Virginity Despoiled

by Charles Brett

  In the pueblo, Ana could find no one. She and Kjersti wandered around the small, intermediate and large mills. She attempted to explain how everything worked and acknowledged the depth of her ignorance, even though she had listened on the various tours.

  Suddenly it hit her like a hammer from nowhere.

  "What's wrong, Ana? You've gone as white as a sheet!"

  "Your Oleg is what's wrong. It was here I met him, on an organised tour of the facilities. He called himself Schmidt."

  "He's a man of many names."

  "But why was he here? He acted like a dumb investor on a freebie tour."

  "Could he have been researching something? Or a buyer?"

  "But why? You know, I recall him asking one out of character question. It struck me as odd at the time, as if he knew more than he was letting on. It concerned olive growers and whether they took out insurance against bad harvests."

  "That does sound strange. Maybe we should dig further?"

  Ana was about to agree when a cheerful Enrique and María rounded the corner.

  Thursday: Úbeda

  Ana introduced Kjersti. Enrique did the same for María, who was pointedly abrupt in making herself scarce. Enrique attempted to cover for her. She was busy with her computers and he started on an over-long exploration of the interest her OIMs were attracting.

  His explanation sounded contrived to Ana, as if he was embarrassed that she'd found him so cheerful in María's company. She would resolve his doubts later.

  She had a more urgent question for him.

  "Do you remember the tour visit when Lili wasn't here? She was in Madrid with Inma."

  "The one where I had to do everything, with that man's obnoxious wife?"

  "That's the one. Do you recall Herr Schmidt?"

  "Not really. The name, yes. He was inconspicuous. I don't remember him showing much interest or asking anything interesting."

  "He didn't. Kjersti knows him, but under a different name. He's Estonian or Russian."

  Enrique snorted. It was improbable. All he could visualise was a faceless, grey German who'd mostly been silent.

  "Why do you think he's relevant? And to what?"

  "Kjersti is a journalist, as I told you yesterday. She's writing an investigatory piece about the current Italian olive oil poisoning and is here to obtain some background as to how the olive oil industry works, and to see it working, which is difficult at the moment in Italy."

  Kjersti said, "What I suggested to Ana was Herr Schmidt, or Oscar or Oleg, the final one being his true name, might've been staking out this place."

  "Why would he want to do that?"

  "That's one question. The second is should I ask him?"

  Enrique looked puzzled.

  "You mean you're in contact?"

  "Not exactly. Recently he and I ran a 50K in Estonia. Travelling there and on the way back is where I met Ana. I have an email address and phone number for him." She hesitated.

  "To be honest, I don't really want to connect with him again. Twice he's made me feel like a sleaze bag. It may be the same for you."

  She perked up.

  "But, if there's a story in it, separate from the Italians, I'd suppress my natural reluctance. But that brings us back to why he was here. Was it casual interest? Your freebie? Or was there a more sinister objective?"

  Enrique, Ana and Kjersti stood together, uncertain. Ana dragged them back to the real world.

  "May I take Kjersti for a walk through the groves so she can experience how olive growing happens?"

  "Be my guest. Want me to accompany you?"

  "Not at this moment. But when we return, if any oil's being processed, would you take her through the stages?"

  "Happily. Try me at the intermediate mill first. If not there, check the big one."

  Enrique strode off, leaving Ana and Kjersti to exit the pueblo and enter the groves. As the distance from the pueblo increased so did the silence. Ana loved this. Just a light wind scurrying through to disturb the leaves. It was a shame so many of the olives were rotten and would be discarded.

  To Ana's gratification, Kjersti fell in with the quiet. She looked around, took the occasional note but guarded her own peace. For an hour they walked. Only the threat of fading light persuaded them to head back to the pueblo. With about half a kilometre to go, Kjersti spoke for the first time.

  "This is enchanting. I've been in forests before, ones with tall trees where the light all but hides. This is so different, like being under an open sky surrounded by life, growth and fruit. The colours. You warned me about the silver and green leaves but said nothing of the sandy soil with blue sky as counterpoints below and above. Will I be able to create prose to do this justice?"

  Her enthusiasm surprised Ana. To this point she had not shared her newest ambition, to own her own olive groves, to make her own oil. She'd said nothing to Kjersti of the possible inheritance even though the fincas Señor Delafuente had identified in the Sierra Mariola already grew their own olives. Not the Picuals or Arbequinas cultivated here. Blanquetas. She had never heard of the type before Soledad's discovery.

  In comfortable companionship they headed to the intermediate mill. Enrique wasn't there. His people were finishing a batch. Ana talked Kjersti through the washing and sorting, the crushing, malaxing and finally the centrifuging as best as she could. They watched oil dribble out from the centrifuge. Ana took a couple of clean spoons. She held one under the oil stream, filling it before offering it to Kjersti.

  "Try this."

  Kjersti's disgust was evident in how she regarded the spoon. Reluctantly, she accepted it and tasted.

  Before Kjersti could comment, Ana butted in.

  "Horrified? I thought the same my first time. Relax. A sip will do to start. By the time you leave you'll want to drink a glass daily."

  "In your dreams. A whole glass of olive oil?"

  Gingerly, Kjersti sipped a second time. It was astringent, and fresh. This wasn't like her usual oil out of plastic, probably bottled months or years earlier. This was ... again she found herself searching for words to use in her article. Nothing original came to mind.

  Next she noticed the colour – a luscious verdant green like no other. Tautological, but accurate. Daring herself, she took a slurp, larger than her initial sip. With the greater quantity she noted more texture, the sweet almost buttery taste with hints of tomato followed by a peppery kick to finish as it slid down her throat. Without realising she smiled.

  "Hooked?"

  "Damn you, I believe I am! What is this?"

  "Picual, I think." Ana walked over to one of Enrique's production team to confirm her own taste-buds' accuracy. "Yes, I'm right."

  "So what's all that strange machinery? The stuff that looks like a computer with eyes in the sorting and cleaning area?"

  "I haven't seen that before. It must be María and Enrique's invention to try to beat the bugs by inspecting if the olives have been infected or not. Kjersti, please be careful here. I'm not sure how much people know about this. I don't want publicity before they say they're ready, if they ever are. You must get their permission before describing anything. Okay?"

  Kjersti emitted a moue of disappointment.

  "Okay. Before I write. I promise."

  Ana relaxed. She led Kjersti into the big mill in search of Enrique.

  Thursday: Úbeda

  María tried to mask her unhappiness. All had been going so well a week ago. With Lili away she had Enrique to herself, even if he had not taken much notice of her. The first OIM had worked. She was impressed by her inventiveness, and pleased as punch that she'd mastered self-learning for the Raspberry Pis.

  The self-learning had involved much trial and error but eventually she had found a way forward. It was crude but effective. Take an olive, scan it, open it and use her portable version to image it and list whether it was infected or not. Now repeat. Over the past ten days María had scanned hundreds of olives, in the groves as well as in the sorting and washing ar
ea.

  The proof lay in the improved accuracy. False negatives remained low, well within 2 per cent. For Enrique the numbers of false positives continued to decline, meaning more fruit could be milled. The one factor she couldn't adjust was where the flies had visited. To everybody's surprise some areas produced 70 per cent rejection rates. Others close by could be a quarter of that. While such inconsistency baffled all, it emphasised the OIM's value. Already María was cannibalising the first OIM and threatening to do the same to OIM2 in order to expand to an OIM3. Enrique insisted on maintaining OIM2, at least until an OIM3 functioned.

  Lili's return was inevitable but not welcome. Ana's arrival threw grit into María's existence. She hadn't understood the appeal of the long, leggy, good-looking Ana until meeting her face to face. That she was accompanied by a spare blonde Scandinavian journalist with an open face hardly made achieving María's objective easier. That Lili was comfortable with Ana, and soon after with Kjersti, annoyed María. So far the only good news was Enrique seemed as blind to them as to her. What a charade!

  She swivelled her chair back to her laptop. If building the OIMs was straightforward, documenting how others could build them was much tougher. Trying to be clear and concise was driving her crazy. Enrique was no help. She'd uncovered that he could barely write a fluent sentence, never mind an understandable one. This alone justified Lili's involvement in the business.

  María wrote on because the clamour for the OIMs was growing. She had proposed to sell not just the do-it-yourself instructions but also the software with the heuristics costing the most. She and Enrique could have made a killing, except that he had put his foot down. No gouging, he'd insisted. It wasn't fair on other suffering oil producers. Despairing in one sense, but agreeing in her heart, she was going to force him to set the prices.

  She heard a door open. Enrique entered with the very people María didn't want to see. She groaned. Would she ever reach her destination?

  An hour later Kjersti had asked almost every permutation of question conceivable. Yet in a way she had contributed. Each question had a point. If María could remember the answers she'd offered it would help the documentation. She'd muttered something about this to find Kjersti coming up trumps. Kjersti'd recorded everything María had said on her phone. Would María like a copy? Kjersti suggested running it through her voice-to-text converter. She could email the output, along with the voice file.

  María couldn't contain her gratitude. Giving Kjersti a big hug, she changed her opinion of her, but not of Ana. Enrique looked satisfied.

  Ana and Kjersti left.

  Enrique remained. Should María make a move on him? The trouble was Enrique offered almost no clues despite their knowing each other since childhood. In those times she could read him like a window. These days the window was opaque.

  Was he still enamoured of Ana? There was no sign of Ana being attracted to him. But Ana was bien educada, well brought up. María's pueblo instinct was not to trust such people. Too smooth they dissimulated to hide their intentions behind polite words.

  No, the more she saw of Ana, the less she liked. Intuitively María feared competition. What should she think to do?

  Friday: Úbeda

  Ana had searched for Enrique to talk with him. Yesterday had all been about Kjersti, or María, with the María's dislike shining bright. That was a shame. In other circumstances she might have warmed to María. Capable and possessed were qualities Ana appreciated.

  To solve the Enrique problem she'd invited him to breakfast. She'd explained to Kjersti about wanting time alone with him. Kjersti hadn't objected but asked to borrow Ana's tablet while they ate.

  Ana descended to the courtyard in the centre of the Parador. Enrique waited for her. They ordered café y tostadas, with good olive oil, he'd insisted. The waiter smiled obliquely. They made inconsequential conversation until their breakfast arrived.

  Enrique couldn't complain. The olive oil was fresh, and from Olivos Ramos y Tremblay. The waiter preened at his subtlety. Enrique congratulated him, not least because it was doubly extra virgin, oil in an unopened bottle. Unscrewing the top broke the ice for Ana.

  "Enrique, I want to talk."

  "Yes?"

  Ana hesitated.

  "I hope you don't think I've misled you?"

  "About what?"

  "Us. Or, to be accurate, not us."

  Enrique heaved an internal sigh of relief. Ana had done his dirty work for him. He hadn't been looking forward to this conversation. He thought he'd been misleading her. He beamed, much to Ana's perplexity.

  "Why are you looking like a lotto winner? Is it because you think the same? That's not polite."

  Hearing her own words, she shook her head at her stupidity before continuing.

  "Let me be clear. Just as I've no intentions towards you, you have none for me?"

  Enrique nodded agreement.

  "This has to be one of the oddest 'I'm not interested in you' conversations I've ever had."

  "You're right, Ana. You know I like you, very much. While I'm not sure if Inma and you have made our lives easier or harder, overall, I suspect it is 'harder'. Nevertheless, you've been good for me."

  "But I'm not the one for you? I understand. Happily it's mutual."

  They watched each other. Neither was sure how to continue. All that needed saying had been said in a few brief sentences with no drama. The disagreeable had been avoided. There was nothing more of substance to cover, yet neither had started on their cafés or tostadas. On this basis, the following minutes were about to be painful.

  A sharp crash resounded after which they heard a cry of: "Ana, where are you?"

  They rose as Kjersti rushed over, carrying Ana's tablet.

  "Where did you get this photo?"

  She held out the picture of the business gathering, which Davide had sent yesterday.

  "Someone emailed it to me. How did you find it?"

  "You left it open in the app. When I turned on the tablet it appeared."

  Ana remembered not closing the photo app.

  Kjersti pointed to a striking bald man dressed in black.

  "Do you know this man?"

  Ana shook her head.

  "That's Andrei, the man with Oleg in Benidorm."

  "So?"

  "Something's not right here. What's the connection? Although Oleg denied it, I'm sure I saw Andrei driving in a locally registered car when in Benidorm, not a hire car. Yet another deception?"

  "What are you getting at?"

  "Think about it while I make a call."

  Kjersti dialled a number. Ana and Enrique heard the other end ringing before a sleepy voice answered in Norwegian.

  "Who the fuck is calling at this time of night?"

  "It's eight thirty in the morning, Helga. Whoops! That's early for you. Sorry."

  "Is that you, Kjersti?"

  "Who else?"

  "You stupid cow! I only went to bed a couple of hours ago."

  "Shall I call back?"

  "Don't bother. I'm awake now. What do you want?"

  "Think back to our holiday in Benidorm. Alger and Oscar?"

  "You mean Andrei and Oleg?"

  "Yes. Were you ever suspicious about anything?"

  "I'm not sure what you are suggesting, though I've seen Andrei recently. He came to Oslo for a weekend of debauchery."

  "I'm in polite company. They don't need to hear of your depravity."

  "Mean, mean and mean! Kjersti behaving herself as usual. Anyway, in Benidorm he was a casual pick-up. Well, not so casual. He does have an amazing bod."

  "Thank you for that useful information."

  "There was one moment when he was here in Oslo. He started boasting about how he was going to make a fortune. I asked how, thinking he was just acting over the top, like the conceited prick he is. 'Olives' was all he said before he clammed up. It was the clamming up that made me notice."

  "Can I call you back later today?"

  "If you must. But not before l
unch."

  "Okay, okay. In the afternoon."

  Hanging up, Kjersti turned to Enrique and Ana. She raised an eyebrow as if to ask if they had heard.

  Ana chose to respond.

  "We heard but don't understand Norwegian."

  "Sorry, I forgot. My fault. Let me fill you in."

  Kjersti began with Oleg-cum-Oscar-cum-Schmidt, the man of many names. She moved onto Andrei-cum-Alger, with fewer aliases. She linked the olives, the visit to Úbeda by Oleg-as-Schmidt and the reference by Andrei to olives as his gateway to lots of money. She finished by insisting she detected a bad smell.

  To Ana the coincidences were too implausible to add up to anything concrete.

  Enrique, not feeling so sure, questioned Kjersti.

  "Could you be allowing your desire for a story to run away with you?"

  "I don't think so. Why should I? I came here for background about olive growing for my commissioned Italian oil-poisoning story, not one about Oleg or Andrei. By accident, or coincidence, I met Ana in Tallinn when there to compete against Oleg, whose holiday friend has been happily screwing my best friend. There's an olive connection. No, it's not fantastical. Instinct, a journalist's instinct if you will, tells me to dig for more."

  "How will you go about it?"

  "Ana, the tablet please. Who are these other people?"

  Ana filled her in about Toomas and Reelika and the two she had recognised at 'investment partners', all of whom had disappeared on Inma and herself. She said Davide was the source of the photos. While this meant nothing to Enrique, it completed another building block for Kjersti.

  "Are you telling me some of the people in the same photo as Andrei have disappeared and participated in the olive insurance you arranged? Don't look so distressed, Ana. I'd worked out the business connection for myself, no thanks to you."

  Ana cringed. Her attempts at preserving confidentiality had collapsed. Kjersti was just too sharp.

  "Don't worry, my girl. I'm used to it. I don't hold grudges, or not for long. I held out on you about my job when we were on the plane. We're about quits I'd say. The question is, where now?"