THE SPANISH WAITER: TWO

Ivan arrives at the hotel that he is destined to work in as a waiter

The Hotel Pyramido, when he arrived at it, was clean, modern, large, and Valentina led him into its reception area with a smile on her face. She may have been a senior police officer but on her day off she was dressed in shorts and a loose top that failed to conceal an ample and rather pert bosom. It was difficult to assess her age because she could have been anything between twenty and fifty, and her complexion, not overly spoilt by a minimal subtle shading of cosmetic make-up which was beautifully and simply applied.

“Well, here you are after your long journey,” she said to Ivan. Her English, he had already noted during their journey in her car from the airport, was almost perfect.

“Wait here, and I’ll look for Tomas,” she suggested, indicating one of a row of plush armchairs.

There were plenty of seats in the large foyer and as he lowered himself into one of them nobody else was in evidence, not even a receptionist at the desk, but he followed her suggestion, and sunk gratefully into one of them. Then he had a chance to look around as a man who must have been a customer of the hotel wheeled his luggage across the floor in front of him, smiled as if he envied Ivan starting a break in the building and then disappeared through the door.

All very normal, he thought.

Then the Spanish policewoman returned with a man who was obviously her husband. They were holding hands and he was murmuring what looked like sweet nothings into her ear as they approached Ivan. He was short, shorter than her, and gave the impression of being one who enjoyed his food.

Once again Ivan thought she looked good. Wearing pale pink shorts as she did, she had legs that needed something like shorts to display them properly, and they matched the weather shining on the world outside the hotel as if they had been manufactured with sunshine in mind.

Tomas, for it was he, released his fond grip on his wife’s hand and held his own out to Ivan in formal greeting.

“Good to meet you, Mr Maybe,” he said, “I’ve been made aware of your rather interesting history and wondered if you’d mind if I asked you a few questions, just to make the air clear.” His English was as good as Ivan’s Spanish wasn’t, it seemed.

“You put me to shame, sir,” replied Ivan, “my countrymen are so poor when it comes to other languages and I barely know a word of Spanish. I am shamed by your obvious familiarity with my language”

“That is something I notice when we have English guests,” replied Tomas, “it’s never easy if they try to order something from the bar beyond the simplicity of a small or a large beer! Which is why I felt it advisable to employ someone to help. You see, my other waiters and waitresses are limited when it comes to languages that are not Spanish!”

“I see, sir,” he replied.

“Excuse me if I ask personal questions,” continued Tomas, “but the situation is somewhat odd. My good lady wife tells me that you were an educator before trouble hit you…”

Ivan nodded. “I taught boys and some girls in a comprehensive school. You know, secondary.”

“And then you hit trouble?”

“I did, and suffered for it. I was trying to repair a neighbour’s car and when I discovered that the repair might end up being expensive he blamed me as tough I fixed te prices of car parts! I left him shouting at me, and using some very bad language, and went home, so I have no idea what happened next, but I subsequently discovered that he vanished off the face of the Earth. The police tried to find him, but they had no clues as to what happened to him and in the end they decided he must be dead and that the man who he had been shouting at must have killed him in a fit of temper. That man was me.”

Tomas nodded as Ivan spoke fairly slowly. He knew the tale was odd, to say the least, and the last thing he wanted was for his account to get blurred because Tomas’s excellent understanding of a foreign language still had the odd hole in it.

“I see,” replied Tomas when he had finished. “It is indeed a sad story. And my wife says you ended up in prison because of it?”

“I was accused of murder, and convicted of it,” nodded Ivan. “There was no evidence, no dead body, not even pools of his blood, but the Inspector decided he must be dead if they couldn’t find him, and the killer must have been me.”

“That must have been painful,” sighed Tomas, “tell me, are all British policemen so short-sighted?”

“I hope not,” murmured Ivan, “but to tell the truth there are weaknesses in the system, weaknesses that cost me twelve years of my life.”

“And you tell me here and now that you did not commit the crime you were convicted of?” said Tomas quietly, “I must be sure of that.”

It was then that Valentina interrupted. “I have looked into it, Tomas,” she said, “I have even read a transcript of the trial and there was no shred of real evidence against Ivan, which is why I have been happy to introduce him to you. What was said against him was all what they call circumstantial and any defence should have challenged it. No, I am certain of his innocence, as is my English colleague Geraldine, who you know.”

“I do,” nodded Tomas, and he held one hand out to Ivan. “Then welcome again, my friend. I will show you round my hotel, and to your own room where you may refresh yourself after what must have been a long journey.”

“I would like that, and, sir, I am happy to be here and away from the nightmare of a life in which just everyone I met seemed to think I was about to slaughter them!”

“Come then,” said Tomas, smiling, “and your room is quite nice, I think, in the area where staff who are without a local home stay. Then, when you have done what is necessary and sorted your luggage out, you can see round the hotel. I won’t expect you to work tonight, but maybe tomorrow…?”

Ivan smiled at him and nodded. “Tomorrow I will be happy to serve you in any capacity you see fit for me,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound too pompous.

© Peter Rogerson 22.10.22

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