Martha Gibbs and her husband Geoffrey had been happy for as long as they could remember. They had been childhood sweethearts and had married when Martha had reached her eighteenth birthday. Martha's parents had been against Geoffrey from the beginning, especially her father.
"You can do better than a Postman" he had told her when at sixteen she had declared her love for Geoffrey. "You might think now that you love him, but there's more to life than young love. You'll want security and a certain quality of life that a postman just cannot provide. No Martha, I forbid it. You are too young and Geoffrey...well he's just not good enough"
So she had waited until her ‘eighteenth' and married him anyway never regretting her decision. Geoffrey had worked hard to provide for her and had taken care of her. In return she had loved him, kept him and honoured him. Then over forty years later, when Martha was sixty one and her husband sixty four, Geoffrey had been forced to take early retirement. Nothing serious, he had just walked too many miles delivering too many letters. They had taken their nest egg and purchased a small comfortable home in the mountains of Southern Spain. The villa, with its distant sea views was beautifully set within a garden of hibiscus and mimosa. Fragrantly abundant jasmine adorned almost every corner of their world. They picked oranges from their own trees and grapes from the cauldrons of vines which amassed their pagoda. They were blissfully happy. Blissfully content.
As the years passed and tourism blossomed, the reality of the fast growing Spanish economy began to effect them. They could increasingly no longer enjoy the quality lifestyle which had beckoned them to their mountain retreat some eleven years before. Things were getting tight.Very tight.
They held a meeting over supper.The two of them.
"I can remember it as though it were yesterday", reminisced Martha with tears in her eyes. "The day we celebrated our fortieth wedding anniversary. You took me to Fredericas, you know ... his restaurant was down in the valley...by the old water mill. You took me for dinner. It was the first time we had Spanish champagne". She patted his hand and smiled at him with obvious affection.
"The first of many such outings to poor old Fredericas" smiled her husband. "I wonder what became of him?"
"You always told me he was too cheap. You used to joke about it. Five courses with wine and the champagne for under two pounds. It was no wonder his establishment had to close"
As the evening sun dropped slowly down behind clusters of purple and white bougainvillaea, it's pale orange light flooding provocatively through the mass of foliage, Martha and Geoffrey sat quietly and peacefully. Each in each others thoughts.
Things had certainly changed. What had started as an enchanted dream had now become a quest for survival. Their twice weekly outings for lunch and dinner, had long ago been abandoned. The carefree life that had rewarded their lifetime’s work had deserted them. They had tightened their purse strings to the limit. Martha was worried.
"Geoffrey dear, I've been thinking"
"Have you dear? That's nice"
Geoffrey was staring at the surface of the swimming pool. It was just after nine in the evening and the pump had energised. Fresh water was flowing into the pool stirring up the surface and shimmering in the light.
"Don't you want to know what about" added Martha, a little harsher than before.
Geoffrey knew. He had known from the moment they had laid the table together earlier that evening. And now he was taking just then a few seconds from the love of his wife to protest at life's mean twists. He knew he had nothing to complain about; their life had been sweetness itself. He felt a twinge of regret and then shame as he looked up from the pool to confront his wife.
"You've been thinking about the car, Martha dear. You've been wondering how to broach the subject. You've been pondering the issues and balancing its value against my love for it. You've been pondering its usefulness against our reel needs. And lastly Martha, you sweet lady, you've been hurting yourself with the pain of its disposal"
"Am I so wrong in my conclusions Geoffrey. That car has meant everything to us"
For the second time that evening tears formed in Martha's eyes and she scrabbled for a tissue settling instead for a paper napkin from the table.
"All things must change" soothed her husband, with his heart in his mouth. "One must always move on. We always have, haven't we. Who knows what the extra money will do for us. We could have a small holiday perhaps or replenish the garden or redecorate. We could certainly manage a few evenings out"
Martha knew how much the car meant to her husband. He had loved and cherished it throughout the twenty one years they had owned it, bringing it to Spain when they had retired. It was part of him. Part of them. Now it was her turn to stare at the shimmering surface of the pool. The outer edges of the sun had now left the mimosa which became a dark shadow silhouetted against the night sky at the far end of the garden.
Martha looked up suddenly. "Perhaps we could..."
"No" commanded Geoffrey gently. "It would be folly."No,the car must go. We both realise that. With the two thousand pounds it will realise we can be secure, at least for another year or two"
It was said. There was nothing more to add. They both became lost in their own thoughts, staring down at the shimmering water. Suddenly it became cold and it time to go in.
The next morning Geoffrey cycled the one and a half miles down in to village. It nestled serenely at one end of the valley, it's eighteenth century whitewashed houses clustered around a cobbled square. He went straight to the single public telephone box situated at the far end of the square and made his call.
"I'd like to place an advertisement please"
The return journey became more difficult each time he attempted it. He remembered the days when he could ride easily up the first part of the lane from the village to the cross roads, which was located about a mile from the square. The lane rose gradually through orange groves, each tree in the November fruiting season surrounded by thick clumps of yellow cowslips. The heady scent of the orange blossom combining with the overwhelming vision of colour did much to ease the burden of physical effort and made the slow ride at least enjoyable. Now in mid-October, when the scorching morning sun was still strong and the orange trees and cowslips were not yet providing their magic, he could only shuffle along, dragging his cycle beside him.
He reached the crossroads within the hour and rested, taking out the small bottle of water that he had purchased after making the call. The advertisement, he had been informed, would appear the following Friday in the Costa Blanca Times. The publication was well supported by the English fraternity, he had been told, with a circulation of around twenty thousand copies.
"I can see no reason why your car won't sell straight away Mr Gibbs" suggested a young Spanish man speaking almost perfect English. "It seems well priced for its year of manufacture. And no, the fact that you don't have a telephone won't make a great deal of difference. As you properly know Ex Pats are well used to coping with these situations. I think you'll find that any interested buyers will certainly be prepared to visit - on the off-chance as it were"
Geoffrey found himself staring up the wildly steepening lane before him. He sipped at the water, took out his hanky and removed his sun hat. He then mopped at the sweat on the hairless crown of his head. The secret, he had learned was time. If he took his time, as he had done so many times before, he would make it. "A mere eight hundred steps" to go, he murmured as he tried to relax in the sunlight.
"I don't like you going out alone" grumbled Martha gently as she set the jug of water on the table at which Geoffrey was seated and poured him a glass. "You're such a worry to me. You look so hot, you poor dear"
"What would I do without you" sighed Geoffrey with love in his eyes. He took the proffered towel and wiped his face and then took a long drink of the iced water. Martha pulled over a chair from its place under the window and lifted his legs on to it. "There. Now while you sit and rest you can tell me your news".
"Well, with good fortune" said Geoffrey smiling, "by this time next week we should be considerably better off. I've placed the advertisement and it will appear in next Friday’s edition. And from what the pleasant young man in the advertising department said we shall no problem selling the car. No problem at all"
Geoffrey didn't go out again that week. He pottered in the garden with Martha at his elbow and on the Friday he polished the car. They both stood back and admired it. Martha's eyes were glistening in the sunlight as she fought back the tears. Geoffrey put his arm around her frail body and hugged her.
At precisely twelve forty the Costa Blanca Times slid through their letter box and presented itself on Martha's highly polished tiles, just as it did every Friday. Mrs Wilding from five doors up collected her own from the village each Friday morning when doing her shopping and had kindly offered a free personal home delivery service.
"We must reciprocate in some way" said Martha thoughtfully, as she scooped up the paper.
"She's been doing it for the last four years" said Geoffrey incredulously. "No I think she would be most hurt if we offered anything more than the thanks we give along with the odd bag of home grown oranges"
The paper was spread out on the kitchen table with Geoffrey fussing over its pages. He found it last.
FOR SALE. FORD ZEPHYR.1971. COLLECTORS CAR
WHITE WITH BLACK VINYL ROOF. PERFECT
CONDITION. ONLY 26,000 MILES. BARGAIN AT
£20,000. Apply:- Gibbs, Floras, Calle Pintos
Urbanisation Elite, Orba. Please apply
in person. Regret:-No telephone.
Geoffrey could hardly believe it. In fact he didn't to start with. He read the advertisement again, this time more slowly. BARGAIN AT £20,000. TWENTY thousand pounds. His heart sank.
Geoffrey drew the glass up to his lips and sipped at the brandy. They had left the newspaper on the kitchen table and retreated to the terrace.
"I shall have to go back and telephone him" said Geoffrey bitterly, "that 'nice' young man". He sat silently for a few moments sipping his drink. Martha sat quietly by his side.
"It's obviously a printing error" he informed her, placing the glass on the table. "It's not my fault you know" he said, looking hurtfully at his wife. "I was clear about the price. We discussed it. He gave me advice". He picked up his glass and moved it to his lips. "He even looked in some book he had in his office, to check it". Martha nodded in sympathy as Geoffrey sipped more brandy from the glass. "He wanted to find out how much it was worth. Oh no, it's wasn't my fault. It must have been at the printers. He was only trying to help. I will have to go back and tell them"
They sat in silence staring at the still surface of the swimming pool. Geoffrey poured himself another brandy and sipped it sullenly. Martha knew better than to say anything to upset him further: to say anything at all. She would allow him to finish his brandy. To calm down. To rationalise. Only then would she tell him that under no circumstances would she allow him to return to the village that afternoon. It would have to wait until Monday.
Martha sat quietly at her kitchen table glancing repeatedly at the clock on the wall. Ten past three. He had been gone almost half an hour. Oh why had he not listened to her. He had spent the morning in physical effort, cleaning the car and he should not have attempted the journey to the village after such an ordeal. And then there was the brandy. How many had he had? This was doing her no good at all, she decided, just sitting. She must work to take her mind off of things. She got up and made her way to the large cupboard in the hall. She began to calculate in her mind. Twenty minutes for the ride down in to the village. Possibly another twenty to make the call. And then...How long for the return journey?. Geoffrey had explained about the trip back. About the first mile from the village up the gradual slope to the crossroads, and then about his rest at the crossroads and than his slow walk up the steepest part of the lane to the house. The last eight hundred paces, he had called them. An hour and half he had told her. So how long would that be altogether? She added the figures slowly in her mind and re-checked the clock. About half past five she reasoned. Give or take. But what about the possibility that the telephone booth would be engaged. For how long? she wondered. Or the number he was calling, the newspaper. They could be engaged. She had no way of knowing. How could she calculate without knowing. She decided, as she dragged her floor mop from the cupboard that she would not worry seriously until a quarter to six. Then she would worry.
She filled her bucket and began to work through the house mopping the already shiny floor tiles with a renewed vigour. At twenty minutes to five there was a knock on the door. Her heart fluttered wildly as she put down her mop and opened it.
"You are Mrs Gibbs...yes?"
Martha looked at the man. He was a foreigner. Not a Spaniard, but a foreigner. An Arab perhaps she decided. He was sixtyish, very well dressed with a warm smile and spoke in good broken English. His face was tanned and it's leathered appearance radiated happiness.
"You are Mrs Gibbs...yes?" Without waiting for her reply, he broadened his smile and added, "the Mrs Gibbs who sells car...yes?" With that he held out a copy of the Costa Blanca Times with his thumb locked on to the advertisement. "This you?" he asked warmly."Yes?"
Martha was dumfounded, and alone she remembered. Geoffrey always dealt with the business side of things. She stared at the man for a moment wondering what to do. Geoffrey would be back in an hour or two she reasoned, perhaps she could ask him to come back. On the other hand, he looked pleasant enough, perhaps she should invite him in to wait. She could explain. She decided suddenly and held out her hand.
"How do you do Mr..."
"MY name is Goity, Mohamid Goity. I am very well thank you"
"The car" said Martha nervously, "you've come about the car?"
"Senior Picanto at the supermarcado told me you were selling. He told me yesterday - no, the day before, I think - and today I see in Costa Blanca". He held the paper firmly in his right hand and beamed at her. "I come to see. My regret for your disturbance. That is the correct word, 'disturbance'....Yes?"
She took him through to the living room and they stood for a moment in awkward silence. He smiled again showing a great wedge of shiny teeth.
"Forgive me for this surprise. You have no telephone...No? I come see car...yes? It is OK now to see?"
Martha led him through to the garage chattering nervously, her thoughts racing. How on earth could she resolve the matter of the price, she worried. The question circled her mind like a redundant echo. He must have had seen the advertisement. Perhaps he had misread it. Perhaps theirs was the only copy that carried the misprint. Yes that was it. No, no it wasn't. That was absurd. They must all be the same, all with the wrong price. Geoffrey had obviously talked about the price with Senior Picanto at the shop. The proper price. Yes, that's it. Senior Picanto informed My Goity about the car. Mr Goity then purchased a copy of the Costa Blanca Times, perhaps for the address. Certainly for the authority it gave him when he knocked on the door. Yes that's it, thought Martha relaxing a little. He hasn't even seen the incorrect price. He properly can't even understand written English that well. She even managed herself a small grin.
"It is very beautiful and in first class condition. That is the correct word...'condition'...yes?. You have the keys,for starting?. It is very beautiful car. I always want...you know. That is the correct word...'want'...yes?" He paused for a moment, smiled and said again, "you have keys to start engine...for sounding". He waggled the lobe of his right ear and smiled his biggest smile yet.
Martha went back in to house returning a minute later. Mr Goity was encircling the car, patting the roof and bonnet in turn looking at first thoughtful and then serious. She handed him the key ring.
I must explain" she said as he started the engine. "About the price in the paper. The Costa Blanca Times". She waited for recognition but he was already revving the engine. She moved round to the driver’s door and looked in through the open window. "About the price" she shouted. "I must explain about the price"
At that moment he switched off the ignition, pushed himself back in to the leather seat, ran his fingers around the leather clad steering wheel and smiled, his weather beaten face a picture of happiness. "The car beautiful. I always want. That is the correct word...'want'...Yes?. The car is beautiful. I will buy"
"But I must explain about the..."
Mr Goity help up the palm of his hand demanding silence and reached within his jacket, pulling out an old leather wallet. "You will take euros...yes? It good for you...yes". You live here in Spain...yes?"
He took out a wad of banknotes and placed the wallet on the passenger seat and looked up at Martha through the open window. Martha could only stare at him, open mouthed.
"Eighteen thousand euros...yes? The price you want? At one hundred and ten exchanging, that is 20,000 pounds sterling English money. I visit bank this morning for cash. It is four packets. That is the correct word 'packets'...yes? You will count...yes?"
Martha placed the money in the top drawer of the bureau which stood in the corner of the living room. She locked the drawer and removed the key placing it in her apron pocket. She was still in a state of shock as she moved over to the window and watched the Arab dismiss the returning taxi with a flourish of bank notes. There was some discussion and waving of arms as the driver climbed in to his vehicle. The Zephyr, Mr Goity's new Zephyr was now parked in Martha's driveway in readiness for Mr Goity's departure. Martha watched as the taxi pulled away heading further up the mountain. After a moment Mr Goity appeared at the terrace door. He bowed slightly and smiled.
"It has been good pleasure to do business with you Mrs Gibbs. The car is very beautiful and I will care for it with my other cars. A collection I think you call this. Lots of cars, all nice. Yes a collection. It will be fine, the car. I promise"
Mr Goity bowed again and then turned to leave. "Ah!" he exclaimed suddenly turning back towards her, "there is a way to the village going ...this way". He pointed south, the direction further up the mountain. "Only I understand from the taxi driver that the road down-wards is blocked. An accident I think. Some doctors and an ambulance. An old man at the crossroads. But I think it's too late. The taxi man said he is already dead"