Just a Minute Señorita

By Bob Brennan

Steve Taylor is commissioned by the British tourist industry to travel by car along the Spanish coasts from France to Gibraltar photographing and gathering information for their use. What appears to be an enviable job for a free and available young man turns out to have many trials and tribulations despite his appeals to the Vestal Virgins.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Sep 17, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477227060

Bob Brennan

served in the Fleet Air Arm of the Royal Navy from 1946 to 1968 and on retirement from active service worked in the insurance industry. He retired for the second time in 1990. For many years, he was a keen golfer. He enjoys dabbling in water colour painting and genealogy. He divides his time between his homes in Hampshire and Spain. Just a Minute, Senorita is his first novel.

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© 2012 by Bob Brennan. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 09/07/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-2705-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-2706-0 (e)

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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I discovered it was only an hour or so of relaxed driving if you skip the motorway and take the old road from Perpignon in France which brings you high up in the hills, to the French/Spanish frontier. Winding its way through unconcerned villages and up between the fields and slopes of the east Pyrenees, the route to the Spanish costas was for me a relaxing and enjoyable way to spend a spring morning.

Having stayed overnight the previous evening at a small pension conveniently located by the side of the road approaching Perpignon from the west, and just a few kilometres from the town itself, I`d slept soundly, and on rising next morning taken full advantage of the traditional English breakfast as offered on the menu, consolidating it with a generous sized cup of the strong coffee so loved by our Gallic friends.

So it was, that feeling satisfied and replete I arrived in due course at the frontera with Spain, into which a disinterested aduanero noting my car`s British registration beckoned me with a casual wave of his hand to authorise my entry. Ahead of me on the Spanish side I found a conglomeration of lorries, trucks and various other commercial vehicles drawn up in groups, or parked in disorderly clusters, all this it would seem in expectation of clearance in due course by the French customs, a process I discovered that sometimes took several days, providing that is, that all legal documentation was correct, each comma where it should be, all T`s crossed and every full stop in place, a practise that achieved the distinction of promoting bloody mindedness to a fine art by the efforts of the French in an attempt to discourage the presence of Spanish wine and other competitive exports from appearing on the shelves of their supermarkets. Today of course all that has changed and travellers and truckers may come and go as they please sans let or hindrance.

A while later and well clear of the congestion I pulled over to the side of the road, to further enjoy the vista of the long sweeping route disappearing into the far distance ahead, and which according to my map finished some 800 miles further south at Gibraltar. The day was fine, and encouraged by the sun`s warmth I let down the windows and caught some of the welcome breeze wandering up from the Mediterranean far off below, England was a long way behind me and I was looking forward to the next few weeks and my new assignment.

My name is Steve Taylor and as a free lance writer my latest project entailed me working my way down the Spanish coast, photographing, collecting and writing material suitable for use and publication by the tourist business at home. For me it was a welcome change from promoting the virtues of the often unappealing and somewhat seedy hotels vying for the custom of diehard or seemingly masochistic Britons, who chose to endure their holidays at home and accept the vagaries of the British climate.

Indeed yes, I mused contentedly, this was certainly the job for me, and with Spanish dictionary and phrase book to hand here I was, ready, willing and hopefully up to the task I was commissioned to do. Before leaving England I`d taken a two week crash course in the Spanish language, learning numerous useful words and phrases that I`d practiced with some of the other students, and especially with an attractive blonde by the name of Katy, who confided in me that she would soon be going out to stay with friends in Spain, and help them run their bar in a place called Torremolinos, which she assured me was not too far from Malaga should I be passing that way, and with her encouragement I`d taken careful note of the address. Conscious that the future looked good and that today I was full of spring`s joy I happily engaged first gear and eased the car gently on it`s way.

Time went by pleasantly as I mentally reviewed some of my recently acquired Spanish. `Gracias` apparently pronounced `Grassy ass` and meaning `Thank you` was easy to remember, as also was `Una cerveza por favour` meaning `A beer please`, a useful and important phase and best not forgotten. High above one or two small white clouds interrupted the perfect blue of the sky and added their attraction to the idyllic panorama ahead. A donkey cart came into view, piled high with green and yellow melons on the way to market somewhere. Cautiously I overtook, while the driver unaware, continued to doze comfortably in the warmth of the sun. Ahead in the distance the road meandered lazily to the left approaching ever closer to the coast on it`s downward journey to the sea, while behind me the dust stirred gently in friendly acknowledgement of my passing. `Otra` came to mind, another useful word when soaking up atmosphere in the local bars, again easy to remember and meaning another of whatever you`ve been drinking. This was going to be `no problema señor` I mused, a little more practice and I would be fine.

The day and the journey passed enjoyably and later as the sun edged noticeably to the west I looked forward to my first evening on Spanish soil, I had in mind a modest hotel, perhaps a pension or some other overnight lodging that might present itself along my way, even a Parador though pricy sounded interesting, any reasonable place with decent fare and a comfortable bed in which to lay a tired body during the silent hours would suit, having first attended to ones needs for food and beverage. With this in mind I kept a perceptive eye open as occasional villages came into view ahead, and subsequently on lacking signs of accommodation for the weary wayfarer, faded behind me as I motored onwards and south.

Presently I found myself approaching a small town ahead in the distance, small but large enough perchance to have lodgings for the traveller, I was getting tired and looked forward to finding accommodation soon, it was becoming late afternoon with evening approaching, when thankfully on rounding a bend on the final stretch I was confronted by a large sign by the roadside informing all who might find it of interest, that El Motel Miradore was at their disposal just one hundred metres ahead, eureka! and not many moments later the satisfying crunch of the car`s tyres on the gravelled entrance announced my arrival.

Situated some 40 metres away from the noise of the main road traffic, the motel was just what I was looking for, so parking the car and grabbing my bags from the boot I headed for the reception where a lighted sign over the door proclaimed Bienvenido, and welcome I was as I was soon to discover.

`Hola, Buenos tardes señor`. Dark smiling eyes appraised me from behind the desk at reception as I walked in.

`Can I `elp you. You are Inglis, Si `

Nodding in agreement I wondered how my nationality was apparently so obvious, and at the same time deciding to abandoned my first intention of asking for a room in Spanish, practice could come later.

`Have you a room for one night please?`

`Si señor, you are alone?`

Conscious of the fact that I was, it occurred to me that if I were to play my cards right and given some luck and a following wind, I might not be come morning.

`Unfortunately, yes.` I tell the still smiling eyes, which I now notice are accompanied by equally smiling lips and olive cheeks hosting appealing dimples. Had the innuendo been wasted I wondered as she accepted my passport and turned to select a key from the row of hooks behind her.

It was at that point as she moved away from the desk, that I became unhappily aware that she was very, very pregnant.

Marie, I was to discover later was French, and she and her Spanish boyfriend Vicente managed and also lived in the motel. Apparently some six months or so earlier they had been making their way from Spain to France by road to visit Marie`s mother and advise her of impending grannyhood, because Marie with a confirmed pregnancy thought it best she should know. Their car`s engine not given to extended journeys due to age and general deterioration, unfortunately gave up as they arrived in the motel car park. In a dilemma and not overburdened with cash, they explained their problem to the owner and offered to work for free food and accommodation until Vicente could get the engine running again and they could continue their journey.

Now it so happened at the time, that the motel`s proprietor, a Sr. Jose Garcia had his own problems, and he saw in Vicente and Maria a providential solution to them. Endowed with thinning hair and a thickening middle, el propietario was a very worried hombre, although economy of hair and surfeit of waist were the least of his concerns at that particular time. The unhappy truth was that Jose Garcia had given serious offence to certain persons and made some revengeful seeking enemies, and therefore he was at the time most anxious to take an extended holiday preferably out of the country, and that this should come about as soon as possible, like pronto was uppermost in his mind.

Affairs of the heart are not taken lightly in Spain especially by the relatives of any couple who have an understanding of wedlock. Therefore to be discovered one afternoon in the farthest bedroom from reception being tutored in certain aspects of Kama Sutra by a nubile seventeen year old, had a comparable effect for Jose of a substantial amount of effluent coming into contact with a rapidly revolving fan. The girl herself being the somewhat precocious daughter of a wealthy American couple who were chaperoning her on a tour of Europe in the fond belief that she would find the trip to be both educational and beneficial, likewise did not find the expose convenient. Her parents, staunch Baptists from the Kansas bible belt had certainly not included the experience in her cultural agenda and were understandably far from ecstatic, becoming in fact extremely voluble about the matter, giving cause for great excitement and interest to the crowd of gathering spectators, as well as the subsequent attendance of the Guardia, who after helpfully dispersing the crowd, were of the opinion that it was not a matter calling for police jurisdiction and left them to it.

Not surprisingly it wasn`t long before news of what had happened reached the ears of Jose`s fiancé Pilar, herself a woman of strong moral principles. In fact being appraised of what had taken place, her own condemnation of the episode made that of the girl`s parents appear muted by comparison, and caused the dispersed onlookers to gather round again in sympathy.

Wisely predicting that his forthcoming betrothal was unlikely to run it`s full course to the alter and would come to a premature end, Jose retired from the scene and did not bother to inconvenience the American family further by charging for their stay at his establishment when they left.

In England such an occurrence would in time fade into obscurity, hopefully to be forgotten and in due course gradually cease to be the main item of interest at neighbourhood coffee mornings, but in Spain the matter of family honour enters the equation. Consequently once Pilar`s father and brothers heard of the disgrace brought upon the family name, a meeting was convened to consider suitable retribution upon Jose`s person in order that the balance may be redressed. Meanwhile Jose instinctively aware that atonement could be in the offing, and sensitive to the consequences and inconvenience of having one or more of his legs broken, or the after effects of castration, decided that a drawn out vacation would be greatly beneficial to his well being.

To Jose the opportune arrival of Vicente and Marie later on the day of his misfortune, and their temporary need of assistance and his own immediate need of salvation seemed no less than divine intervention, and he grasped the straw with both hands. Whereas for Vicente and Marie`s part they were more than keen to consider his proposal, that subject to suitability they should manage the motel during his enforced absence. The interview turned out to be brief due to Jose`s anxiety to begin his holidays as soon as possible, and on learning that Marie was not inexperienced in secretarial work and Vicente had acquired ample knowledge in his past of working behind and running a bar, an agreement was soon reached. The cooking and catering was already taken care of by a full time cook, whilst the cleaning and miscellaneous work they would manage between them with the assistance a girl who came in daily. Accommodation and food went with the job, and an accountant who conveniently happened to be his brother and an accomplished bookkeeper would see to staff wages as well as a modest weekly payment to themselves. They would be required to keep the books up to date which the accountant would inspect from time to time. On these occasions he would take the books away with him and return them later with an official copy which was solely for the purpose of examination by anyone of authority who might demand the right to do so. Payments in cash were acceptable and were in fact to be encouraged as much as possible, and overheads were obviously to be kept to a minimum. His accountant brother would take care of the financial side of things, such as banking and settling bills, while he Sr. Garcia would be travelling in the more remote parts of Spain and would be difficult to contact except through his sibling. He had however every faith in their ability to manage the business successfully and would let them know in due course when he would be returning.

Vicente and Maria couldn`t say no, it was a fortuitous offer in their circumstances, and besides they needed the money and could certainly use some temporary stability in their lives for the immediate future, and they accepted the position gratefully, whilst at the same time seeing no need to complicate the issue by mentioning their forthcoming parenthood. Thus did the motel come under new management after only two days personal supervision and instruction by Jose Garcia himself, and subsequently thereby did I later make the acquaintance of Vicente and Marie one early evening in April when I stopped for the first night of my journey on Spanish soil.

A useful and precautionary tip I`d picked up on my previous travels abroad, is to partake of a pre dinner drink or two at the bar before dining. In the first instance the proprietor will take favourable note of your patronage and the fact that you are spending money on his premises, and secondly should you also invite him to join you in a glass, it has been known to influence both the service and quality of the food served to you at table, and in addition should the meal unfortunately turn out to be slightly suspect, little harm is done provided one has a sufficient coating of a good liquor lining the stomach.

The bar on my visit that evening contained about a dozen people not counting Vicente, who happy amongst his bottles and glasses got on with the job he was best at. As a Spanish male he had quite a bit going for him. Medium tall with the traditional black hair of his race, he had the physique a professional bullfighter would envy. The fact that his looks could cause a girl to take off from home in addition to taking off anything else she might be persuaded to, was an added bonus, all of which Marie who worshipped him and was now pregnant was well aware of. He greeted me with a handshake which more than demonstrated his good health.

`Buenos tardes señor, what will you take?`

`Un cognac por favour`. I smirked self consciously.` And will you have one with me`? I added in English, not wanting to push my luck.

`Gracias señor, for me it is an honour`. Two glasses quickly appeared on the bar and taking a bottle of Fundador from the shelf behind him, Vicente poured what I would pleasingly describe as a man sized measure into each.

`Salud`.

`Salud`. I answered savouring the stimulating warmth of the brandy as it caressed my tongue before co-habiting happily with the tonsils on it`s journey to the stomach. Slightly breathless I ordered another and Vicente obligingly refilled both glasses. At times such as this one feels in harmony with the world, life is good and tomorrow far away. I was muy contented as I glanced happily around the bar at my companions in hopeful expectancy of some friendly discourse.

`Wud youse do us a favour an` explain to thon bloody man that a`m no drunk an a`ve a right to be served`. The unmistakeable if slightly slurred English of a fellow countryman intruded on my feeling of wellbeing.

`A`ve bin tryin to get a drink here for the last quarter`n hour, but the bugger wilna serve me, he`s pretendin` to be deef.` The words came from a moderate sized individual wearing a multi coloured short sleeved shirt above tartan Bermuda shorts of an