Virginity Despoiled

by Charles Brett

  A flood of confidence ran through him. His plans were well founded. His confidence was boosted just when it had dipped.

  Oleg turned to Ana.

  "Out of curiosity do you know if olive producers are able to insure their crops, like other farmers?"

  Ana's eyes narrowed. This bothered him. It was almost as if she was suspicious and could read his mind.

  She relaxed, saying, "Olive production, Herr Schmidt, is like any other agricultural produce. I think you can insure against the likes of bad weather and lost profits. It's expensive, so I think few producers bother unless they've had a good crop and money to spare."

  "I guess it's like the fruit orchards where I come from."

  She accepted this. He decided not to risk more questions. He'd achieved his aim.

  To leave unremembered was his next objective, made simpler by Ana standing and reminding everyone that if they wanted to buy some of Olivos Ramos y Tremblay's best olive oils, now was the time. This could be shipped to any European destination without problems or undue cost if they bought a minimum of one case or a pair of five litre cans. Olive-based soaps, perfumes and other extracts were also available. The minibus would leave in thirty minutes. The facilities, for those who needed them, were behind the shop.

  Oleg did indeed need to relieve himself. He sped over and used their cover, along with buying some soap, as a way to avoid more contact. At one point he feared the now-ridiculed woman was going to speak to him. His good fortune continued when her husband dragged her off to pay for his ten cases.

  Seated alone on the minibus Oleg let himself go. He slept all the way to Córdoba where he apologised for not joining them for the evening dinner. Instead he caught the first AVE to Madrid.

  Chapter Eight

  Early spring, three months later

  Wednesday: Tallinn

  Andrei delighted in his access to a gym again. One snag after so much time locked away in Murcia was a distinct loss of physical tone. He had experimented with techniques like the '7-Minute Workout', as demonstrated on television. None did much for him.

  Now he was pushing his favourite weights. On arrival at Solaris he confirmed Oleg's presence, pounding away on a running machine, watching the usual recorded football match. Oleg evinced recognition of Andrei. Good. He could start his normal regime.

  Except it hadn't worked out. The weeks with the bugs had softened him. He couldn't push the barbells as expected. His abs were pathetic. He felt awful. As he suffered, he reddened yet again, recalling his shame in the puti club in Murcia.

  Andrei had indeed found a Bulgarian blonde; three in fact. The club's reputation was deserved. Having bought the classic bubbly for an obscene 100 euros the bottle cover had slipped, revealing a cheap Cava he could buy in the local supermarket for less than four euros. He chose one of the three whereupon his problems began. He could not perform as he expected. She had to do all the work, to his acute embarrassment though not to hers. She made it crystal clear she didn't consider him the physical icon he envisaged himself to be. His stomach wall was flabby, as confirmed by today's dismal experience.

  Miserable about his dysfunction, he plodded towards the rowing machines. Christ, he hated the awful things. Only the knowledge that Oleg hated them more persuaded him to persist. Well that and the financial imperative to finish the job in order to collect the rewards.

  Oleg joined him, claiming the adjacent machine. He adjusted his set up and started to 'row'. It didn't take long for Oleg to probe about the bugs. Andrei repeated his confidence that with three successful test runs they were ready to accumulate for a large-scale infestation of olives. Oleg demanded to know when this could occur.

  Andrei recounted his patient stockpiling of many tons of the end of last season's olives, some bought direct from local producers and others from mills. These olives, he explained, were for disposal, either because they were sub-standard or because they had the olive fly. He had appeared with one of his trucks and was paid by the mill to remove the unwelcome olives. He transported these back to either Callosa or the Murcia plain where, with much effort, he'd spread them out in chilled rooms, rather like the way apples are placed after harvest, ensuring minimal deterioration of the olives would occur.

  Whenever Oleg decided he would let the olives warm before releasing tens of thousands of fruit flies to place their eggs in the olives. He would cool the olives again to simulate a short winter and wait for the real world to experience spring and for the olive-growing season to start in earnest.

  Late June, he thought, would be the time to heat again the infected olives, and more importantly their olive fly maggots. They must believe it was spring becoming summer. By mid-July they would have a window of two to three weeks to disperse the stricken olives into groves, unless Oleg wanted to schedule distinct warming phases for different batches.

  Checking there was nobody nearby, he enquired of Oleg if he'd decided where to release the fruit flies. Oleg provided a quick reply for once. The release would be in the province of Jaén where 20 per cent of global production was centred. If any were spare they would go west to the hills above Málaga around Antequera, another significant area that might even lead to the spread of the olive flies to groves around Seville.

  Andrei paid little attention to Oleg's detail. He experienced extreme relief. It would be in Spain, not all that far from Callosa or Murcia. A lot of driving would be necessary for at least a fortnight or so for Oleg and himself. Later they could dispose of all the evidence and hightail it back to Tallinn to await results. The gap in time between dispersal and the olive growers finding out what had hit them was at least a month, probably more. It depended on how attentive they were. With such a gap the danger of any connection being made between Spain and faraway Tallinn was minimal.

  He redirected his attention to Oleg. Had he missed something? No. Oleg would share the driving and distribution. He did add one caveat. Distribution could occur only around dawn and dusk. When Andrei challenged why, Oleg started to speak but paused when another gym member approached, seemingly to take the third rowing machine alongside them.

  Andrei ran lascivious, greedy eyes over the woman's body and her face painted with exquisite make-up. His lustful gaze worked. She fled for a less intimidating part of the gym. It always puzzled Andrei that Estonian women came to workout made-up with such perfection, including varnished nails. Why bother when your sweat will gnaw away at almost anything?

  Oleg resumed. During the day people would be in the fields and might spot olives flying from their trucks. Through the night, the logical time for anonymity, anyone might puzzle why their trucks were driving around and take note. Just one inquisitive policeman could ruin all.

  At dawn and dusk there would be minimal curiosity about trucks starting early or finishing the working day late. The poor light meant – unless someone was up close – it was improbable that the small stream of olives being hurled to left and right would be visible. The downside was this gave them perhaps an hour twice a day. Could Andrei's dispensers manage?

  Andrei considered. A way to improve their efficiency had occurred to him on the flight to Oslo. He mentioned the idea, but not the Oslo dimension. Oleg agreed Andrei should experiment further when he flew back to Spain to infect his stored olives. It might not be for a month or so.

  This pleased Andrei. Although he would suffer, he knew from past experience in the gym he could recover most of his stomach strength in a fortnight. It mattered. By routing through Oslo he'd been able to call Helga. She'd not been encouraging, until he explained that although he was in Oslo, he was en route from Germany to Finland. This changed her reaction.

  She'd become more welcoming, suggesting they meet up if he passed through Oslo again. He'd played it cool. The more his interest lagged, as if uncertain, the more she'd roused until they'd agreed he was to let Helga have a few days' notice if he would again be in Oslo. Would he like to see Freja as well? Andrei's happiness was complete.

  Thursday: Úbeda<
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  Frustration dominated Enrique. Ana had visited the previous day. She was exploiting an opportunity, when doing the rounds of POPIC, to keep all participants updated. She had questions for him and more for Lili.

  If Enrique was uneasy, Lili had hedged. As normal, she'd sounded smooth and convincing. Enrique knew better. She was uncertain about some aspect but determined not to reveal any weakness. Lili probably thought she'd gotten away with it. He wasn't convinced. Ana was smarter than Lili gave her credit for.

  Later in the week, when she was more relaxed, he would confront Lili. She was hiding something. He became miserable when she did this.

  He walked into the main mill house and entered the space containing the largest crusher, an Alfa-Laval machine. Engineers were at work. A small problem from late last season possessed the potential to degenerate into a major one for this season if not resolved.

  Mills faced two main challenges. The first was their usage pattern. For three or four months they worked for at least twelve and sometimes up to eighteen hours a day. During one harvest there had been several almost twenty-hour periods of production. For eight to nine months they sat idle. As with most machinery, lack of practice made them imperfect. He'd tried running small batches through on a regular basis to keep them in shape. But the effort wasn't worthwhile.

  The second challenge involved the machines and their environment, keeping them spotless and clean – preferably better than a hospital. This was critical. Olive oil was a natural material. It deteriorated when exposed to air and light or bacteria. It was also a liquid that spread anywhere it could reach. If mixed with water it became more slippery than an ice-rink, as too many falls each year underlined.

  Lack of cleanliness risked the introduction of bad tastes. Bad-tasting olive oil was not Extra Virgin Olive Oil even if it satisfied the less-than-0.8-per-cent-acidity requirement. Although Enrique was not good at home housework, as Lili often observed, he was obsessive about mill cleanliness.

  Once the engineers sorted out their problem, which they'd assured him would be this week, he would summon his army of women who worked either for Olivos Ramos y Tremblay or who were married to someone who did. No men, not even Enrique, were permitted to be 'members' of his 'super-clean gang'. These good ladies knew they were far superior to any industrial alternative. They worked hard and the prospect of a good party at the finish, a key element of the deal Enrique had driven with them, cheered all. The same effort was needed for the two smaller mills, which would be sealed ready for the autumn.

  Enrique liked this time of year. The cold of winter was gone. Spring was moving in with gusto and, as the temperatures warmed, so the olive trees showed life. This came in two forms, buds and flowers, though it was not easy to distinguish between the two when they first broke through. It was also the time of year with the least pressure, other than to prepare for the mad rush that late summer, autumn and early winter's production brought.

  Enrique couldn't stop himself heading for his trellises. It was every day now. Visiting so often was pointless. He could not see changes day by day. He resolved to leave them at least a week if possible, unless someone tending them raised an issue.

  Would Enrique be able to tolerate such self-abstinence? He wasn't convinced. He and Lili had sunk so much effort and money into their Ultra High Density planting over the past four years. If the system worked it might solve their financial problems. But they had repeated this mantra all too often to each other with other initiatives. If all went to plan they would harvest what took weeks in days, with far less labour.

  This brought him to another necessary decision, as it did every year. Should they go for an early harvest when the olives were green? The Tuscans preferred this. Their resulting olive oil was strong, tart and overwhelming to many. It could possess an almost luminescent green colour that startled the eye. They started consumption less than two weeks from picking.

  Lili had once brought a litre bottle back from Lucca. Enrique thought it delicious, tasting so fresh. Even with careful cooking management that precious litre only lasted a week. It was too good to sit around. Of course, the Tuscans used different cultivars, the Frantoio and Lecchino. These might be the magic factor.

  The alternative was to pick later. Rather than green olives, he preferred to pick when they had ripened further and blackened. The oil was clearer. He'd hoped the American market would prefer their clear blend of Picual and Arbequina, which at least resembled what was sold as best Tuscan EVOO, but they hadn't.

  Maybe he should go for the early harvest option. It would not make much difference to the yield. The question was about the quality and whether it would sell. It was another topic for debate with Lili. She directed their sales and marketing efforts where their premium oils were involved, and she was good.

  Enrique unintentionally pictured Ana. He was no longer able to suppress her image. He liked her more each time. His attentions were not reciprocated. He possessed no idea how to overcome her reluctance. She was clever, but in ways dissimilar to Lili and Inma. They possessed a relentless energy and desire for deals. Ana was, somehow, more considered and considerate. She had a moderation about her. He desperately wanted to fold her up in his arms, though she'd never shown any sign of encouraging this. Patience. They worked well together. Her sympathy for the land surprised them both. Was this the way to her heart? Or maybe he should just give in.

  It was so frustrating. Plus his old friend María was questioning what he was up to.

  Tuesday: Madrid

  Inma's last weekend in Yuste alone should have been a pleasure. Except it wasn't. She could not stop cogitating upon what Ana had raised on her return from Úbeda. Taking Ana's analysis to Yuste helped until the uncertainty evaporated. Inma knew she must act.

  She'd called Lili, requesting she visit Madrid as soon as practical. Now, waiting for Lili, she revisited the figures and Ana's conclusions. Was there some blinding or trivial error? No. She was certain not. Ana had done her usual good job.

  Inma recognised she'd taught her cousin well. Compared to her own laborious acquisition of the subtleties of the re-insurance world, Ana absorbed like an intellectual sponge. This was possible because Ana possessed an acute, analytical mind, which could pierce a haze of half-information and extract what mattered. Inma envied her in one way, though it came with a downside. Ana's accurate self-analysis ensured that when she applied analyses to herself the result was painful.

  This explained why Ana was on her way to Tallinn, to distract her and to double check one aspect of Inma's insurance creation for the olive growers, one that bothered Inma. Her firm was perched in the middle of insured, insurers (or cedants, as insurers were known when they bought re-insurance) and re-insurers. This carried its own risks. With luck not all was about to crash just as success lay visible on the horizon.

  A knock on the office door alerted her. Inma welcomed Lili who, like never before, was sloppy, as if she'd dropped everything to race from Úbeda to Madrid. As Inma had talked to Lili from Yuste two days before, this couldn't be the case. Was Lili in discomfort because she'd intuited what Inma was about to question?

  Coffee was ordered and drunk. Inma noted the tension between them. It wasn't aggressive or even defensive, more a flavour of mutual uncertainty.

  "Thank you for coming, and at only a couple of days' notice. Without beating around, may I find out why you're underwriting so much additional re-insurance?"

  Lili's face tried to brazen it out but failed.

  "You do know the implications of what you're doing?"

  "Yes. I think so."

  Lili's stiffened. Her body betrayed her discomfort and failed to support her words.

  "Can you justify it?"

  Lili hesitated. She felt like a freshman undergraduate with a lousy essay confronted by her professor at her first tutorial. She hadn't expected Inma to weigh in like this. There was no escape with that severe gaze upon her.

  "I'm not sure where to start. Yes, I am." Lili took a deep
breath. "Olivos Ramos y Tremblay pays, via you, an insurance company to obtain our crop insurance policy. That policy describes what's insured and the benefits if the policy has to pay out. The payment for that policy is cash flowing out of our business, cash we could well use elsewhere."

  Lili hesitated. Inma gestured for her to continue.

  "There were always three attractions for Enrique and me about your proposal. The first was that we broadened the risks beyond the weather we're accustomed to insuring against. By associating with POPIC collectively, we all obtained a lower price for this expanded insurance."

  She stopped again. Uncertainty crept back into her voice when she resumed.

  "You added an extra element; the re-insurance. You described how, if we underwrote a limited amount of what you called the cedant's risk, we'd further reduce the cost of the insurance policy. Your argument made sense to the banker in me. In a similar vein, as you predicted, the cedants liked that some re-insurance exposure would be covered by the insured. It made the cedants comfortable our interests aligned with their interests. We liked it because the cedants pay for each slice of the excess insurance risk they lay off, to use betting terminology.

  "I, however, let the financier in me forget one simple fact. Bankers have other people's money, their deposits, to play with. It's not their own. No, 'playing' is not a happy phrasing. But you know what I mean. It's the deposits first and then the bank at risk, not the bank's employees personally."

  Inma confirmed this with a flicker of her eyes.

  "My mistake was to forget that fundamental difference. When we accept payment to re-insure a slice of the risk, it is Olivos Ramos y Tremblay that'll have to pay should there be a sufficient disaster obliging the primary insurer, the cedant, to call upon its re-insurers to pay up for their agreed slices. My error arose from my satisfaction of seeing payments for the re-insurance, from the cedants, arriving in our Olivos Ramos y Tremblay bank account."