THE CAVE
Mallorca, Spain
(Two Weeks Later)
“We’re here,” Kate announced to Jamie, as she slowed down outside vast dark redwood gates that nestled within a high white stone wall. Jamie had been uncharacteristically quiet on the drive and Kate, finally halting to a stop and turning off the engine, took hold of Jamie’s arms so that she was looking her squarely in the eye.
“You’ve got this.”
“What happens if he doesn’t like me? What ha—”
“We’ve been through all this, Jamie. He’s going to love you. He’s going to adore you.”
“But—”
“Stop it.” They’d been having the same conversation since Jamie’s arrival the previous night, and Kate’s patience was wearing thin. She appreciated that her dear friend was very much out of her comfort zone, but nevertheless, this was happening and she had to snap out of it.
“Look,” said Kate, a little softer as she leaned over pulling Jamie into a hug, “You are Jamie King, woman supreme, you are not just a pretty face and you’re the most ridiculously anal, organised person that I know.” She pulled back again looking at Jamie, her blue eyes sparkling, “Well, other than me.” And Jamie chuckled.
Kate opened the door, made her way around the car and pressed the intercom whilst Jamie sat rigid, nodding her head up and down. I've got this. I’ve got this on a loop; as if saying it enough times, she might actually believe it.
There were no other cars on the road, nor had there been any shops or signs of life as they’d driven up the steep hill. Jamie wondered how she was going to manage without a car if she got the job. She couldn’t exactly ask Kate to drive her to work every day. Also, if she did get the job and was able to move back to the island—just the thought made her heart sing—she’d want Madison to be able to return to her old school, which wasn’t exactly close. But without her modelling income, she didn’t have the budget to buy a car. Jamie’s anxiety started to creep up again.
“Hola,” said Nigel, in a very trill English-person-trying-to-speak-Spanish voice, through the intercom.
“It’s us, Kate and Jamie.”
“Darling girls. I’ll open the main gates and you can drive up.” Nigel had now aborted the Spanish. The main gates creaked into action. Kate jumped back in the car.
Jamie’s face was flushed as she attempted to smooth down her now frizzy hair, grumbling, “I can’t believe your AC isn’t working, how are you going to manage?”
“Oh, I’m not,” Kate said with glee, “I’m getting my new car next week. A Range Rover. I got a new car and the operation.” She’d played it beautifully, which was fortunate given the Volvo was on its last legs. Fearful that it didn’t have enough oomph to make it up the steep incline to Nigel’s house, Kate started rocking back and forward as if her motions would somehow propel the dying car to the top.
The villa itself was hidden from view by a series of magnificent, tall palm trees that towered far above the roof of the two-story villa. As they reached the top, the property became visible—a stunning mixture of sleek modern lines and Neoclassical architecture with nymphaeum statues, fountains, and cascades. Perched on the edge of the highest point of Sol de Mallorca, it was breathtaking. Nigel stood by the front door, grinning. As the girls exited the car, he first hugged Kate, who then ushered Jamie forwards. “And, this is Jamie King.” Presenting her with pride as if she was showing off a prized possession.
Letting go of Kate, Nigel grinned at Jamie and held out his arms. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world to just walk into them, so she did. Nigel wrapped his arms around her, kissing the top of her head. Then he pulled back and held Jamie at arm’s length, still grasping her hands, and surveyed her from head to toe. Turning to Kate, “Oh, you didn’t exaggerate darling,” then continued his survey of Jamie. “You are stunning, absolutely divine.”
Jamie blushed. Not that she wasn’t used to this sort of accolade, but this was her new path and being stunning wasn’t a prerequisite.
“And she’s the most organised person I know,” Kate exclaimed, knowing that Jamie had experienced enough focus on her appearance to last a lifetime.
“She doesn’t have a car,” Kate suddenly blurted out.
“No car?” Nigel, aghast with horror.
Jamie laughed a little awkwardly and flashed Kate a warning look. She didn’t want to be a problem. She hadn’t even started yet.
Relinquishing Jamie, Nigel turned his head and yelled into the vacuous hallway, “Ben, she doesn’t have a car.”
Nigel was tall and skinny, but his presence was notable. His greying hair flopped over his face, which he kept swiping to one side before pulling a hair band off his wrist, scraping it all into a ponytail. He had a beautiful face, now unobscured by the hair. His eyes glistened aquamarine, and there was a softness about him that melted away any last fragments of Jamie’s anxiety.
Ben materialised and stood next to Nigel. He was significantly shorter and significantly rounder, his head was clean-shaven bald. Ben ignored her hand, and like Nigel, drew her into his arms.
“Hey Ben.” Kate waved as she made her way back to the car. She was running late for her optician’s appointment. “I’m going to leave you. Call me when you're done with your induction and I’ll come pick you up.” Before Jamie had a chance to stop her, Kate jumped back into the car, mouthing, “You've got this.”
“Shall we lend her The Chameleon?” Nigel was now talking to Ben.
What? A pet? I don’t want a chameleon. Why do they want me to have a chameleon? “That’s so kind of you, but Kate didn’t mention I’d be looking after any animals. I’m not sure I’m the best person.” Jamie didn’t want to insult their kind welcome gift, but the last thing she needed was to care for an animal—a reptile at that.
The men laughed and Nigel grabbed her hand, pulling her towards what appeared to be a garage at the side of the main house. Pressing a remote that he took out from his shorts, three doors lurched into action, rising to reveal a vast expanse filled with cars. A Porsche, a Jaguar. And was that an Aston Martin? Jamie’s eyes gleamed. They were all beautiful. Weaving their way through the vehicles, they arrived at the far end of the garage, where one car was covered. Nigel reached down to the front of the car and peeled back the tarpaulin to reveal an old Renault. Jamie gasped. It was fluorescent green with red and turquoise stripes.
“The Chameleon,” Nigel and Ben spurt out in unison.
Jamie gawped. She’d never seen anything like it. Ben and Nigel both seemed excited. They loved to shock. Jamie gulped down her gasp, shuddering at the thought of driving around in something so far from inconspicuous.
“She’s our first car,” said Nigel, “We never use her now, but she goes like a dream, and you’re welcome to borrow her until you sort something”—Nigel hesitated—“less vulgar.”
“You are over twenty-five?” Nigel continued, and whilst it pleased Jamie that this was even a question, she nodded her head, still finding it difficult to speak. “That’s great. We won’t even have to get you different insurance. Anyone over twenty-five can drive it.” Nigel walked to the wall and opened a box where a multitude of keys were hanging. “Please take her, you can’t walk here,” he said, passing the keys to Jamie. Whilst it filled her with horror to be driving around in something so blatant, needs must.
“I don’t need it yet, but thank you,” Jamie said with genuine appreciation, passing the keys back to Nigel whilst praying she would soon be able to afford something here. Anything but The Chameleon.
“Okay, no worries, it's here for you when you arrive properly. When is that?” Nigel passed Jamie the remote to the garage.
“Well, I was waiting to see if you wanted me.”
“Want you? Of course we want you. The job’s already yours, darling. Get yourself packed up and back as soon as you can. And you’ll need this to access The Cave.” Nigel passed Jamie another remote, whilst Jamie stood with her mouth open. The Cave? She couldn’t believe this was really happening. Kate genuinely was her fairy godmother, and now she had two more.
“Ohmygosh.” Jamie’s words blurred into one. “Are you sure? Really sure?” But Nigel wanted her to start immediately, and she wouldn’t be able to move back properly until after Christmas. She handed the remote back to Nigel. “I know you want me to start straight away, but I have some existing bookings that I need to fulfil. I can’t let people down.”
She watched Nigel’s face register a flicker of disappointment. “But from the sounds of it, there’s a lot I can start remotely. If I gather all the information today, then I can make a start on it in London.”
“Well, it’s waited about two decades to get organised. I know we’ll make it work. Now let’s show you around.” Nigel walked back into the garage as Jamie followed, tears threatening to escape as the reality of the situation hit her, but she held them back—she didn’t want to be a blubbering wreck as well as a frizzy one.
Nigel stopped at the back wall, pressing a sequence of buttons on an alarm pad which shifted the wall to reveal a secret sliding door before disappearing back into the wall, revealing a spiral staircase. It was all very James Bond. Lights flickered on and illuminated the stairwell that appeared to be carved out of stone. Gripping the rope that acted as a handrail, Jamie followed Nigel down the winding stairs. At the bottom, an iron gate blocked the entrance to what Jamie could now see was indeed a massive cave. Pressing the alarm pad again, the gate sprung open, and more lights lit up the vast room. Jamie gasped. The Cave, much like the stairwell, was made of rock, and in the centre, a large glass desk was home to a new Mac, pens, pads, a camera, and was that a label maker? Two long red velvet drapes hung to the far right, and for a moment Jamie imagined she’d entered some sort of ‘Red Room,’ but reassured that Nigel was Kate’s friend and that he was gay shook away any thoughts of being held captive.
Nigel seemed to relish in Jamie's reaction, watching her face with pleasure. “It’s quite something. Kate’s wonderful David designed it.”
As they walked through the gate, Jamie’s eyes scanned the space. To the far left, they’d carved shelves out of the rock, each lined with red velvet and enclosed by glass doors. Jamie smiled with delight as she cast her eyes across the many handbags ensconced within their glass homes; each glass cabinet with its own alarm pad. “The glass is reinforced,” Nigel exclaimed. “Bulletproof too.” He was proud of the security. Forcing her eyes away from the bags, Jamie followed Nigel to the far end of the cave. Pressing another button, shutters rose to reveal a terrace. The sun streamed into the cave and the lights flickered off. As she walked onto the balcony, she was stunned into silence. The panoramic view was breathtaking: small coves enclosed by shady pine forests, rugged rocks and cobalt crystal waters. To the far right of the terrace, there was a small covered kitchenette and bar with stools. Nigel reached down to a small fridge and produced a bottle of champagne. “It’s induction day, let’s make a toast because”—he winked mischievously as he paused searching for the right words—“Jamie King, you are my life saviour.”
Taking the glass flute he proffered, Jamie corrected, “Actually Nigel, you are my life saviour.” And they both clinked their glasses, grinning at each other like school children. As the sparkling liquid caressed the back of Jamie’s throat, she could have purred with delight. Everything was going to be alright after all.
Nigel stared out to sea. “No, really Jamie. I need you. I’m out of control. I buy things, print out the invoice and shove it in a box. Ben’s going crazy; he’s worried I’m going to drop dead and he’ll be left with this huge collection with no idea of what is what, the value or anything. He’s banned me from buying any more until I get all this categorised, and I do so love buying.” He grinned cheekily.
Jamie was equally excited. “I can’t wait to get started on those gorgeous bags, but Kate mentioned you collect watches and art too?”
Nigel knocked back the remnants of his glass before placing it on the bar. “Follow me,” he said, walking towards the interior of the cave. “The most important thing for me was to have someone I could trust.” He looked Jamie squarely in the eye. “Kate says you’re like her sister and trusts you implicitly, and that’s good enough for me.” Jamie held his gaze. She felt honoured to be offered this position. “And once we get this lot sorted, then we can start on stage two of my master plan—sending you off to various auctions and fairs to advance the collection.” Nigel’s excitement was contagious and as Jamie imagined all the incredible shopping she'd be doing; it was as if all her Christmases had come at once.
Walking towards one of the red velvet drapes, Nigel pulled the long gold cord, as the drapes swished to the side, unveiling a safe. As he pressed a sequence of buttons, the safe door popped open, revealing a large interior, shelved with various trays also lined with red velvet. Pulling out one tray, he walked back towards the glass desk and placed the tray of watches on top, lovingly running his hands across them. This was about the beauty of the watches; the craftsmanship, and Jamie felt a tidal wave of respect towards Nigel for trusting her with this precious cargo that obviously meant so much to him. Nigel picked up a watch. It was a rose-coloured gold bracelet ladies’ dress watch. The mother of pearl dial with Breguet-style numerals, unlike anything she’d ever seen before. Nigel held the watch out to Jamie, as she took it, mesmerised.
“Do you know anything about watches?” Nigel didn’t tear his gaze away from the watch nestled in Jamie’s hands. “No, to be honest I don’t.” She glanced up at him. “But I will, Nigel. I’m going to learn everything there is. It’s simply exquisite.”
“It was my mother’s. A Rolex. It dates back to 1914. I have no idea what it’s worth now, but it’s the most precious thing I own.” He had tears in his eyes as he spoke and Jamie felt a rush of warmth towards this gentle giant with a heart of gold, as Kate had accurately described him. Jamie carefully placed the watch back in Nigel’s hands, which he lovingly stroked before returning it to its velvet nest.
Jamie wondered what memories were being evoked in him. “I’m going to learn everything there is, Nigel. I’m going to get all of this.” As she waved her hands around the cave. “All of this, photographed and categorised. I’m going to research and find current values and …” She was actually quite lost for words. Nigel looked up and smiled. “I know you will, dear.”
Picking up the tray of watches, Nigel returned it to the safe, before announcing more jovially, “And, last but not least—the art.” As he pulled the gold rope on the other red velvet drape, a second iron gate was revealed. Pressing the alarm code again to release the door, lights flickered on to reveal another slightly smaller cave. A humidifier buzzed, and Nigel explained how the art had to be kept at a certain temperature. Large metal storage trays with plastic sleeves filled this cave. “I’m sorry, this really is all over the place,” Nigel explained, a tad embarrassed, “Ideally, I’d like all the art from a particular artist to be categorised together. They’re all limited editions.” He leaned in to whisper like a conspirator, “But I want to start buying originals.” His eyes twinkled with excitement as he flicked through the plastic sleeves as one might flick through the pages of a book. “Damien Hirst, which is Pop Art and … you might want to make a note of this.”
Jamie was already on it. Reaching into her buttery soft brown leather satchel, she fished out a small cream notepad.
“I absolutely love street artists. I think everybody should appreciate art, and all these artists started on the streets, not just for wealthy buggers like me.” He chuckled. “Make a note of these names. Pure Evil,” he said, stopping at an image of what appeared to be a mixture of a bunny and fingers.
“Aptly named, isn’t it?” Jamie noted that he had several ‘bunny fingers’ in various different colours; she liked the pink and glitter one best.
“Most of the artists have their own tags. Pure Evil has a bunny tag which appears on all his work. What’s important is what number edition it is, out of how many were produced, and whether the artist has signed it. A signed print increases the value.” He continued to flick the plastic sleeves, settling on a rather terrifying image.
“That’s Jack Nicholson,” Jamie said with glee, recognising the brightly coloured image.
“Yes, the artist is Invader. Write that name down too.” And he pointed to the bottom right-hand corner, “You see it says thirty-two of a hundred? That means a total of one hundred prints were produced and this was number thirty-two. The value of the print is often determined by the number in the run.”
Jamie looked somewhat confused but kept nodding, furiously making notes.
“So most often the lower the number in the edition, the more valuable the piece.” Flicking to another image. Nigel pointed to the right-hand corner that was marked ‘AP.’ “That means it’s an artist's proof; these are the most valuable of all as there are very few of them. The AP is an impression of a print taken in the printmaking process to see the current printing state of a plate while the plate is being worked on by the artist. Sometimes the artist alters the main run, which is what makes these AP’s rare and its rarity increases the value.”
“And the tags?” Jamie was eager to show Nigel that she was fully engrossed.
“This sort of art comes from the street. Often, the artists are looking to express themselves. It gives a voice to the unheard, the invisible, the nobodies who want to be somebody; there’s a feeling of satisfaction and not feeling so hopeless.” Nigel resumed his list of artists: Hewlett, Cauty, Nick Walker, as Jamie furiously tried to scribble the names down, fearful she might not be able to read her writing afterwards.
Nigel continued flicking the plastic sleeves until he settled on one piece. Lifting the plastic sleeve out of the tray, his eyes gleamed with delight as he made his way to the glass desk and laid it out flat. Reaching down to the desk drawer, he pulled out a pair of white gloves. “When you handle the art, you need to please use the gloves.” Having slipped his hands into the gloves, he reached into the plastic and gently eased the print out. The image was simple, a young girl with her hand extended towards a red heart-shaped balloon carried away by the wind.
“This of course, is Banksy,” he said, not taking his eyes off the image.
“Oh gosh I love his work, always so powerful. And”—Jamie said, noting the scrawled Banksy signature at the bottom right of the print—“it's signed, so these must be really valuable.”
“Exactly,” said Nigel, pleased that Jamie was catching on; not just a pretty face after all. “Some say it’s a symbol of lost innocence, others believe that the girl is setting the balloon free.”
“It’s beautiful. Always been one of my favourites,” Jamie said, entranced.
“All of his works are simple, but genius, really. He’s very political and his art gives a message about the society we live in. I wish I’d bought more of his prints or some originals but it’s too late now; you can buy a house for what they cost.” His eyes flickered with excitement. “But as I said, Ben’s banned me until I get all of this into shape.” Then clapping his hands together in a prayer-like fashion. “So, please Miss King, can you help me get this sorted?” he whispered before gently slipping the print back into its plastic sleeve and replacing it back in the metal tray. “I’m sorry, it’s such a mess.”
“Good god, don’t be sorry. If it wasn’t, then you wouldn’t need me and Nigel …” She hesitated, trying to find the words that would convey her genuine excitement. “Nigel, this is the most exciting opportunity that anyone has ever given to me. I am going to love sorting this all out. I won’t let you down.”
“I know you won’t.” He could tell by the way Jamie carried herself that his babies were in good hands. Walking back to the desk Nigel reached underneath, flicking open the top of a large wicker basket, piled to the brim with paper. “The invoices.”
Jamie laughed. “Brilliant Nigel, I’ll have this sorted in no time.”
“The only invoice that isn’t in there is my mother’s watch.”
“Lunch is served,” Ben yelled down the stairs, interrupting their conversation. Nigel pointed to the entrance. “There’s an intercom over there but Ben won’t use it. I think he just likes to yell at me. Now please come and join us for lunch so you can tell us all about yourself,” surveying Jamie up and down. “You do eat, don’t you?”
Jamie grinned. “I do now.”