, ‘Look, you’ve got a few busy days in front of you, by the sound of things. The solicitor will want you to view the plot of land. If you have any trouble with the language or transport, you could phone me. This card has my number and the address of my garden centre. The hotel will arrange a call for you. Incidentally, where are you staying?

Linda seemed preoccupied as she answered briefly, ‘Saint Bartholomew’s.’

Ryan realised that she was facing a lot of first time events. He could see that the anxiety had returned and as he moved to retrieve their travel bags from the overhead locker, he said briskly, ‘Come on. I’ll show you to your queue for customs and you’ll easily find the luggage carousel, to collect your case. Most people here can speak English, so you’ll be fine.’

They moved along slowly with the crowd and as he left her in the passport control queue, Ryan smiled.

‘Everything should go smoothly. Try to find time to see something of this beautiful country, if you get chance. ‘Bye now.’

He moved to the shorter queue for Majorcan residents and after a brief delay, waiting for his luggage, he hauled his bag to the exit, where a familiar figure stood waiting, his brown face beaming.

Marco was what Ryan referred to as his ‘right hand man’, which always made them both chuckle He was certainly a man in charge of many tasks, all of which he carried out cheerfully and efficiently, though at a pace that he described as ‘Majorcan pace’. Yes, Ryan admitted, life wouldn’t be the same without Marco, though he was in fact, a left-hander, hence the laughter.

Born in Majorca, Marco was the second son of his Spanish mother and English father, who still worked at their busy snack bar in Alcudia, in the north of the island. At thirty-five, Marco was four years older than Ryan, though he looked a lot younger. His black hair was thick and glossy,—brushed back and fastened in a short ponytail, with a woven leather band. His bronzed face had what he called ‘laughter lines’ and his constant chuckles were infectious. People were not long in his presence before they too, were laughing. All the women admired his dark brown eyes, full lips and big white teeth.

Now, as he took the bag from Ryan, Marco struggled to move through the crowd gathered round an attractive courier, who was efficiently checking names on her board. They moved into an open space and Ryan saw Linda, standing alone, anxiously looking towards the taxi rank and searching through her bag.

When she saw Ryan and Marco approaching, she said, ‘Well, I’ve managed to find my case and now, when I’ve found my purse and the address of the hotel, I’m going to grab a taxi.’

Seeing Marco’s quizzical look, Ryan explained quickly, ‘Oh. This is Linda. We met on the plane and she’s going to be staying in Palma for a few days. At St.Bartholomew’s, isn’t it?’ he added, turning towards her.

‘We go very near there,’ Marco said, his eyes glinting knowingly. ‘It’s not far from our turn off to Bunyola. We could drop her off’. Turning to face Linda he went on, ‘we won’t drop you really,—just let you down gently.’ Then his wide shoulders began to shake as his laughter exploded.

Ryan hesitated for a few seconds, before moving forward and politely taking her case, and then with Marco still chuckling, they strode to the dusty, old Vauxhall car, which Marco had left in the taxi rank, in the care of his friend.

‘I hope it’s really not out of your way. It’s good of you and I must admit, I was a bit nervous.’ Looking round her, she went on, ‘Isn’t it a lovely airport? You were right—it is warm in November.’

Linda chattered at first then she settled back in her seat, content to look at the passing landscape as they drove along.

‘How’s everything? Did you have any problem with the fork truck repair? Have you remembered the delivery to Mother Gabrielle?’ Ryan’s questions came quickly and Marco held up his hand.

‘Have I ever let you down? Just trust your right hand man. Everything is ship shape and Ryan fashion. Your Marco is still a superman.’

Ryan’s face relaxed and he smiled. ‘Right, Superman! You can fill me in with all the details when we are sitting with our cava.’

It was another of their shared jokes. Some years ago, on Ryan’s first visit to Majorca with John, a fellow student at the horticultural college they toured in the north of the island, taking a keen interest in the local plant life as well as the crop growing areas. The orange and lemon groves around Soller particularly fascinated John, who was thinking of seeking work in the area after finishing his course at the college near York. They were relaxing with a beer in Port de Soller, when they began to chat with a fellow drinker who worked in the fruit groves. He was a sturdily built young man, with good muscle tone and a great sense of humour. He seemed to be able to cope with most of the machinery and vehicles where he was currently employed. His firm also grew and exported tomatoes, peppers and other vegetables. He introduced himself with a chuckle.

‘I’m Marco. You name it—I’ll drive it and repair it.’

‘Marco the superman, is it?’ Ryan asked.

Much laughter followed and several drinks later, Ryan and John arranged to meet their new friend the following day. He proved to be invaluable with the information he was able to give them.

‘You two obviously work together,’ Linda now remarked.

‘We do. At least I do the donkeywork. You see, I work for him; he’s the boss,’ Marco went on, his eyes gleaming with mischief. ‘When he says jump, I ask how high’

‘You cheeky blighter! The only jumping you do is when Angel smiles and lifts her eyebrows.’

‘That sounds interesting. Who is Angel?’ Linda asked, smiling as she caught his eye in the front mirror.

‘Angelina is my very beautiful wife. She is housekeeper for Ryan, at his home, Villa Marguerita. In fact we both live there and we make him a good home. My Angelina is a very good cook for him.’

‘She really is a beautiful young lady,’ Ryan interrupted, ‘and I couldn’t have managed to build up my home without these two. Apart from cooking, Angel keeps the place spotlessly clean and her flair for design and colour is second to none. She does everything—shopping, laundry, baking—everything around the villa.’

‘What do you specialise in, Marco? Or should I call you Superman?’ Linda asked.

As Marco laughed, Ryan answered, ‘Yes. He is a superman. He’s our driver, delivery man, mechanic, plumber, not to mention pool cleaner.’

‘Pool? You have a pool at your villa? That must be wonderful,’ she remarked, her mind thinking of their small semi back home, with its tiny garden.

‘Yes. It’s good to relax at the end of a busy day.’

‘Relax? That’s funny,’ Marco chuckled. ‘He insists on swimming his thirty circuits daily—at speed too.’

‘Look. We’re entering Palma now,’ Ryan said abruptly. ‘We’ll soon be at your hotel.’ Turning in his seat beside Marco, he went on softly, ‘my villa isn’t far away and I can easily drive in. Officially I’m still on holiday and if everything is as shipshape as Marco says, I could help you with your transport. Would you like me to collect you in the morning and take you to the solicitor? Afterwards I could drive you to find your property.’

Linda’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Oh! I’m sorry. I feel so tired and the appointment is for nine o’clock. It would help me a lot and I’ll pay your expenses.’

‘Don’t worry about that now. You need to have a rest and a good meal. Saint Bart’s serves decent food, so you’ll be fine. I can be here by eight-thirty and I’ll wait in reception. You have my phone number if there’s any change’

As the car came to rest, Ryan stepped out and opened the door for Linda, before opening the boot and taking out her case.

‘That will be perfect. I’ll phone to make sure of the appointment, as soon as I am settled in my room and if you don’t hear from me, I’ll see you around eight-thirty. You’ve taken a lot of my worries away. Thank you so much. Thank you too, Superman,’ she added, bending to smile at Marco, as a smartly dressed young porter picked up her case and moved in through the swing doors.

‘You’ve done well there, Ryan,’ Marco said with a grin on his face. ‘She is going to give you some happy moments—very, very happy. Wait till I tell my Angelina about this.’ Laughing, Marco accelerated away, as Ryan watched Linda follow the porter, her hips swaying delightfully, in spite of her fatigue.

As they drove away, Marco continued his teasing and ribald comments until Ryan said tersely, ‘Enough! I don’t view women in that way. Linda seems a decent sort, but I am not looking for a relationship. I may be able to help her, that’s all. Now fill me in on what’s been happening here.’

Some twenty-five minutes later, the car turned into the gateway of Villa Marguerita, on the outskirts of the sleepy village of Bunyola. Set on the hillside, the beautiful ochre-coloured, stone villa—partly hidden by small palm trees and colourful shrubbery—afforded spectacular views of the surrounding agricultural area. Ryan gazed with pride at his home and breathed a deep sigh of contentment.

When he had first viewed the property, six years ago, he had been looking for a modest home, not too far from his small garden centre. He had been enthralled by the simple lines of the old L-shaped, single storey building, with its graceful arches, supported by columns, which also held the extended roof. He had seen that this gave shade to the rooms. The property needed a lot of restoration and because of this, the price was in his range.

Much work had been done since then. Ryan’s friends and employees at the garden centre had advised and helped with practical work and the transformation was almost complete. New roof tiles had replaced the old, crumbling walls were re-plastered and painted in a soft cream colour, new rich brown wooden shutters had been added and old doors and damaged paving slabs replaced. Last year, Ryan and Marco had added a rectangular swimming pool, with a South Westerly position, paving the area around it with a raised platform in one corner, on which stood an array of colourful poolside furniture. Ryan, Marco and Angelina loved to relax there at the end of a long, hot working day.

The interior too, had been renovated under the supervision of Angelina, who had been fiercely determined to keep the simple, beautiful lines. She wanted the best for Ryan, for he was a generous and thoughtful employer, as well as a good friend to them. Since she and Marco had moved into the villa, nearly four years ago, she had been a tower of strength and her loyalty to Ryan was unquestionable. More importantly, she was like a big sister to him. She had never questioned him about his past, but she often sensed a deep sadness, especially when he was tired.

Ryan sat forward in his seat, as Angelina ran through the central archway and came, tapping in her heeled sandals, over the terrace to the car. Smiling broadly, she stood as he stepped towards her and kissed her cheeks.

‘It’s good to be home. England was cold and damp and I missed the wonderful aromas that flow from your kitchen. What is that mouth-watering smell that’s tempting me now?’

‘You know what it is. You always know when I cook your favourite,—your frit mallorqui. Come now and Marco will pour you some cava to help you relax.

Angelina had noticed the strained expression on Ryan’s face and she looked concerned. Her eyebrows lifted as Marco said,

‘Wait until I tell you about the beautiful young lady he’s going to meet again tomorrow. Travelled home with him, she did.’

‘Angel, don’t listen to him. I helped a young woman on the flight and I’ve offered to help her with transport tomorrow. That’s all.’

Ryan moved indoors, turned past the kitchen, where he paused to sniff appreciatively, before walking slowly towards his bedroom.

‘She really is beautiful, but not as beautiful as you, my Angelina,’ Marco said, moving toward her with his lips pursed for a kiss. She laughed and bobbed past him, running into the kitchen.

Later, after a simple, but delicious meal, Ryan sat in the lounge, looking towards Marco, who was splashing in the pool outside. It was obvious that his thoughts were many miles away. Having finished her duties for the day, Angelina came in and settled on the low chair, near the patio window.

After observing him for a few moments, she spoke softly. ‘Your thoughts are back in England, eh? Was it hard for you, Ryan? Tell me about it.’

Turning to face her, he said in a flat tone, ‘Funerals are always bad, aren’t they? This seems to have unlocked so many memories. I feel I’ve travelled back in time, twenty years, or more. It was seeing my cousin Julian again. That started it, and somehow I can’t get the pictures out of my mind.’

‘Could you bear to talk about it? What is the expression you use for me? A trouble shared…’

. . . ‘Is a trouble halved,’ he finished for her.

Angelina was silent for a moment. She could see that he was feeling dejected. Then he went on, still with his face turned to where Marco swam leisurely round the pool.

‘He never wanted me to live at his home. Julian, I mean. That first night, when auntie picked me up from the police station, he flew into one of his selfish paddies.’

‘You have never told me about your childhood, Ryan. I know that you were left without a mother or father when you were very young. Marco told me. Would it help you to talk about it now?’

Turning to look at Angel, his good friend, Ryan spoke simply.

‘Most of my earliest memories include my dad. He always took me to the park so that I could learn to ride my scooter safely. Dad was the one who pushed me for hours—well, it seemed like hours to me, while I soared higher and higher on the park swings. We laughed a lot about little things, like when mum’s Yorkshire Puddings came out of the oven as flat as pancakes—even more when her face went redder.’ Ryan’s lips curled into a smile as he remembered the scene. ‘She never had any sense of humour or any desire to join in with any of our games. You know about my Dad, don’t you? I was seven when he had his heart attack. He died without any warning and Mum just couldn’t cope. She kept telling me that he had gone, but I didn’t realise that it was forever. She just lost her interest in life and it felt like I was her biggest problem. She didn’t want to play, couldn’t bother with food, didn’t want to talk, couldn’t shop, cook, clean up, or cope with the washing—anything.’

‘It must have been awful for you. How did you manage?’

‘Auntie Hilda, Dad’s older sister came round often and tried to talk to her. She used to bring my cousin Julian, but all he did was tell me about his latest new games. He made a point of telling me how much they cost.’

‘Was he a lot older than you?’

‘About two years. He was nine and he had a lot of friends. They must have been desperate to play with his games, because he was a prat even then. I really wanted him to play with my train set with me, like Dad used to, but if he couldn’t drive the train or move the points he kicked out and smashed the buildings. He always blamed me and Mum seemed to believe him. Auntie was kind though and she used to bring sweets and cookies for me. I think she knew how hungry I was. Mum never changed. She must have been missing my dad, but so was I. I used to go and cry in my bed, where no one could see me. I daren’t let Julian see me cry, not after the first time. He went on about me being a cry baby and he told all his mates, who thought it was a huge joke.’

‘What happened to your mum Ryan?’

‘She used to take tablets to help her to sleep. I often used to come home from school to find her slumped in the chair in front of the fire. I went in one day and she was sitting at the table with her arms sprawled out and her head on the table. I tried to wake her up and I kept shouting at her. Auntie came and when she tried to pick up Mum’s head, she just slid to the floor. She was dead. I was still trying to make her talk to me, but auntie sent me to fetch Mr Thomson, from next door. I didn’t see Mum again. Mrs Thomson wouldn’t let me go back until bedtime and they’d taken her away by then. I had to go to the police station, then back to auntie’s house and that bastard Julian kicked up a real stink. He wouldn’t share his bed with me in fact he didn’t want me in the house. I ended up sleeping on auntie’s settee until she could organise the transport of my own bed.

‘Did you stay with your aunt,—and Julian?’

‘Yes. There wasn’t really much choice. Auntie was good to me though and she had help from some of her church friends. She soon had mum’s house emptied and up for sale. We kept some of the furniture for auntie to use for me, even though it was a bit of a squash. I think she wanted me to have something of my own.’

‘Did she sell the house; did you have the money?’ Angelina asked.

‘She was very honest. She asked a financial adviser from the church to help her and he helped to make all the decisions legally. The house was sold quite quickly, but I didn’t know much about the money until I was eighteen and then I was amazed. Auntie had kept a fair portion for herself. She had to. I mean, she had to feed and clothe me and I must admit she tried to give me as much as Julian. Tried, that was a laugh! He always insisted on the biggest, the best, the most, with everything. He resented the fact that auntie had to help pay for my college course. Anyway, when I reached eighteen, auntie showed me how she had invested a large sum of money. Invested it really well, she did and it had earned quite a lot of interest during those eleven years. That’s how I was able to start the business here. I owe a lot to auntie. I wish I could have been there for her, when she was dying. She was in her little room in a council run home in Doncaster. She didn’t deserve to die alone, without any family member near her. They must have notified my cousin Julian, but that selfish moron wouldn’t think to let me know until it was too late to see her.’

‘But your auntie knew that you thought about her a lot. You’ve written to her regularly and you’ve made a point of going to see her at least twice a year. Remember how she told you—the last time you went over how proud she was of all your achievements here? We’re your family now Ryan. I think of you as my big brother and I know Marco does.

Right on cue, Marco came in swearing. He had a towel wrapped round his hips and he was limping.

‘What’s up mate?’ Ryan asked, a broad grin spreading over his face.

‘I’ve done it again,—stubbed my toe on that loose tile.’

‘Well I did ask you to get it fixed. Perhaps you’ll make it a priority now. I think what we all need is a long cool drink, don’t you Angel?’

Angelina had already risen and, moving towards the kitchen she said that she had their favourite beers, cooling in readiness. She returned a few minutes later in time to hear Ryan say that he would be out for most of the following morning.

‘Don’t worry if it takes all day. Like I said, everything at Bonjardin is in order and Seb has worked really hard. You’ll be pleased when you see how far he has got with the new greenhouse.’

Sebastino was Ryan’s partner at the garden centre. Some months before, they had discussed ways of improving their rapidly expanding business. There were many outlets for their fruit and vegetables. Each weekday there was a market somewhere on the island, and many shopkeepers for miles around relied on regular deliveries of their produce. But it was the exporting of tomatoes, as well as the almonds, which was now bringing in a good profit. The large commercial greenhouse had been ordered and Sebastino had been eager to install a good irrigation system.

‘Did he remember to collect the sprinklers?’

‘Ha! They’re already in situ. Up and running they are. He hasn’t stopped since you left.’

‘I can’t believe the change in him. You know what a lazy layabout he was when we first met. Now he is the driving force behind us all and he sure is helping us to get some fantastic results. Sam and his guitar.—Ha!’

They both chuckled, remembering a night over six years ago when they were out having a few beers, after a hard day at the farm where they both worked. That night, when they entered their favourite bar in Port de Soller, they heard someone playing rousing guitar music. Soon they were tapping and clapping to the music and after a particularly lively piece, Ryan had called out, ‘Play it again Sam,’ and the tune had been repeated. They bought the young guitarist a beer and at the end of his performance he had joined them. The laughter was non-stop. He told them that his name was Sebastino.

During their frequent evenings together, Ryan got to know ‘Sam’ well. He was the second son of a Spanish couple, who owned a thriving hacienda in La Palma, not far from Cartagena, on the coast of Eastern Spain. ‘Sam’, Sebastino had had an idyllic childhood and he had shown an interest in gardening from an early age. He had studied on a course similar to Ryan’s. He also had a keen interest in mechanics, working in his spare time for the owner of a local garage. There he had fallen in love with the owner’s daughter, Nina. He had planned his future with her, hoping to work with his father and brother and settle locally. He had been disbelieving when he was told that Nina was having an affair with his brother, until the obvious pregnancy confirmed it.

In the following argument, Sebastino had attacked his brother angrily, leaving him with a broken collarbone. Delighted about a forthcoming baby in the family, Mama and Papa had taken Fernando’s side and eventually Sebastino had moved away from the area. After drifting around for some months, he had ended up in Valencia and on the spur of the moment he took a position as entertainer on a Spanish ferry. His guitar playing and singing was popular, especially with the young ladies and this satisfied him during the tourist season. He liked his time ashore in Palma de Majorca and was eventually tempted, for a higher wage, to take up a job in a bar there, finally moving to a branch of the same firm in Port de Soller. That was where, in the bar Morlanda he had met Ryan and Marco.

They had had a particularly gruelling week on the farm where they worked, in the area near Inca. Ryan had achieved the position as manager of the farm, with the responsibility for selling the vegetables and some exports. Miquel, the owner of the farm, seemed much older than his fifty-five years. Two years before he had suffered a bad accident, which had left him with a nasty limp. At the time, Ryan had worked for him almost two years and he had proved himself to be, not only a hard worker and a good leader of the workforce, but he had shown his passion for his work. He always ensured that the vegetables they had for sale, were of the highest quality and Miquel quickly realised his worth. Ryan had insisted that Marco was given the responsibility for all the deliveries, as well as the maintenance of all vehicles and machinery. The two of them made a good team—each supporting the other.

That week Miquel, always a demanding man, had been impossible. He seemed to find fault with everything and he had argued at length with Marco over a forklift truck, which was not working. Marco explained—to deaf ears—that the vehicle was so old that he could no longer get parts needed for the necessary repair. Miquel was reluctant to replace it and hinted that Marco was failing in his duty. Eventually Ryan had managed to convince his boss that if Marco couldn’t repair the truck, then it was beyond repair. They both felt that there was too much strain with the job and they needed a rest from a demanding routine. They drove over the mountains to Port de Soller for a two-day break.

In the bar there, the guitar music seemed to lift their spirits and they had sung and laughed, until ‘Sam’ had come over to the table to thank them for the beer. Their conversation had continued long after the bar closed. Sebastino had invited them back to his spotless apartment and the three quickly realised that they had a lot in common. When Sebastino told them how he had left home and left his great love for horticulture, Ryan told him that he was making a big mistake.

‘I couldn’t go on to something new like that,’ he said. ‘I’ve loved growing crops ever since I was a young lad working in my aunt’s garden. I know that no other job would satisfy me.’

He went on to tell Sebastino about their present employment, working for a