Virginity Despoiled

by Charles Brett

  She'd explained that if there was evidence of wrong-doing the insurance claims would not be valid. The re-insurance could only be invoked if the losses from the natural disasters specifically named by the insurance occurred. Didn't he see what this meant? If people unknown deliberately caused the infestation, this was an unnatural cause. No claims could be made against the insurers. If the insurers did not pay out the re-insurers wouldn't have to either.

  She'd been elated but Enrique did not tell José Luis or Soledad that. As Lili had put it, she and Enrique would be off their re-insurance hook.

  He'd thought about this before asking Lili what it meant for their insurance. She'd frozen before admitting she hadn't considered this. He'd dragged a conclusion from her. If the olive fruit fly infestation was proven to be deliberate the primary insurers would reject all their claims out of hand or, as Lili had confessed, she'd managed to count their re-insurance chickens before their insurance hatched.

  He omitted recounting to José Luis and Soledad the details of their ensuing rows. The constant irritant involved the proof of whether the infestation was natural or unnatural. Lili argued that spreading infected Blanqueta olives with the intention to harm the harvest constituted a man-made and illegal act.

  Enrique had countered that no one could know for sure if any infected olives scattered would hatch flies or if the flies would breed and successfully produce a next generation. To him, whatever the cause, the infestation necessarily was a natural event, which must be covered by the insurers. Furthermore, if the insurers paid out for the scale of this year's damage the re-insurers would inevitably have to do the same.

  In Enrique's view, Lili played with words, or hopes. Worse, if it was adjudged to be unnatural, no insurance claims would be paid. While this would spare the insurers and re-insurers, Lili and he would be little better off. They wouldn't have to pay for their re-insurance liabilities but, equally, they wouldn't receive anything from their primary insurance policy. And they still had no harvest.

  This had silenced Lili.

  It silenced José Luis, who did have insurance but no re-insurance. The possible loss of his insurance pay-out was an outcome he had not expected from finding infected Blanquetas. José Luis recovered his voice.

  "Shouldn't we just forget the Blanquetas, and leave everyone to assume it's a natural event?"

  "We could," responded Enrique. "It wouldn't leave me comfortable with myself." And it wouldn't rescue us from the re-insurance hook, he added mentally.

  José Luis gritted his teeth, more in frustration than taking offence. Enrique was so straight-laced. Lili must have infected him with North American protestant worthiness. He should never have mentioned his Blanqueta or approached Soledad. Sometimes ignorance made better sense, even if it did deceive.

  None of this bothered Soledad. She possessed neither insurance nor re-insurance. She hadn't been able to afford it, a fact she'd not shared. She pushed on.

  "We've lost this year's crop. Nothing can be done now except clean up the olives and do our damnedest to prevent the bugs finding a winter toehold. The Comarca understands and I think the Provincia does as well. We'll receive local and some EU funds to pay for prevention. That must be our priority. Do you agree?"

  She inspected the men. Their expressions discouraged. Soledad's conversational gambit hadn't worked as anticipated. Indeed, it seemed they would have the worst of all worlds – no income and bills to pay before next year's harvest arrived.

  Both men tried being positive. Soledad could see their hearts weren't in it.

  "Okay. You're a glum pair today. You're not to give up."

  "I guess not," conceded Enrique. "Lili certainly isn't. She refuses to accept my interpretation and wants to visit Inma to work through the legalese."

  "Good for her. Your lady has vim, Enrique. Unlike you two feeblies."

  Soledad's sarcasm jump-started the two men. Even though accustomed to Soledad's insults, they had not expected such a full-frontal dismissal.

  "Okay, Soledad. Enrique has made his point. You've made yours. I suggest we search for real evidence to explain why we've suffered the pestilence. At present we've neither motivation nor perpetrators. Until we've one or the other we're hamstrung. However, if we don't establish anything concrete, my recommendation is to say nothing and claim. There's no point in rocking the insurance boat. Agreed?"

  Saturday: Tallinn

  Ana was lost in Tallinn. All traces of Toomas, Reelika and their office had been wiped away. The new occupants of those offices had never encountered their predecessors. Their only comment concerned the short notice availability requiring them to hustle to become the new tenants. The landlord remained unhappy with the summary finish to the previous rental agreement.

  Of course Toomas had never taken her home. Ana possessed no clue where he and his mother – assuming she existed – lived. Tallinn's maps revealed a sprawling city, far larger than the Old Town. Ana knew less about Reelika. Of the supporting investors there was no sign; Toomas and Reelika had taken responsibility for their orchestration.

  On Saturday Ana kicked herself in annoyance. It hurt. She resolved to follow her instincts in future, to act rather than wait. With no other clues and nothing else to do, she prowled the Old Town in the slim hope of encountering Toomas or Reelika.

  Forlorn, after walking all morning, she retreated to her hotel, this time inexpensive and in need of total refurbishment. Its position near the harbour and closeness to Fat Margaret's Tower was good. That was about all. She had even needed to buy a SIM card to obtain a decent data connection. The hotel lacked Wi-Fi except in its public areas and, even there, reception wasn't great. At least Estonia offered high-speed, inexpensive mobile data to all. Ana wished other countries were this practical.

  Her next imperative involved eating. The hotel's dismal dining room depressed her. Along Lai she entered St Olaf's Church with its sky-scraping spire. She remembered seeing it from Noa when sitting by the beach with Toomas. She retreated fast when hearing a 'happy-clappy' service underway. It seemed wrong for a Lutheran city.

  Continuing along Lai, two people emerged from a doorway. Curious, Ana crossed the road and stumbled upon a tiny Italian wine bar, or was it a wine shop or a café? Inside it resolved into all three. Gratefully she ordered a Chianti along with a platter of assorted prosciutti, salami e formaggi.

  Later on, in her room, Ana wanted to talk. She tried Inma: no answer. Inma would call back if able. Her family? No. Davide? A long shot.

  To Ana's surprised gratification he answered her Skype call, only to explain he couldn't talk now. Could they reconnect in the morning? She told him about her early afternoon flight, without saying where she was. Two could play at his game. They agreed to speak at nine the next morning, which would be ten for her with Tallinn being an hour ahead of Madrid.

  Lying on her bed, Ana dreaded another sleepless night. Her second Chianti did its job. Within a couple of minutes she was dead to Tallinn and only woke on Sunday when St Olaf's church bells threated to vibrate her from bed. Nine o'clock. She'd slept well.

  At ten on Sunday Skype sprang to life: Davide. For ninety minutes they discussed the flies and implications for her and Inma. It helped that Davide knew some detail from his email exchanges with Inma. He volunteered to search for Toomas, Reelika and the investment people. Ana transferred over the few details she had before asking what he thought he could do.

  There had been a long pause. During it Ana could almost hear the name Caterina galumphing across the connection. With some hesitation Davide described software Caterina had given him when she was not anticipating their final collapse.

  Ana's spirits soared at this. Caterina was history. She bit her lip in her excitement while struggling to convey cool, detached disinterest. She must have succeeded, for their last words set a time to talk again upon her return to Madrid. Ana realised she must have mentioned her location. Of course Davide hadn't shared his whereabouts. No matter. They had a date, albeit a virtual one
over an electronic connection. But they had a plan to talk again and talking with him now was almost as good as the time when he was living in her apartamento.

  Ana checked the time, packed and hurried to the airport. With only hand luggage, she passed security and found her gate, with a small cafe opposite. Despite an industrial-tasting cappuccino, she sat back to profit from some peace before the flight to Helsinki. Taking out her tablet she began reading, only to be interrupted after a dozen or so pages.

  "Ana?"

  She raised her eyes to find a silhouette in front of a window with the sun's glare pouring though. This made identification impossible. Reelika? Surely not? The voice sounded too friendly.

  "Sorry, I can't see you against the sunlight."

  The figure moved, to reveal her companion from the flight into Tallinn who'd been good company.

  "May I join you? Are you also flying to Helsinki?"

  "Of course, and on to Madrid. It's Kirsti, isn't it? Would you like something to drink?"

  "Actually it's Kjersti, more 'y' than 'i'. If the coffee's good I'll have what you're having."

  With no hesitation they began to talk like the oldest of friends. Of similar ages, 'mid-to-late thirties' was their shared euphemism, both worked; Ana in Madrid and Kjersti in Oslo. Ana explained she was in re-insurance but was becoming entranced with olives and their cultivation. When mentioning this, she thought an odd look flickered across Kjersti's face. If it existed it passed.

  For her part Kjersti described her weekend and the 50K run on some Estonian island called Saaremaa. According to her, she had almost thrashed a fellow competitor, a Russian who styled himself as Estonian or German. To her chagrin and after leading for forty-nine kilometres he'd overtaken her, as if he'd been biding his time. Worse, he was boorish in his celebrations, so much so that Kjersti had declined to sleep with him, as he clearly expected her to do for his prize. Her caustic characterisation cheered Ana. Kjersti combined sour and amusing.

  The plane wasn't full. Kjersti moved seats. They covered lots of ground with Ana, while being discreet about her insurance involvement, describing the olive fruit fly plague in Andalucía. In return Kjersti provided a ribald description of Oslo and her fellow Norwegians.

  In Helsinki, Kjersti accompanied Ana to her gate. The connection time to Madrid was tight. In contrast, Kjersti had an hour and a half before departing to Oslo. While neither was yet comfortable enough to invite the other to visit, they went further this time than business cards, exchanging phone numbers as well as WhatsApp and Skype details. They embraced with genuine warmth before Ana set off down the air-bridge to her plane.

  Seated, Ana experienced an acute sense of loss. Even if contemplation of running a 50K made her nauseous, she already missed Kjersti and her acerbic turns of phrase. She pulled out her phone to compose a brief message. She managed to transmit it before the flight attendant's command to turn on flight mode.

  Sunday: Tallinn

  Despite yesterday's 50K, Oleg was back in the gym, pounding out the kilometres. It was foolish but he was unable to contain his fury without physical release. A running machine seemed safest, though he mustn't overdo it and injure himself. He was pretty stiff after yesterday.

  Earlier he'd dropped Kjersti at the airport. Their parting was polite and insincere. Oleg blamed himself. So delighted was he when waltzing past her in the final kilometre, albeit by not much, he'd crowed and over-crowed. In hindsight, he'd been an unpleasant bore. That realisation fed his present fury. The one bonus occurred through her being so irritated by his conceit that she'd refused to sleep with him. The ostentation of her denial, in front of Kateriina, had almost provoked his desire. No, beating her over 50K was sweeter than sharing fluids on Kateriina's appalling spare bed.

  Sunday morning had passed slowly, from breakfast with Kateriina through the journey to the airport. With misplaced chivalry, Oleg escorted Kjersti inside. Dutifully he kissed her outside security, almost yielding to the temptation to sprinkle more salt into her 50K wound. He should've seized the moment for he wouldn't be seeing her again. From her expression it was mutual.

  Oleg drove home to decide upon the gym as an outlet for his annoyance. The football didn't distract him, not with two bottom of the table English Premier League teams playing in a vicious crosswind, driving rain and no goals. This wasn't entertainment.

  Oleg slogged through another couple of kilometres before his left shin twinged. He slowed. Nevertheless, the twinge returned. He halted the machine and began to warm down. He hated shin-splints. The last occasion had forced him to take several months off running before being able to exercise again. Enforced physical inactivity invariably soured his humour.

  Showered and feeling a shade more relaxed than earlier, he tracked the prices and trends for Extra Virgin Olive Oil, while sitting in a Reval café. The flies were doing a formidable job. The price of olive oil had doubled twice in the past three weeks as the threat of scarcity penetrated. He and Andrei sat on potential millions. His lock-in of forward Extra Virgin Olive Oil for delivery to him at low prices had been obtained when the expectation was for a bumper Spanish crop.

  Simultaneously Oleg had insured against a disastrous harvest in Spain, starting his policies two years earlier. Deliberately, he'd 'lost' his premiums for those first two years, when there was no cause to claim. The advantage this year was nobody questioned his renewal for a third year. As an established client his insurers delighted in accepting his increased business.

  This year he would recoup not only the premiums but benefit from a huge pay-out when he claimed for the fly-caused damage. Technically his insurable interest should match his obligations to his own buyers. Instead he and Andrei would retain the proceeds and disappear. He chuckled, though it was an awkward sound. No one was nearby to take offence.

  From contemplating his fortune-to-come he switched to email. Nothing much there. Mostly rubbish invitations for torches, or penile or breast implants he didn't need.

  Ah, there was a message from Gian Luigi, his customer in Basilicata for that POO. He probably wanted more. Perhaps he might flog Gian Luigi some of his Extra Virgin Olive Oil options. After all, Extra Virgin Olive Oil would be a super-premium commodity this year, and Gian Luigi might need some EVOO to ginger up the POO.

  Oleg didn't even notice he was re-using the acronyms from his visit to Andalucía. He focused on Gian Luigi as a possible new door to profits. He opened the email. It was bland, no more than asking Oleg to make contact. A certain matter needed discussing. Oleg scratched his leg without noticing. This email seeped unspoken bad vibes. Was there a problem? There'd never been one before.

  He wrote back, asking if late Monday morning would work for Gian Luigi. Within five minutes he had confirmation. That ratcheted up the warning signals. No self-respecting Italian looked at emails on a Sunday afternoon. They would be pigging out on pasta before consigning themselves to the matrimonial bed or their mistress or a brothel. Oleg chafed. He could do nothing more today. Patience, he counselled himself. In weeks he could cut loose. He must not rock the boat.

  Sitting on the sofa at home, Oleg turned his television to RT, the Russian state-sponsored counter to the BBC, CNN and others. He treasured RT. Not only did it help improve his English, but it dispensed a Kremlin-distorted view of the world.

  He sat back to absorb. Little of interest was happening until the last item. RT reported an outbreak of food poisoning in Italy. Local medical services were stretched but the doctors believed all was under control. Investigations to determine the cause would start on Monday. On the face of it this did not seem relevant to Oleg. Yet his brain insisted on some inexplicable link connecting this to Gian Luigi's email.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Autumn, the following week

  Monday: Úbeda

  Lili wished she was far from Úbeda. The town, the area, and the province suffered and could not hide its fly-derived depression. The unseasonal heat had gone. Normal temperatures had resumed and activity in Olivos
Ramos y Tremblay pursued shadows in the hope that a way to separate infected from uninfected olives might appear. The energy expended was understandable. A solution was the last hope for rescuing anything from the season. Olivos Ramos y Tremblay, like its fellow producers, was enfeebled, riddled with uncertainties about the future.

  To Lili, salvation would be to desert, to seek a job in London or New York. Next best would be Madrid. Inma at least listened and recognised what motivated Lili. Worst would be to return to Ottawa, even if it was the one place where she could always retreat. To turn up on her mother's doorstep would be to admit she had replicated her father's failure. Her mother would exude sympathy and suffocate her with encouragement. That was bad enough. To face her brothers, who had never valued her successes or preference for an international life, would be intolerable. None had visited her during the fifteen years in England, then Spain.

  Lili's arguments with Enrique, over whether the pestilence was natural or unnatural, unhinged her. It had become her great unknown. However it resolved would decide the future of Olivos Ramos y Tremblay. For her sanity she needed to discuss the possibilities with Inma. Not knowing what would happen, or when, was driving her crazy, even though, as Enrique reminded her, it probably didn't matter either way.

  The one positive might come from the Super High Density grove. Sick at the looming expense, Lili had confirmed the rental of the harvester. Within days she and Enrique would know whether these olives were of decent enough quality to extract Extra Virgin Olive Oil. If they weren't, the output would be sold as bulk VOO, or POO, which would produce a pittance. More than enough bad stuff was around, polluted with flies' eggs.

  On the other hand, if the Super High Density olives were good enough, they might generate an income. Yet even this fertilised a fresh acrimony with Enrique. With Extra Virgin Olive Oil in high demand at high prices, Lili wanted to sell at once in bulk. She argued the income would be immediate.