Chapter 15
Tobias is about to leave the site and go in search of some lunch, perhaps a cold beer to reward himself for his morning efforts.
Bill, the foreman, has assured him that the scaffolding will be coming down this week, now that all the loose roof tiles have been replaced, some of the dodgy flashing repaired.
And the exterior of the house has also been given a fresh coat of paint to seal it against the harsh abrasion of coastal weather.
It’s good to know the property will be watertight before the next winter comes around.
Nice to get the scaffolding down too. He knows how Olivia hates it.
And the locals too, he suspects, since it spoils the quaint seaside image.
But it’s not like theirs is the only house bearing the signs of improvement or extension.
He’d noticed several others further up the hill, one of them definitely owned by locals; an older couple who have apparently run their home as a B & B most of their married lives.
He’d stopped to admire the handiwork, inquire if they could recommend any other local tradespeople.
But they had shaken their heads, exchanged barbed looks, made their excuses and gone indoors.
Strange folk some of them round here. Distinctly unfriendly, in fact.
Although, you’d suppose they’d be used to outsiders after all these years.
Their whole livelihood is dependent on them, after all.
He had almost felt tempted to give them some business advice: to turn the place into an Airbnb and let the whole property out during the season.
Who wants to be confined to a poky bedroom and have breakfast served in some old biddy’s front parlour?
To his mind, it would be far better to put the whole thing up for sale.
They could make a killing and retire to some nice bungalow somewhere else.
Still, some people won’t be told. Incapable of change and can’t move with the times.
Of course, he’s made a career from predicting the markets, identifying opportunities before others can, knowing which way the tide is turning.
Adapt or perish – the old army saying – as his father used to be fond of quoting.
It holds true in life, as in war. Survival of the fittest.
He bids farewell to the men as he picks his way along the site and through the back garden, though they seem less enthusiastic than he would like.
It must be damn hard work in this heat though, he admits.
That’s why he’s off to find some shade and refreshment.
He wonders where Livvy and the kids have got to.
Whether he can round them up for lunch or whether he should take advantage of some peace and quiet, see if he can’t hole up in a pub somewhere with his iPad for company.
He wishes Marcus was back here already. He enjoys the company of men, misses it when he’s on holiday with the wife and kids.
And nothing gives him greater pleasure than holding forth over a younger man who would clearly kill for his wealth and status.
Oh, he knows it, can see it in Marcus’s eyes.
It is nice being the boss, after all. With a smile to himself, he strides through the gate and leaves the property, chest swelling in the tight polo shirt, damp patches at his armpits.
As he makes his way down the street, feeling the road gently dropping down to the sea, he passes an old man who has seemingly stopped for a breather.
Tobias notes that his cheeks display a fine web of veins, his white hair curling under his fisherman’s cap.
He leans against the wall staring up at the renovation.
His face is stern, perhaps from the exertion of the hill.
But as Tobias nods at him, the man turns his eyes towards him and they are dark pieces of stone, full of barely-concealed loathing.
He feels himself baulk for a second and then dismisses it, carrying on his way.
Good Lord, he thinks to himself, with another inward smile.
These people round here. Mad as a mongoose, every last one of them.