Virginity Despoiled

by Charles Brett

  "Ms Delarosa? This is Toomas Kirsipuu. We're scheduled to meet tomorrow morning. Do you know Tallinn? Would you like to go out for dinner tonight?"

  "I've never been here before. Thank you for the offer."

  Ana thought fast. Why not? Wandering round a foreign city by herself of an evening was not her idea of fun, plus she disliked eating out alone.

  "That's a most kind offer. And thank you for the driver."

  "My pleasure. Shall we meet in your hotel at eight o'clock in the lobby?"

  "Yes. Thank you again."

  She replaced the phone. Her next thought was about what to wear. Her impression so far, not that she'd seen much, was that Estonians were relaxed – if the pony-tailed receptionist was an example. She decided on flattering black trousers, white polo neck with black V-necked jumper and a simple silver chain. Who could go wrong with that? No one, not even at a funeral.

  She laughed to herself before remembering La Abuela. The day was coming when La Abuela would no longer be around. Ana reproached herself. She inscribed a mental note to spend more time with her grandmother. She would miss the old bird. Her death was a hurt to come.

  At five past eight Ana left her room. Just one person stood in the lobby as she stepped out of the elevator, a tall man with semi-blonde hair who on first glance appeared to be in his forties. Tidy, dressed in jacket and well-pressed slacks, he wore no tie. If this was Toomas Kirsipuu he wasn't hard on the eye.

  Advancing, he enquired, "Ms Delarosa?"

  "Yes, but please call me Ana. Ms Delarosa sounds like my aunt."

  She'd almost used 'grandmother'. She quivered again about what she would learn on Sunday.

  "In that case I'm Toomas."

  They shook hands before he gestured for her to precede him outside where he pointed right.

  "We're not going far. It's a place I hope you'll like. It's a personal favourite. I've also invited a colleague – Reelika – to meet us. Is that okay?"

  "Of course. Lead on. Perhaps afterwards I might see some of the Old Town. The map in my room places my hotel very much in the centre."

  Friday: Benidorm

  The hotel took in the bay including the L'Illa de Benidorm, the tiny volcanic island 'moored' off the beaches of its eponymous bay and tourist resort. The bar, on the top, offered spectacular views, south over the Mediterranean or east to the Serra Gelada's hump of rock.

  In contrast, to the north and west stretched endless modern concrete constructions swamping the original pueblo from which Benidorm's then mayor had set out for Madrid on a Vespa-like moto to convince Franco to permit the wearing of bikinis in defiance of the local Catholic bishop, who had condemned them as sinful. The mayor's success was conveyed in typically oblique Franco-fashion, by his sending of his wife to holiday in Benidorm, albeit without a bikini. Acceptance of bikinis had cemented Benidorm's international reputation as a progressive holiday destination.

  Andrei liked the place. Oleg did not. This was the difference between them. Where Oleg was severe and censorious, Andrei liked his pleasures, and women most of all. This hotel promised much with a cosmopolitan collection of nationalities. Germans and Brits predominated, but Scandinavians, Irish and the occasional Swiss were also present.

  He and Oleg had landed in Alicante the previous afternoon on board a tour flight starting in Copenhagen. Using their 'grey' Estonian identity cards, which enabled Schengen-free travel by courtesy of the EU but without formal EU citizenship, they'd flown to Gothenburg before taking the train over, and under, the Øresund to Copenhagen. By the time they arrived they were using German passports with registered addresses in Schleswig-Holstein. Oleg hadn't been convinced such complications were necessary. Andrei's killer justification was that hiding in plain view enabled them to mingle with strangers and become invisible.

  This had worked rather too well. When queueing to check-in Oleg had stepped backwards and collapsed over the carry-on bags of the group in the queue behind them. These were six Norwegian women in their thirties setting out for a good time. They had clustered round Oleg, pulling him to his feet and extending their apologies. They soon included Andrei, once realising he and Oleg were travelling together.

  A tallish, skinny one with a quiet smile seemed to appeal to Oleg. When he tried paying her attention she neither accepted nor rejected it. The more Oleg pursued, after landing in Alicante, the less she responded. Andrei couldn't work out if she was disinterested or playing hard to get. He hoped she was dissimulating. It might simplify matters for the next fortnight.

  Nursing a beer Andrei waited for Oleg to appear. He felt relaxed. He had read the body language. At least a couple of Norwegians had responded to him. He would wait to see who made what move. He loved it when he was the subject of a hunt. It gave the denouement spice.

  He heard shoes scrape. Oleg appeared, ready for the evening. He was presentable. Without his suits, in relaxed slacks and shirt, his fitness showed. That might interest Kjersti or whatever her name was.

  Andrei reminded Oleg, "I'm Alger, you are Oscar."

  The Norwegians arrived. One of them had booked a restaurante and invited Alger and Oscar to join them. They would go clubbing afterwards. It had been left open whether the two of them would join the ladies. Andrei prodded Oleg. He jumped into action, ordering Cava for all. They hailed its arrival. The evening was off to a good start.

  After a period of chat as a group they set out for the restaurante. Andrei was enchanted to find 'his' two women competing for his arm. To keep matters honest he offered each one a different elbow. They giggled, and accepted.

  While consuming more drinks before eating, Andrei was amused to watch another Norwegian show interest in Oleg. Kjersti responded in a flash. She must have been playing hard to get. Faced with competition Kjersti dropped her facade, though she would need to work hard. Her compatriot already had her claws into Oleg.

  Andrei tried to overhear the three-way conversation. It was tough with all the noise. As he watched he noted a subliminal change in Oleg. Kjersti mirrored it. They became at once relaxed and intense. The intruder was ignored. In a later lull, Andrei overheard Kjersti and Oleg comparing marathon times and training regimes.

  Great! That was an infinite topic. Oleg was booked up. Now Andrei could play. He switched on his best lopsided grin for his companions. They responded as if on heat. This was going to be fun, even more so if he could persuade one of them to misbehave overnight. Mentally undressing each, Andrei speculated about which he preferred.

  Tomorrow, or the day after if he or Oleg were too hungover or exhausted, they would pick up the car he'd bought on a previous trip. After each former visit he left it with a long-term parking facility for foreigners on the edge of Benidorm. They would pick it up and drive to Callosa where he'd taken over one of the proving sheds. There he would guide Oleg through the details and demonstrate how he, Andrei, planned to cast a pestilence upon the olive-growing community. Or, if Oleg enjoyed himself tonight, they might postpone Callosa for a few days to spend the time on the beach or in bed. There was no hurry. Establishing their alibis was important.

  Friday: Madrid

  Inma re-entered her office in the late afternoon, her presentation complete. She now envied Ana in Tallinn. Others had commented favourably on the Old Town. She was intrigued by its links to the evolution of blockchain technologies and their association with bitcoins. The last possessed a specific significance for Inma, one she rarely admitted. Estonia was a high-tech place, which raised the issue of why anyone so far north should be interested in olive re-insurance in Spain. This was for Ana to suss out. Who knew? Perhaps an opportunity would arise for her to visit another time.

  Her laptop beeped with a message from Ana. Having arrived on schedule she'd met Toomas Kirsipuu and was having dinner with him. Inma typed a brief, Good. Take care.

  She opened the Olivos Ramos y Tremblay folder she'd created so she and Ana could record discussions and impressions. She went to the section labelled 'olive oil industry' and ent
ered the facts and figures learnt before visiting Úbeda and while there.

  Inma typed as well as copy-and-pasted away for a couple of hours. Some information she lifted from her old fashioned notepad, some from saved web pages. A ton of background information accumulated. Whether any would be useful wasn't clear. She stood to stretch before returning to the grind.

  Her mobile rang. She ignored it. She was in one of her moods, intent on a specific project and unwilling to accept deflection. If it was important the caller would ring again.

  A little later it did. The screen displayed an unknown mobile number she didn't recognise. Probably another Movistar sales person trying to sell something she didn't want or it couldn't provide or she possessed already, most often an upgrade to their office Internet.

  The last time this happened she'd been testy and let it show. It was her mistake to offer an opening. The Movistar sales-lady had persuaded her to try out its latest fibre-optic technology with the highest connection speed. At the installation Ana noticed the technician using copper cable to connect the router to the junction box where the optical cable came into the building. She'd remonstrated with the engineer that they expected a fibre-optic, end-to-end connection, not a halfway house. The engineer shrugged, grumbling. It was all he could do.

  And the cheek of it! Movistar invoiced as if they had use of the full fibre-optic service, when in practice they had a slower, copper-to-optical constrained one. After far too long Movistar apologised and made the necessary billing adjustments but only because of Ana's perseverance. How many others were being misled by such systematic and lax processes? It didn't bear thinking about.

  For a third time her mobile rang. She surrendered. To her surprise she found herself talking to Lili.

  After exchanging greetings Inma asked, "Did you call earlier?"

  "This is my third try. I was about to give up, thinking you'd headed off for the weekend."

  "Sorry for not answering. I'm caught up in a project. On a normal weekend I would've left. I've a farmhouse in the mountains in Cáceres, near a small place called Yuste."

  "Where Carlos I is buried?"

  Inma brightened in surprise.

  "You know it?"

  "I visited once. A nice area. I enjoyed its peace, with his monastery set on the edge of the Sierra, and the way he made himself part of the Gredos Mountains."

  Before thinking it through Inma responded with, "Visit again, but come and stay. I've plenty of room in the finca."

  Lili sounded dubious.

  "It sounds great, but it's a long way from Úbeda."

  "But not far from Madrid. A couple of hours on a good day."

  "It's a thought. But that wasn't why I was calling. I'd like to see you. I want you to talk more about what you described last weekend and for you to take me through the details. That is, if you still think there's a mutual opportunity?"

  "I'm not 100 per cent certain. I think there'll be something, though perhaps not as big as I suspect you want, unless we can increase it by attracting other producers similar to yourselves." She paused to give Lili an opportunity to speak. When no answer came Inma continued. "If you want to talk further, when do you next plan to be in Madrid? I doubt I'll be back in Úbeda soon."

  "Next week, on my way to Italy."

  "Would you like to meet over lunch, or dinner?"

  "Dinner would work better for me. I can do a morning's work before driving up or taking the AVE from Córdoba. I'd stay overnight and go straight from my hotel to catch the morning flight to Pisa. Do you have a preferred evening?"

  "Tuesday or Wednesday, according to my diary."

  "Wednesday I have to be in Lucca. Let's make it Tuesday evening. And can we meet up early?"

  "Done!"

  After making arrangements Inma experienced a prickle of naughtiness. It reminded her of times with Miriam, now departed and her dalliance with Emilia who had expanded Inma's self-awareness. At least the sensuous week-end with the latter hadn't been work-connected. Or so she justified to herself.

  She let herself lapse for a moment into a recollection of that one hedonistic weekend with Emilia. Over two licentious days Emilia had taught her much, most of which she would never have dreamt of, and would not experience again. That was Emilia.

  Yet the conclusion Inma had drawn was that a difference existed between casual or fun relationships and those of depth. The first was about the challenge, with its delightful process of conquest, which, once transcended, all too soon lacked substance. Emilia was the mistress of this, moving on after flings of one or, at most, a couple of nights.

  Depth was more terrifying because you never knew where it led. Inma was convinced she'd possessed depth with Miriam. She was sure she had. Yet, by her own inattention, their depth shallowed before disappearing. She shrugged. Her ignorance was a continuing disadvantage after years spent cloistered in Opus.

  She shook her head. Her hair waved around her shoulders and provided a comforting familiarity. Back to business to explore what she might achieve for Olivos Ramos y Tremblay. Her idea, to cover an expansion of participants, had been an off-the-cuff suggestion. It merited deeper consideration.

  Chapter Five

  Winter

  Sunday: Madrid

  Ana stumbled when she exited the Metro station nearest her grandmother's home. After plane travel for the best of six hours fresh air was a welcome tonic. Pulling her overnight bag behind her she let her mind probe what might happen.

  At the door of her grandmother's apartment block she rang the bell four short times before letting herself in. Long ago La Abuela had given her keys to make it easier to visit. The one caveat: those four short rings from the street followed by two longer ones at the piso's front door. They'd agreed this should give La Abuela due notice. Although formulated before La Abuela's current infirmity, it worked even better now.

  Inside the apartment, and to be safe, Ana called out. She heard her grandmother greet her, inviting her to the salon. She hung her coat, dumped her luggage in the hall and entered to find her grandmother with a friend. Dutifully she kissed La Abuela before being introduced. The friend was almost as old, a duquesa whom Ana had heard of but never met. More formal greetings followed. Ana hoped she had the formalities correct.

  The next hour was an agony. The two ancients chatted about people Ana had never heard of, most of whom seemed to be dead. Ana wanted to hear what her grandmother had to tell her. La Abuela was in no rush, nor in any hurry to encourage la duquesa to depart.

  Finally the bell rang. Ana answered it to find a driver for la duquesa bringing a wheelchair. Once made comfortable in it, la duquesa exchanged goodbyes. Ana shut the door as driver and la duquesa descended in the lift. She was on tenterhooks, ready to scramble her grandmother's brains if she delayed any longer.

  La Abuela's first words on Ana's reappearance erased her frustration. According to La Abuela, la duquesa was a dear old friend on her last visit to Madrid. She'd decided that travel was now too much for her and, when she returned to her country house tomorrow, she would never leave it again, at least not alive. She would receive only those who visited her in the country. As La Abuela herself was not fit to travel this was likely to be their final face-to-face encounter.

  "We'll talk by telephone for a while. Soon that'll fade. We won't have enough to sustain conversation. Within six months we'll be little more than snapshots to each other, even though we both live. Eventually one of us will 'pop it' and that will be that."

  "Abuelita, that's so matter of fact! So awful!"

  "But true, Ana. It may be her or it may be me who goes first. It doesn't matter."

  Her grandmother pointed to a folder on a nearby table. Ana fetched and placed it in the scrawny hands, more claw-like than even a few months earlier.

  "Ana, cariño, I apologise for taking so long. It has probably seemed like aeons for you. Even to me it could've gone faster. I needed to weigh various factors as well as be certain about what I'm going to tell you. It has sever
al implications that go beyond Davide."

  "Not that he cares much," griped Ana.

  "What? Has something new happened?"

  Ana complained how she'd heard nothing from him since the Amazon dinner, which in a moment of indiscretion, and leaving out mention of Inma's name, she'd described to La Abuela. Her grandmother had been horrified before growing hysterical with old-lady laughter, until she had obliged Ana to promise to bring – on a future visit and for her inspection – what she'd worn that evening. La Abuela's outright approval, once she inspected what was little short of indecent, had been a surprise.

  "He's gone. He's no longer relevant."

  "He may be gone, though I doubt he's irrelevant if you still think of him. And you do, even after months of hearing nothing. Yet, between you, and without realising, you've opened a can of family and political worms, the totality of which even I was ignorant about."

  "What can you mean, Abuela?"

  "Tío Toño, Davide's interfering uncle, was sort of right. Prima facie you and Davide are within seven degrees of consanguinity. Do you know about these degrees?"

  "I think so."

  "Tell me."

  "Well. The danger tío Toño feared concerns the possibility of children and the increased likelihood of recessive genes when two close relatives interbreed. As I understand it, this is why close relatives are forbidden by law to marry. The resulting children run the risk of severe physical or mental problems, or both."

  As she described this, Ana was repelled by her clinical words.

  "Go on. That's the possible medical outcome. What about the degrees?"

  "You test my memory. Consanguinity expresses the closeness of connection when two people are descended from a common ancestor. Many countries and the Catholic Church have tables setting out the degrees of closeness of any pair of relatives. These tables are used to calculate whether a couple with a common ancestor can marry or even have sexual relations. If I remember, first cousins have four degrees of consanguinity, while nephews or nieces have three.