And Thereby Hangs a Tale

“Why?” asked the Englishman, sounding puzzled.

“He moved house over a hundred times during his lifetime.” It was about the only thing Liam could remember about James Joyce.

Working for an English company, Liam quickly discovered that if you have a gentle Irish brogue and are graced with enough charm, the invaders have a tendency to underestimate you—a mistake the English have made for over a thousand years.

Another important lesson he learned, and one they certainly don’t teach you at any university, was that the only difference between a tinker and a merchant banker is the sum of money that changes hands. However, Liam couldn’t work out how to take advantage of this knowledge until he met Maggie McBride.

Maggie didn’t consider the tinker’s son from Cork to be much of a catch, even if he was good-looking and fun to be with, but when he invited her to join him for a holiday in Majorca, she began to show a little more interest.

Liam’s current account at the Allied Irish Bank was just enough in credit for him to be able to afford a package holiday to Magaluf, a resort on the southwest coast of the island, which for three months of every year is taken over by the British.

Maggie was not impressed when they booked into a one-star hotel and were shown to a room with a double bed. She made it absolutely clear that she might have agreed to come on holiday with Liam, but that didn’t mean they would be sleeping together. Liam booked himself into a separate room, which he knew would stretch his budget to the limit. Another lesson learned. Before you sign a contract, check the small print.

The next day Liam was lying next to Maggie on an overcrowded beach in a pair of tight-fitting swimming trunks, becoming redder and redder by the minute. His mother had once told him that the Irish have the greenest grass and the whitest skins on earth, but he had not, until then, realized the significance of the second part of her statement.

On the second day, Liam, still having failed to make any progress with Maggie, was beginning to wonder why he’d bothered to take her on holiday in the first place. But then he discovered that the thousand Englishwomen walking up and down the beach had only one thing on their minds—and a handsome young Irishman who would be disappearing back to Cork in two weeks’ time ticked most of their boxes.

Liam was telling a girl from Doncaster how he’d discovered Riverdance when she said, “You’re getting very red.” So red that he had to lie on his stomach all night, quite unable to move, which was not at all what the girl from Doncaster had planned.

The next morning Liam smothered himself with factor thirty sunscreen, put on a long-sleeved shirt and long trousers, ignored the signs to the beach, and took a bus into Palma, wondering if it would turn out to be just another Magaluf.

The medieval capital took him by surprise, with its wide streets lined with palm trees and flower baskets, and the narrow alleys with picturesque pavement restaurants and stylish boutiques. He could have been in a different country.

As he strolled down the Paseo Maritimo, Liam found himself stopping to look in the estate agents’ windows. He was surprised how cheap the houses were compared to Cork, and even more surprised to discover that the banks were offering 80, sometimes even 90 percent mortgages.

He considered entering one of the estate agents’ offices, as he had a hundred questions he wanted answering, but as he couldn’t speak a word of Spanish, he satisfied himself with looking in the windows and admiring the large color photographs of properties described as deseable, asequible, sensational. He was thinking of returning to Magaluf when he spotted a familiar green, white, and orange flag flapping in the wind outside a shopfront with a sign, which announced, PATRICK O’DONOVAN, INTERNATIONAL REAL ESTATE CO.

Liam pushed open the front door without bothering to look in the window. As he stepped into the office, a smartly dressed woman looked up, and an older man, unshaven and wearing soiled jeans and a T-shirt, swung his feet off a desk and smiled.

“I was just wondering—” began Liam.

“A fellow Irishman!” exclaimed the man, leaping up. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Patrick O’Donovan.”

“Liam Casey,” said Liam, shaking him by the hand.

“Is it to be business or pleasure, Liam?” asked O’Donovan.

“I’m not quite sure,” Liam replied, “but as I’m here on holiday—”

“Then it’s pleasure,” said O’Donovan. “So let’s begin our relationship as any self-respecting Irishmen should. Maria, if anyone calls, my friend and I can be found at the Flanagan Arms.”

Without another word, O’Donovan led Liam out of the office, across the road, and into a side alley where they entered a pub few tourists would ever come across. The next words O’Donovan uttered were, “Two pints of Guinness,” without asking his newfound friend what he would like.

Liam was able to get through most of his questions while O’Donovan was still sober. He learned that Patrick had been living on the island for over thirty years, and was convinced that Majorca was about to take off like California at the time of the gold rush. O’Donovan went onto tell Liam that the island was attracting a record number of tourists but, more important, it had recently become the most popular destination for Brits who wanted to spend their retirement years abroad.

“When I set up my agency,” he told Liam between gulps of his third Guinness, “it was long before Majorca became fashionable. In those days there were only a dozen of us in the business; now, everybody on the island thinks they’re an estate agent. I’ve done well, can’t complain, but I only wish I was your age.”

“Why?” asked Liam innocently.

“We’re about to enter a boom period,” said O’Donovan. “An aging population with disposable incomes and an awareness of their own mortality are migrating here like a flock of starlings searching for warmer climes.”

By the fifth Guinness, Liam had only one or two more questions left to ask. Not that it mattered, as O’Donovan was no longer capable of answering them.

The next morning, and every morning for the following week, Liam did not join Maggie on the overcrowded beaches but took the bus that was heading into Palma. He had some serious research to carry out before he met up with Patrick O’Donovan again.

During the day, he made appointments with several estate agents to view apartments and other properties. What he was shown confirmed O’Donovan’s opinion—Majorca was about to enter a period of rapid growth.

On the final morning of his holiday, having not once returned to the beach in the past ten days, even though his red Majorca skin had faded back to Irish white, Liam boarded the bus to Palma for the last time.