No Place in the Sun (11 page)

The woman liked the place, but her husband was less sure. ‘I’m not too happy about some things, I’ve heard a lot about timeshares and how they can go wrong, we saw a programme on the telly once about gangs ripping people off.’

Tom drew himself up to his full height. ‘I can assure you sir that this is not one of these crooked timeshare operations. This is a very reputable holiday club with thousands of satisfied members; we wouldn’t be able to stay in business if there was a shadow of suspicion about how we operate.’

The man apologised. ‘I’m sorry, no offence intended, you just can’t be too careful these days.’

‘Of course, no offence taken, but you can understand that we are very proud of our reputation.’ Tom didn’t want to push him too hard, just enough to keep him on the back foot.

‘If there are so many satisfied customers, can we talk to some of them, get an idea of how it worked out for them?’ The woman was still a bit unsure.

Tom had his standard answer ready; this was going to be easy. ‘I’m afraid we have an obligation to our clients not to divulge any of their details to anyone, standard Spanish law on data protection and all that.’

The man nodded agreement. ‘Yes, of course.’ He looked at his wife. ‘That’s true, dear, I see it at work nowadays, you can’t be too careful about data, can’t leave it lying around you know.’

Tom sensed an opening, time to push for a close. ‘I can show you some emails from clients, but their details are blanked out.’ He produced a bundle of print-outs of emails that he had written himself a few weeks earlier, all of them thanking the staff at Pueblo Alto Blanco for their help.

The couple were warming to the idea, time to tap the ball towards the net. Just one good straight kick, the ball was rolling towards the line and the keeper was distracted for the moment.

‘Look, if you find in a year or two that you want to change your mind, you can always sell on your membership and get at least what you paid for it, probably a lot more, and in the meantime you and your family will have had some great holidays for nothing. You can’t lose.’

The woman looked at her husband, the game was nearly over. ‘It would be nice right enough, our own place in Spain, we always dreamt of it didn’t we, dear?’

The man turned to Tom with a pleading look in his eye. ‘We can’t really afford this to go wrong, we don’t have much money. Are you sure it’s ok, that we’re getting good value? Are you sure we will be able to sell it again if we need to get our hands on the money?’

Tom tried not to let his feelings show on his face. The man was right to be worried, these timeshares were impossible to resell, worth very little at the end of the day, and it was hard not to feel sorry for the punters at a time like this. It wasn’t too bad with the pushy ones, they deserved what was coming to them, but an old couple like this who asked you out straight, that was harder. His instinct was to take them aside, to tell them to put their money away and go back to their hotel and forget the whole deal. Still, his job was to sell, and anyway there was another five hundred quid ready to drop into the bucket if this sale went through. He put his arm around the man’s shoulders.

‘Nothing to worry about, sir, this is a respectable company with hundreds of satisfied clients. Your money is safe.’

‘Well, if you say so.’

‘If you come this way we can arrange the few formalities.’ They followed him meekly to the desk in the small office.

He shoots, he scores! Walter would love this place, he thought to himself. Five sales today, two and a half grand in the pot and the day isn’t over yet. I love this fucking country.

Alan double-parked out front of Mesa Bella; the elderly head-waiter took the car keys and showed them to a quiet table on the raised area at the far end of the restaurant.

‘I like this place, never got a bad meal here yet, one of the best places on the coast.’

Tom liked the look of it, good atmosphere and decor, with a cosy noisy background of clattering plates and the laughter of happy diners.

‘Well, lad, I have to hand it to you, you can surely do the business. I’m sorry now I offered you so much money; you’re making more than I am nowadays.’

‘Hardly true, I know what you are making, about ten times what I make, but that’s life.’

‘I got overheads, costs, expenses.’ Alan was smiling broadly; they both knew that he was making a lot of money, but Tom wasn’t complaining either.

‘Come on, Tom, I bet you never made so much money in your life. Twelve grand this week, forty grand in the past month, where would you get it, I’m just a fucking mug aren’t I?’

‘You made at least two hundred thou last month by my reckoning, even allowing for your bloody overheads, but I’m not bitter.’ Tom was happy, it was Saturday night and they never worked on Sundays. All the tourist groups changed over on Sundays, no point in wasting time going after them. Mid-week was best, the punters getting bored with the beach and starting to look around the neighbourhood, ripe pickings for Alan’s team of hustler girls who delivered clients to the salesmen at the Pueblo.

They ate in silence for a while, the starters were tasty and the portions generous.

‘Any plans for later on?’

‘Might meet up with the crowd from the water park; have a few beers, nothing else. How about yourself?

Alan shook his head. ‘Early night for me, not able for the booze any more, doctor says I need to watch it a bit.’

‘So, how are we doing on the overall total?’ Tom was losing count of how many apartment shares had been sold, it was hard to keep track. In any case, he didn’t concern himself too much about the backroom detail; his job was to sell, and he just kept a note of how many sales he made each week and the names of the clients. Alan never quibbled, just paid him in cash on Saturday evenings, and they usually retired to a good restaurant for a leisurely dinner before going their separate ways for the rest of the weekend. The bundle of notes rested comfortably in his jacket pocket right now; there was nothing like the feeling of being paid in cash at the end of the week and knowing that there was more to be made next week again.

‘We’re nearly through all of block four now, we’ll be moving back to block one in about three or four weeks. Start trickling it out, one or two apartments at a time, pretend that they’re cancellations.’

‘We’re going well so.’ Tom was surprised at the extent of the sales. It was easy to forget the big picture sometimes; you just focussed on selling one apartment at a time, just zeroed in on one client and made the sale, then moved on to the next, head down, keep slogging away.

‘Doing particularly well since you came on board. You’re selling three to every one of Timothy’s for instance, of course the rankings system is working in your favour as well.’

The rankings was a simple system, whoever was top of the list got first choice of clients as they came in the door. Alan wanted clients dealt with by someone who was likely to get a sale, so the other salesmen only got a look in if Tom was already busy. It created a bit of competition too; the others had to try to sell more to catch Tom, but they hadn’t succeeded, so far.

‘Time flies doesn’t it, seems like you have been with us for years. It’s been a good move for you hasn’t it, coming to Spain?’

Tom agreed, it was almost too good to be true. Nearly nine months with Alan’s company, well more than a quarter of a million in the bank; would never happen at home. Still, you would miss home sometimes; it would be great to be heading out on the town at home instead of down to the bloody port, week after week, with the same crowd of losers propping up the counter in the Saxophone bar.

Soon, he figured, he would quit this game and get an honest job, one where he would be happy to meet his customers on the street and look them in the eye. It was ok when he was busy and didn’t have to think too much about what he was doing, but sometimes he lay awake at night and thought about some of the people who came through the offices at Pueblo Alto Blanco. Some of them could afford to lose the money, but then again a lot of them weren’t very well off and it seemed as if they were spending most of their life savings on a useless timeshare on a dusty Spanish hillside. A part of him wanted to warn them, to tell them to go home and forget the whole deal, but the thought of the fat commission on each sale kept him from doing anything so stupid.

‘Penny for the thoughts, Tom.’ Alan broke into his reverie.

‘You don’t get my thoughts for that kind of money, I thought we agreed that.’

‘You have a price on everything, Tom, but who am I to talk?’

Alan called for the bill, and the waiter brought the Bentley round to the front door. ‘Drop you somewhere? I’m heading home, can’t keep up the pace any more.’ Alan sounded tired.

‘I’ll get out at the road down to the port; the stroll will do me good.’ Tom felt bloated after the heavy meal. ‘I’m not getting enough exercise lately, added a couple of inches to the waistline since I started to work for you.’

‘It does you no harm; a big tall guy like you can carry a few extra pounds.’

‘Yes, but as long as it isn’t all at the front.’

‘See you Monday, Tom.’

He set off to walk to the saxophone bar with the intention of meeting up with the gang from the water park, but when he got to the fountain at the entrance to the port he paused. Tom wasn’t in the humour for a noisy night of drinking and having to shout to be heard above the crowd. He was getting tired of the constant partying in this sunny holiday resort; he remembered the nights at home, having a pint with Walter and Kevin in the Willows, and going on to a club and meeting the friends he knew from childhood. Tom was homesick; he turned and walked back towards the underpass and his apartment. An early night mightn’t be a bad idea.

He was awake early on Sunday morning and walked around to the twenty-four-hour supermarket to buy a couple of Irish newspapers. The news from home was the same as usual, not much happening, but it was nice to catch up. The property sections seemed to have got thicker, their pages full of adverts for new housing and apartment developments. The economy seemed to be doing all right, some of the gloom and doom was missing from the news stories and he detected a slightly positive slant to a lot of the articles. Maybe it was a case of far away hills, an emigrant’s view of home through rose tinted glasses; he dropped the papers on the table and headed out to get some breakfast.

It was a perfect morning for a walk, not too warm but with a clear blue sky overhead and not a speck of cloud to be seen. He loved to see the masses of purple flowers on the bougainvillea that spilled over the walls of the garden; the best thing about living is Spain was the year-round display of flowering plants that lifted the spirits on an early morning walk. He strolled through the car park of the Casino and crossed the small hill to where a small group of shops curved around the corner by the roundabout. La Paloma was open; a scattering of expat regulars already laying claim to the best tables on the terrace.

Henry Williams had already cornered a table, and he motioned to Tom to join him. The elderly English estate agent was a regular at the popular café, and Tom had breakfasted with him there many times since meeting with him on his first night in Spain when he was trying to decipher the menu in Picasso’s.

‘Tom, sit down, pull up a chair. I’d like you to meet another Irishman; this is Harry Corbett, plays golf with me in Valderama now and again.’

They exchanged handshakes. Tom hadn’t seen the Irishman before, looked a bit pale to be a resident in the area, probably had a holiday home here he reckoned.

‘So, do you live in Ireland or here in Spain?’

‘In Ireland unfortunately, although that sounds as if I dislike the place, but when I see weather like this, I envy you guys that have this all the time.’

‘So, how do you know this reprobate?’ Tom enjoyed a friendly banter with Henry, he had found him to be a helpful contact since their first meeting, and the two were now good friends.

‘He sold me my apartment a couple of years ago, and then he wound up having to show me where all the golf courses were. So now I come out for long weekends and keep him away from his work, drag him around the golf course and try to win back the commission he made off me.’