"This, however, didn't prevent my parents filling my head in advance with bile. So, with reluctance, I took my place – to be amazed. Here was the reviled Abuela being charming, interested, interesting, simpatica – you name it. She was a revelation. It was so enjoyable that dinner flew past. All of a sudden we had to get up from the table, at which point everyone surrounded her to wish her well – except my sulking father and mother.
"To me that was that, an interesting one-off. I remember searching for a discreet way to leave. I was unsuccessful but now I am glad of it. Later in the evening she sought me out, inviting me to visit her whenever I liked. No more, no less.
"The first time I went, without telling my parents, I was riddled with apprehension. From the moment I walked in those fears died. When you're with her you're special, because she is. Please, please think again?"
"You make a great verbal seductress. You almost convince me, but not quite. Yet, yet." Inma reached for her glass and drank, as if it was thirst causing her agitation. "If I did, would you come with me?"
"Of course."
"All right. I'll think about it again. No promises, though ... Changing the subject, how did Tallinn go? How was the sexy-voiced Toomas?"
Ana tried to contain the colour rising to her cheeks. She'd had dinner all three evenings with Toomas whose voice was just as seductive as Inma had deduced. He was as tall and good-looking as she'd first thought on meeting him. His attentions were gracious and respectful.
The first evening, with his colleague Reelika, was formal and business-like, just as were the next day's business conversations. Diffidently, such that she was charmed by his hesitance, he'd asked to take her out on Friday night, making it clear this was a date.
She'd accepted and they'd had a fun, light dinner before heading to a disco-pub just outside the Old City where she seemed to be the one non-Estonian, apart from some Russians whom Toomas disparaged. That evening, or rather morning, they had ended with each wound round the other as he escorted her back to the Telegraaf, but not before he invited her to spend Saturday with him. She'd hadn't needed persuasion.
On Saturday they'd walked the Old City, which was tinier than she expected. They'd poked their noses into churches and other buildings as they wound through the narrow medieval streets, he pointing out interesting places. He knew his home town.
Rather late, he'd taken her off in his car to a restaurant called Noa, outside Tallinn and beside the sea. After eating and drinking a little too much, they'd sobered up beside a stony beach watching the sun set behind the Old City, back-lighting the same buildings and churches she'd visited earlier. Afterwards it was a simple drive back to the hotel.
"You must have enjoyed Tallinn a lot. You disappeared on me. What happened there?"
Ana spluttered into a longish description of Friday's meetings with Toomas and Reelika. As she analysed what they had told her she spoke to the desk in front of her, not daring to look Inma in the face. Among other aspects she knew she'd broken one of Inma's few golden rules: no mixing business with pleasure.
Eventually Ana raised her eyes. As feared, Inma's eyes displayed amusement at Ana's discomfort. All she could do was stare back. She had no good response and certainly no clever one.
Inma relented, a little.
"You'll have to tell more, perhaps after a few days recovery."
She raised an eyebrow in query. Ana was compelled to nod, even if she wasn't sure what she would say.
"So, to summarise, Toomas and this Reelika have a small investment group registered in Estonia. With euro interest rates being so low they are casting around for ways to obtain a higher return than normal in order to keep their investors quiet. How much would they bring?"
"Reelika," Ana carefully substituted her name for Toomas, this having less danger of revealing anything, "indicated they'd some three to five million immediately available but they could double this if the rewards were material. As significant, she claimed to be part of a small association of similar investment houses who might triple or quadruple the investment."
"How open to new ideas are they?"
"May I rephrase that? My intuition is they need to keep their clients happy to retain them. Little else is producing adequate returns. It's their credibility at stake. Not desperate but close."
"Hmmm. Do you think they might put that money into something to do with the olive industry and re-insurance? And if so, why?"
"Presented right, I'd think so, particularly if there's a way to incorporate access to warm, sunny places. Tallinn was cold and damp last weekend. They measure sun between October and March in seconds per month. As said, I think they're casting about for anything that might prop up their investors' confidence. It's not olives per se but financial greed that motivates them."
This time it was Ana left behind. Inma's eyes glazed over as she retreated into contemplation. After a couple of minutes Ana tiptoed out, grateful her inquisition about Tallinn was suspended. This could be the first instance since starting to work for Inma where she might have to deceive. It wasn't a good sensation.
Back in her office she acted on impulse. She wrote a quick email describing what her grandmother had said and dispatched it before cold feet set in.
Tuesday evening: Madrid
Lili left the Atocha Station and took a taxi to her hotel. It was a standard NH one, located close to the Castellana in a street called Breton de los Herreros. As a business place it was neither expensive nor cheap. Its attraction was its location between Atocha and Nuevos Ministerios, from where she would take the Metro to the airport to catch her morning flight.
In her room she unpacked. Uncertain what was appropriate she chose an expensive, but not dressy, skirt and blouse. She liked these because their cut combined with their greens enhanced what little shape she possessed. Putting on high heels, for she did not want to be intimidated by Inma's height, she lurched towards Calle de Ponzana. This at least was close by.
Entering the restaurante she scanned for Inma. A waiter approached. She asked for Inma, using her title. No, he told her, the Condesa had yet to arrive. La Señora could have a drink at the bar or occupy their table. Choosing the table, she sat down and checked her messages. Nothing.
Before she could order a flustered Inma arrived. This was unexpected. Different from the smooth coolness when they'd first met in Úbeda. Lili admired Inma peel off her coat, hand it to a waiter and rush over – all achieved in one fluid movement. As in Úbeda, simplicity ruled: white jeans and a man's shirt. The way Inma wore them oozed professionalism with good looks. Lili envied Inma's figure. It was the opposite to her own flat, thin, fragile self. Men must fall at her feet, rather like she suspected Enrique wanted to do but denied.
Lili stood. They greeted each other, if a little primly she thought. But she, as a transplanted Canadian, was no expert. Inma took charge by ordering a Ribera del Duero. She didn't consult, just assumed.
This accomplished, Inma focused on Lili. It was off-putting. Lili was accustomed to being in charge. It explained why she'd been such a successful investment banker. She could take a roomful of men and bend them to her will. This evening, with Inma, she lacked that sway or edge. It was strange; different, yet not unpleasant.
"Have you and Enrique made any decisions?"
"Almost. We think we should exploit what you sketched out for us. That is if you believe our business will be big enough to interest you? We imagine you're more used to handling millions or tens of millions, far more than we can bring to the table."
"You're sharp, Lili. And direct. I like you for those qualities."
Lili felt let down by Inma's unexpected response. She'd come for nothing. Olivos Ramos y Tremblay was too small beer to interest someone like Inma who handled large companies and their massive treasuries with ease. On another level Inma's compliments warmed her. These were almost never uttered to her face. In business men now had to be so politically correct that airing anything that might be mistaken for innuendo or inappropriate fla
ttery no longer occurred or, if it did, produced a law suit. American business habits had a lot to be blamed for. Lili glowed at the realisation that Inma and Ana didn't need to behave around her as testosterone-charged valiants on white stallions.
"Don't be disappointed. I've a refinement I want to lay out."
Inma began a long analysis, interrupted only by ordering their meal. She followed up with a proposal, of a form Lili hadn't imagined.
"Do I understand? If Enrique and I know of a number of similar-sized olive oil operations we might bulk up to be big enough to do the insurance and re-insurance as an informal grouping or cooperative."
"Better than that. Ana may have identified an investment group with the money to underwrite other slices of the total reinsurance risk. If, between you and this group, we can show we've more than 30 per cent covered, I've little doubt I can attract larger players to join. It's a classic example of furnishing a show apartment to attract buyers. Do you see what I mean?"
Lili did. This was how she had put together bank deals that colleagues believed impossible. She did some arithmetic.
"Off the top of my head I can name seven, perhaps eight, similar or larger producers and another three of four somewhat smaller ones. Would that be adequate as a starting point?"
"Even a half-dozen might suffice."
"How should we proceed?"
"The obvious way is to visit each one. That's hard work for Ana and me. Plus it begs simple rejection."
"May I take a leaf from my banking days?"
Receiving no objection, Lili persevered.
"I could persuade Enrique to invite them to a meeting, perhaps at our place or somewhere neutral. If you'd be prepared to speak I could introduce you."
"If we brought outline proposals for all who agreed to come, would that make acceptance easier?"
"I'd think so. In fact, if I work on Enrique, we might provide sufficient information for you and Ana to refine each proposal to each recipient's business."
Inma beamed. She liked Lili's fast pick up of what she had feared might be too complex for Enrique. If Ana tailored the proposals to each attendee the impact after the presentation would be greater, so long as the recipients didn't think she and Ana knew too much. She raised this. Lili pooh-poohed it. With you and me involved there would not be a problem, Lili indicated.
She and Inma mirrored the other by sitting back in their chairs at the same time. Their tension evaporated. An action plan was agreed.
Inma waved for the bill. After some mock check-jousting they split it. Rising to leave the restaurante Inma turned to Lili.
"What about a final drink round the corner? It's not late yet."
Lili hesitated.
"Why not? You're right, Inma. While celebration is premature I think we've made a good start."
To Lili's surprise, Inma offered her arm, pointing out a place she liked, not far away.
"Your heels and feet needn't suffer. We should be able to get a table at this hour."
Tuesday: Madrid
The walk back to her apartamento took Ana longer than expected. It was her fault. She passed an Oysho and an Intimissimi located close together. She succumbed to temptation.
Inside she was uncomfortable at first. She didn't visit lingerie stores, never mind buying from them. In part she'd blamed this on her once limited income, which had meant utilitarian rather than pretty. In part, though no saint, she didn't see herself as a provocateuse. Yet she could not quite wipe her discomfort at the memory of what she was wearing that Saturday afternoon with Toomas. They didn't seem adequate, or sufficiently inadequate, even if their exposure had not lasted long.
She was shocked. The choices arrayed in the shops encompassed more than she imagined, and in colours she thought belonged only in dubious magazines, not on a reputable Madrid street. Inspecting the clientele was as interesting as the clothes. Women of all ages were buying indulgently but sensibly for themselves. Others bought what must surely be for the sake of their partners. Even the occasional embarrassed man surfaced. She couldn't blame them. How did one choose from so varied a selection? This time she resisted. Next time she wouldn't.
Ana closed her apartamento door just as the question of whether Inma patronised such places bubbled up. She would love to ask. Yet after today's narrow avoidance of an extended inquisition about Tallinn, this was not a subject to broach too soon. Inma would want to know why.
She was also annoyed, and not a little repelled, by Inma's refusal to meet La Abuela. Perhaps she'd not worded it right. Even so, she'd thought Inma would be more sensitive to her request, knowing how close she and her grandmother were. In spite of this she'd detected rejection in Inma's tone, even if Inma had tried to sugar-coat it.
Pouring her customary glass of wine, she brooded. Today had delivered an unpleasant revelation. She'd always known Inma was tough, steel tough. Her family had cautioned her. For the first time Ana had experienced that steel applied to herself. She was sure there'd be follow-on implications.
She checked her email to distract herself from this disagreeable train of thought. Ana saw nothing she wanted, though Toomas had sent a personal message.
She thought back over the weekend and his attentions on Saturday. The Old Town had charmed her. Toomas had added colour by describing how in 1991 many Estonians had gathered to barricade themselves inside its then crumbling medieval walls to resist a threatened Soviet re-invasion. It was ironic that the Old Town only existed untainted because the Soviets had, during their main occupation, preferred to place their hideous, concrete symbols of control outside those ancient walls so they could occupy more space. Thus, the Old Town had been ready to act as a last symbolic bastion should the Soviets repeat their Hungarian or Czech approach to securing obedience, by sending in the tanks.
Yeltsin, who had yet to succeed Gorbachev, intervened. On their way back from Noa – a romantic place with a log fire in the centre – Toomas had shown her the Yeltsin memorial, commemorating his declaration of support. This had terminated the Soviet threat.
Toomas had ignored his car nearby so they could walk hand in hand back to the Telegraaf. To her surprise, on their way, he ducked into a tourist shop, suggesting she stay outside. Ana remembered praying he wouldn't ruin the day by presenting her with a tacky tourist memento about which she would have to be hypocritically grateful. He'd come out with a small bag and they'd resumed their walk to the hotel.
Sure she knew what to expect, she'd let him suggest going up to her room; resisted she had not. There he'd surprised her once more, telephoning room service and ordering in incomprehensible Estonian. Minutes later a bottle of deep-chilled vodka with two small glasses arrived. He placed the tray on the floor and beckoned her to join him.
Toomas produced the small bag and revealed its contents. Bizarrely, dice and a surprising assortment of chocolate coins emerged.
"Do you know how to play poker dice?"
"I haven't played since university. I wasn't good."
"But you remember the principles?"
She nodded. Where this was going?
"If you prefer, we'll play an Estonian version. You'll enjoy it."
"Okay?"
"It's simple. The same poker rules apply. We use the chocolate coins to bet. There're two minor variations. Each time someone loses they have to drink a small vodka. You can eat your winnings, though if you do, you can't bet with them again."
He filled the two small glasses half-full and showed her what to do, knocking back the contents of his glass in one. Ana followed, relishing the chilled vodka warm her as it slid past her throat.
"The vodka is one variation." Toomas revealed a sly grin. "The other is, whoever loses each round removes a piece of clothing."
The rest of the afternoon was lost in a blur. She remembered his eyes widen in appreciation as she lost, downed a vodka, and removed her top. Soon she was down to her one barely-decent pair of knickers, while he still had his jeans on, plus whatever was beneath. By this time both rode
a vodka high.
She won the next round. He had had to stand to remove his jeans. As he tried and tried she remembered musing about what happened when one was naked while the other wasn't. After a struggle his jeans came off. Her musings became irrelevant. More important matters needed resolving, ones now urgent for both. They'd not even made it to the bed.
Three days later, Ana could still recall the glow from that afternoon and evening. In words borrowed from a Dutch girlfriend using English slang, she'd been well and truly shagged. Not a sophisticated description but all encompassing. She bathed in the recollection, and the release.
Returning to his email, she asked herself if she wanted to see Toomas again. Ana knew what he expected but she might not be able to provide this if she was to conform to Inma's expectations.
Her tablet gave a gentle ping, for the fifth or sixth time since arriving home. Ignoring the new messages, she opened the Oysho and Intimissimi websites. These she would explore at leisure in the privacy of home before deciding on how to improve her wardrobe. Yes, that would make this evening productive.
Chapter Six
Late winter, almost two weeks later
Tuesday: Madrid
Inma replaced the phone on her office desk. The call had been short but sweet. Lili was assembling a group of like-minded olive producers. She'd gone a couple of steps further by organising it for a Friday as an informal lunch. At the end of the working week this, Lily argued, would attract greater attendance and with Enrique as cook, many would come just for the opportunity to eat his food. Lili would host the event, to focus on olive crop insurance and re-insurance business opportunities. The way she described it exuded North American marketing spiel. Inma hoped she knew her audience.
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