Virginity Despoiled

by Charles Brett

  Chapter Seventeen

  Late autumn

  Friday, Tallinn

  Andrei sat in Reval Cafe. He contemplated a variety of possible outcomes, from a pleasant conversation with a pretty lady through something more mutual. Oleg was right. He was a skirt-chaser. He acknowledged his condemnation.

  Sitting opposite the glass wall lining the Pärnu Maantee side of Reval yet able to keep an eye on the door, he waited. Fashionably late, he watched her stroll past, and not from the direction of the school. Probably not a mother.

  A long smart coat hid what she wore beneath. She was sensible. It was below zero today and the radio predicted light snow. The clouds were doing their best to conform.

  She came through the door and looked around. He stood. With an attractive nonchalance she headed over. He offered to take her coat. Removing it, she emerged dressed in a short brown skirt over dark tights on well-formed legs and with a close-fitting green jersey. Understated, yet suggestive. Brown boots, with tall heels and stretching above the knee, completed a singular impression.

  What would she like to drink? A cappuccino. He hung her coat up, ordered two and sat beside her. Conversation was not difficult.

  Two hours later he was in her bed, of all places two floors above the cafe. Aniika did not live there. She had once, before making the economically fruitful but otherwise depressing decision to marry a man more than twenty years older than herself. They lived in an impressive house near the sea – she declined to be more specific. She'd kept this place in case she needed a refuge. Her husband now doddered and found it difficult to leave their house. Aniika could not shop all day, even with his generosity. She spent more and more time here, reading and regretting.

  Andrei was welcome to visit again. He satisfied her, as Aniika had bluntly put it. Andrei tried not to glow. Despite considering himself a gem in bed, it was rare to hear it confirmed.

  His phone rang. A Norwegian number, forwarded to his German phone, but not that of Freja. Aniika told him to answer while she headed to the kitchen. She had a rump to hang on to and he had enjoyed hanging on to it. What he had assumed was panty-hose were thigh-high stockings, which she had forbidden him to remove. Admiring both rump and legs he could not dispute his good taste.

  "Andrei? This is Kjersti from Oslo. Do you remember meeting me in Benidorm?"

  "Sure. The athlete who beat Oleg."

  "That's me. I got your number from Helga. You had a car in Benidorm. Do you still have it? Can I rent or even buy it?"

  Andrei did not remember saying anything about the car. Perhaps Oleg had. It was a long time ago. Anyhow, he did have it and wished he hadn't. He had not found a solution for its disposal when they decamped from Murcia for the last time. Instead he had continued to pay the monthly parking fee in Benidorm.

  Was this an opportunity to get rid of it, the last remaining connection to the fly-scattering operation? He might even get some pocket money.

  "Yes, I still have it. It's an old SEAT León, not worth a lot. For 1,000 euros it's yours."

  "Really? How would we handle the transfer?"

  "We'd have to do the papers in Spain. If we met in Benidorm you could hand me cash. I'd sign the transfer documents and you could probably continue my insurance."

  "It sounds too good to be true. Can we sort this next week? I have some holiday."

  "Why not? I'm flexible. Let me know when you want me there. I can fly down from Germany."

  Andrei flushed: he'd almost said Tallinn.

  "Okay. I'll be in touch. Hopefully today, if not tomorrow."

  An unexpected 1,000 euros. That would cover flights and a few days of hotels. Oleg need not know, not least because Andrei had never admitted the car was still in place.

  Aniika flounced in. In only her stockings it would be a crime not to feast on her. For the next half-hour they made themselves unsuitably busy. How much nicer her bedroom was than the cafe below.

  His phone buzzed with a message: Tuesday or Wednesday morning in Benidorm?

  Continuing to admire Aniika, Andrei made a suggestion.

  "Fancy a visit to Spain for three or four days by the beach?"

  "Yes. Why?"

  "I've an item of unfinished business in Benidorm, namely to dispose of a car. If you'd accompany me I'm sure I'll give you a good time."

  Andrei leered at her. She leered back.

  "I'd need to check with my husband. I don't normally leave the country because of his medical conditions. Yet he's been encouraging me to take a break with a girlfriend." Her eyes ran with unsubtle lust over his physique, liking what she saw. "Although I'm not sure you would count as a girlfriend. I think I could make it happen. When are you thinking?"

  "Monday through Thursday?"

  "You are keen."

  "For you, yes. For completing the car sale, yes. For some sun and warmth, yes. For the three of you, quadruply yes."

  "Okay, okay! Prove you're worth it. Although this time make it agonising and slow."

  She was a martinet. It was, nevertheless, Andrei's delight to oblige.

  Friday: Úbeda

  "He bit, he bit!" Kjersti jumped up and down, excited at her success and surprised it had been so straightforward. "We're going to Benidorm on Monday."

  Ana was astonished. Kjersti had made two phone calls. Now she was being hijacked to the Costa Blanca. How did Kjersti do it?

  The rest of Thursday had disappeared in a whirl, with Kjersti in charge. To her the Andaluz story promised to be better than the Italian one, which would have to wait. Outside Spain few recognised the fly problem. Almost no one had an inkling it might be man-made. At her request, Enrique had introduced her to Soledad, followed by all the POPIC group.

  The good news was Kjersti had plenty to do. The bad news being having to cope with those who did not speak English. Kjersti appointed Ana as involuntary translator and intermediary. Úbeda spun as Kjersti weaved. Dervish or not, Kjersti could charm. Soledad purred as she retold of the miseries of the bug infestation. The POPIC men were no better. They responded to the Scandinavian blonde as if on their first dates. Her enthusiasm was infectious.

  Throughout, when not consumed by translation, Ana observed Kjersti's professional behaviour. She deployed whatever guile or trick was required to obtain a confidence or special piece of information. The only time in the day there had been a break was when Kjersti announced it was exercise time and enquired if anyone wished to accompany her on a quick 10K. Ana almost collapsed laughing. The horror that shone on every face, including her own, was universal.

  Shortly after midday, Kjersti left the Parador clad in tight running shorts and top with bare mid-riff and sporting exotic-coloured running shoes. An hour later, sweat-sodden but happy, Kjersti dripped through the front door of the Parador. Her appearance paralysed the hotel doormen who were accustomed to assisting less nubile guests who never perspired in public.

  The afternoon continued with more interviews, accompanied with tea or coffee served in the Parador's main foyer. The remaining POPIC members trooped in in pairs.

  In the early evening, Kjersti excused herself. Two hours later she called Ana. She'd written 1,500 words on the 'fly plague of Úbeda', as she'd headlined it, and sent it to a couple of magazines that might pay. Her only grumble was that she'd not done justice to the delights of their walk through the olive groves.

  She and Ana sauntered into town to find dinner and to plan. On Monday she intended they drive to Benidorm in Ana's Cinquecento. She already had obtained a complimentary hotel room, courtesy of a place she'd reviewed before.

  When Ana queried this, Kjersti claimed she always wrote reviews. If the review was published in a newspaper or magazine she sent a copy to the relevant hotel. If she had a reason to go back, she reminded the hotel's public relations people and almost always secured complimentary rooms. After leaving here, she would write about this Parador to extoll its merits as a base for jogging through the hills and olive groves. It was half-written already, featuring some photos
from her phone. When complete, she would submit it to one of the Scandinavian or English fitness magazines that liked her style.

  In Benidorm she announced they would share a room – unless Ana wanted to pay for her own. Swept up in Kjersti's unassailable enthusiasm, Ana accepted. Where this was leading she hadn't a clue and she wasn't sure she cared. It was like a wild ride without destination. Justifying her continuing absence to Inma was beyond comprehension. It would have to wait.

  Except, Ana realised, Kjersti never lost sight of her objective. Over dinner she circled back to the central topic. Was the fly infestation man-made or not? This fascinated her, as did the possible connection to Oleg and Andrei, and even Toomas. She perceived them all as shady, possibly evil, despite her having slept with one and Ana with another.

  Perhaps, Ana mused, it was because Kjersti had slept with Oleg and found him disappointing. Her dissection of Oleg's failings as a lover made Ana feel like a virginal prude. She was glad she wasn't a man confronted with having to satisfy Kjersti.

  No, it was Kjersti's hyperactive sense of injustice, of wrong. Somehow the olives in their groves set in the hills had enchanted her to the point where she'd taken personal offence at the possibility somebody could deliberately wreak so much damage with some flies, even if she did not know how. She was candid. It might turn out there was no man-made cause, in which case Kjersti would have to make up for lost Italian time. Her instincts told her otherwise.

  She quizzed Ana more about the insurance dimension and its implications. From her questions' accuracy it became clear Lili, of all people, had told her everything, including the impending disaster. This had pepped Kjersti up further. Despite a dedication to maintaining objectivity she had grasped the personal suffering of Lili, Enrique, the POPIC people, plus Inma and Ana.

  Without quite confirming it she hinted at her conviction that Toomas had exploited Ana. When Ana recounted Davide's suspicion that Reelika might be Toomas's wife, Kjersti's disgust revealed itself in a language that was choice and funny.

  They had walked from their restaurante to a bar in the Plaza de Mayo, Ana ordered copas, rum and coke for herself and whisky on the rocks for Kjersti. They attracted male interest. Somehow Kjersti shunted this aside with nothing more than a glare. No one dared approach, not even the handsome studs in the corner.

  Kjersti's next bombshell descended from nowhere.

  "What's Lili's sexuality?"

  "How would I know? It's none of my business."

  "I bet she's gay and doesn't know it."

  Ana considered. Could Kjersti have a point? Lili had lived with Enrique for almost a decade. It did not seem probable.

  Kjersti read her mind.

  "So what? The ten years wasn't successful. Something doesn't add up. She's smart, able and domineering. I suppose she could be asexual. Yet that doesn't feel right."

  Ana pictured Inma. Was it this that tortured her? Something did. It would be typical if Kjersti, the total outsider, identified the root cause inside a couple of days. Ana volunteered nothing.

  Saturday: Úbeda

  Enrique arrived in the pueblo before sunrise. The previous evening he'd borrowed María's portable OIM device. Today he would perform tests of his own. They would not be scientifically rigorous but he needed a feel for which groves were badly afflicted and which less so. If it was possible to work out some allocation, he could determine which groves to harvest first.

  No one else was around at eight in the morning when the sun popped over the mountains to the east. Cold, but bearable, Enrique marched off in order to lose himself among his trees. His only fear was one he no longer dared voice, namely that Lili's over-enthusiastic acceptance of re-insurance would remove all he now valued. He thrust this unsung misery aside.

  At three Enrique found himself kilometres from the pueblo. He faced a choice. He could walk back but felt too tired. Or he could call Lili or María. He hesitated. He would prefer María yet Lili would recognise his location; she had the more suitable vehicle.

  He phoned Lili.

  An hour later Enrique was outside the big mill giving instructions now the latest OIM was ready. Tomorrow they would start picking olives in selected groves. Facing his senior workers, he pointed to the finca map.

  An objection was raised. Enrique's choice of groves was not contiguous. Picking would be inefficient. He agreed and explained his objective was no longer the speed of normal years. They needed to be slow and methodical, ensuring all olives were removed from every tree. Not only did he wish to avoid overloading the latest OIM, but he wanted, in as far as possible, to remove all potential homes for next year's flies. A rumble of agreement greeted this announcement.

  With Sunday planned his people departed, more cheerful now some form of harvest was possible. Although silent, they harboured doubts about María's machines, and whether they would function as Enrique claimed. Using computers was far removed from their traditional lives in the fields.

  As they filed out, Enrique noticed Ana and Kjersti at the back. They must have entered when he was organising.

  Kjersti approached Enrique.

  "Can we participate?"

  "In the harvest? I'd rather not."

  "Don't spoil my experiences. That would be mean."

  "Sorry, but I don't want you interfering."

  "But I want to describe what it's like harvesting olives. I have to do it to add colour and vitality."

  Enrique was stumped for a reply. Ana and Kjersti, unaware how to pick olives, would hinder the professional pickers. But Kjersti was not to be refused. He kept his eyes away from her, preferring Ana. Kjersti's eyes, he had learnt, created victims. He had already fallen to them more times in two days than he could believe possible. They got their way.

  "I'll make you a deal. You can have one tree between the pair of you. There must be no olives left on it when you've finished. You'll have a separate container. You must vow not to distract my people."

  Kjersti hugged him. Ana chortled. The force was Kjersti.

  María looked askance, having arrived without hearing the conversation.

  "Come on, Ana. Now he's agreed, let's get out of his hair before he changes his mind. We must prepare for the morning. I'm going to enjoy this."

  Ana followed her. The disdain on María's face did not escape notice. Ana promised herself to try to admonish Kjersti, to persuade her to tone down her ebullience. Fat chance. Here was enthusiasm run riot.

  María approached Enrique. He could detect her fury. Had something gone wrong? Enrique hoped not. It would ruin tomorrow.

  "What did they want?"

  "To pick olives tomorrow."

  "And you caved in? To the blonde or to the legs?"

  Enrique started. María had not behaved with such aggression before, well not since she had remonstrated after learning he was selling his father's house, leaving Córdoba and pursuing olive-growing in Úbeda. That was a searing memory.

  "The blonde. Who else? Ana's decorum personified compared to Kjersti. Yet they do make a handsome pair."

  "Couple?"

  "No. Not credible."

  "Pity."

  "Why? Why are you being nasty this evening, María? It's not like you."

  María took a grip of herself. Behaving like this would antagonise Enrique. She just couldn't help herself. What should she do?

  He carried on as if nothing had occurred.

  "We need to talk about pricing for your OIM documentation and software. As mentioned before, I won't allow you to gouge fellow sufferers."

  María relented, relieved. Enrique had given her an opening to move on to a neutral topic requiring action. The packaging was ready. The website to buy the designs and software was constructed. Demand, measured by phone calls expressing interest, was rising.

  "Do you fancy dinner? We can talk about the prices."

  María wanted to scream. Would Enrique ever notice anything? In their childhood he could be blinder than a bat. She decided there was no alternative. She must ta
ke the initiative.

  "Are you asking me out?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Are you asking me to go for a business dinner? Or on a date?"

  She almost laughed at the sight of him. He turned from light pink to dark pink to red to purple and back to deep pink. He spluttered, unable to utter anything coherent. Should she rescue him? The temptation not to bother was colossal. Idly it crossed her mind that she was doing a Kjersti.

  "Shall I help you? 'Yes, Enrique, I'd love to go on a date with you. Although you've never noticed, I've been waiting since we were sixteen'. "

  Shit! She hadn't meant to voice the last part. It just trickled out, even if it was true.

  "What about Juan?"

  "I only married him because you were unavailable."

  This was descending into disaster. In her mind's eye María saw a grave appear and its top float open.

  "What?"

  She chose a dignified silence. The grave of her aspirations was now almost completely open, with a metaphorical coffin rising from within, now all too visible to her fears.

  "Are you saying you've been waiting for me all this time? You're interested in me?"

  "Yes, yes and yes."

  The coffin lid tilted open on its hinges. It was bare inside with no lining, no comfort, no nothing.

  "Jesús wept!"

  Enrique was a statue. María couldn't read him. He went blank before he spoke again.

  "All this time I always presumed you'd no interest in me. I couldn't bear the possibility of rejection. It was easier to carry on as friends."

  Had she heard right? She must have. The lid had shut and the coffin was in retreat.

  "Enrique, let me repeat myself in words of one syllable in the implausible hope you'll understand. I want that date with you. This evening? Now?"

  Still he stood transfixed. The coffin paused in its descent.