Virginity Despoiled

by Charles Brett

  "Were you an aspiring tennis pro?"

  "Maybe. Yes. I wasn't good enough. My disappointment when my parents were told it was pointless me continuing led me to my extreme running. It's not a period I talk about."

  "Why have four tennis serving machines in this shed?"

  Kjersti stood back. What bothered her were the changes. The plastic exit tube was much longer than she remembered. The hopper seemed different too. She'd never paid much attention to the machines with her always being on the receiving end, with a coach squawking at her to do better.

  Meanwhile, Ana peeped inside, finding nothing. An empty hopper. The metal case and an external engine. She avoided touching the machine. In being careful she managed to nudge it enough for it to slip sideways off the uneven surface where they'd dragged it. Steadying herself she peered inside again.

  "Is this what I think it is?"

  "Where? You mean the dried-up olive? Wait. Let me take some photos."

  Kjersti took some close up and more from further away. Her face was suddenly plastered with good humour.

  "You've cracked it!"

  "What do you mean?"

  "An olive in the hopper. Lots of olives in the hopper. Squirted out through the plastic tube. The distribution mechanism's in front of you. Olives from the hopper would be propelled out through the long tube into the groves."

  "Isn't that far-fetched? Is your imagination filling in what the journalist wants to write?"

  "If that olive has one of your Latin friends inside, I'd say we've proof. We need to get this machine and that olive to Enrique or, better still, to Soledad. She seems to know her cultivars, if that's the right word?"

  "I'm not putting that machine in my car, not in that state."

  "Fair point. I wouldn't either. Shall we rent a van or leave this in situ?"

  "From a legal perspective, we ought to leave it here. Perhaps without the desiccated olive. We can borrow a glass jar and head for Úbeda. I'll let Inma know."

  "Not so fast. I need a gallery of photos and to verify they're received at a confidential storage site of mine in Norway. We should also return the machine to the hut. Once that's done we'll leave for Úbeda."

  Ana pulled a face. Kjersti paid no attention. In her mind she was assembling a scoop. She was going to make a fortune, more than enough to cover the loss on Andrei's car 100 times over.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Late autumn

  Friday, Úbeda

  Lili, Enrique, Kjersti, Ana and Soledad waited for Inma. She had tried to leave Madrid the previous evening. A last-minute hitch prevented her, obliging her to start out early today.

  Sitting round the conference table in the pueblo was awkward. Everyone wanted information yet no one fancied having to repeat everything, especially when Ana insisted on consistency as well as structure.

  Lili was the most uncertain. Was the axe of re-insurance vengeance about to be lifted from Olivos Ramos y Tremblay or would Inma bring it crashing down?

  Soledad was content. Her skills as an ancient were again being called upon and not found wanting. She basked in being the centre of attention. It didn't happen often these days. She knew she was a good olive grower and a bad oil producer. She had half a mind to suggest linking up with Enrique long-term, if possible. The OIMs might save them and he had recognised their value. She frowned. Why wasn't María here?

  Enrique just beamed. His cup overflowed. The Super High Density Picuals and Arbequinas had turned out better than he could believe for a first year.

  Ana and Kjersti seemed on the brink of resolving the man-made infestation puzzle, or at least how it might have happened. Plus there was the latest OIM. Each day the sorting throughput improved as María tweaked and tweaked.

  And María? She was emphatic in her refusal to join Enrique in his bed. Would suggesting her bed make the difference? Why was she encouraging yet punishing him?

  In contrast to Enrique Kjersti typed away. Since returning from Murcia, apart from one session with María, her laptop had endured extreme punishment. When not writing she was on the phone, mostly speaking Norwegian or English.

  Ana projected calm. Inside she was the opposite. Inma knew what she and Kjersti had stumbled on. The question to be decided today was what to do next, and how. Kjersti was desperate to publish the story. Inma insisted on caution. There would be a battle between these two. Who would win was anybody's guess. Two implacable wills were about to smash into each other.

  As if this was not enough, Señor Delafuente was chasing her. He had urgent news which demanded her attention. She'd tried to explain she was drowning in business commitments and could not see him until next week at the earliest. He'd sounded downcast when her words sank in. What might that portend?

  María slipped in. That wasn't quite right. As a description it missed an element. She floated in, though on what Ana couldn't work out. Whatever it was, it was invisible, but it made her seem less irascible. She was now in a permanent good humour. María's first words were addressed to Kjersti.

  "I think I have what you asked for."

  "Let's see. Can you project it?"

  María connected her tablet to the projector. This was fiddly and took time, much to Kjersti's irritation. Eventually an image appeared of a skeleton wireframe diagram. María deferred to Kjersti.

  "Shall I explain or do you want to?"

  "Go ahead. You created it."

  María started with her instruction from Kjersti to come up with some drawings of how the olives might have been distributed by the Kanon. Using Kjersti's photos, she'd attempted sketches. These lacked realism and did not convince. In frustration she'd gone back to her industrial training to try Computer Aided Design.

  This first wireframe diagram, which they were observing, was of the Kanon. She pointed out the hopper, the overlong output tube, plus the olive in the place where Ana had found it. She traced the route an olive might take, from hopper through the centre of the machine to expulsion into the fresh air.

  María swiped the tablet screen and the wireframe filled in. Now it was a machine they could recognise. To confirm it, she switched to a sales video of a Kanon firing balls at a tennis player before moving on to match it to one of Kjersti's photos from Murcia. María did not notice Kjersti's frown. Ana did. It obviously still rankled with Kjersti that she had never made it as a tennis pro.

  María swiped again. A large, empty hopper was mounted on the rear of a small flatbed van. At the front were two Kanon machines mounted side-by-side but in counterpoise. There was a chute connecting their own hoppers to the larger raised hopper at the back.

  Another swipe and the rear hopper filled with olives. Seen side-on, the mock flatbed van began to move along the road. The olives descended from the raised hopper into the hoppers of the Kanons. There was a short wait before a stream of olives flew in an arc from the output tube facing the viewer. Another swipe and the viewpoint changed to the rear. From this everyone observed how a steady stream of olives flew out five to ten metres from the output tube ends to the fields on either side.

  A stunned silence descended. It was so simple, yet so devastating.

  María broke the silence.

  "This is only my guess. It's one way it could work. I should point out that this isn't all my own imagination. I'd big assistance from abroad helping me to pose the visualisation problem and pushing me towards this representation. Please remember it's no more than an educated guess."

  Kjersti was the first to react.

  "I think it's fantastic. You've brought the delivery to life. Well done, María!"

  Kjersti's praise was taken up by everyone. Soledad hadn't realised such modelling was possible. She asked María to show it again. María did the honours twice more. All were entranced.

  No one heard Inma's discreet arrival. She watched the latest iteration. In this María had added more detail and a different vehicle. This scenario portrayed an articulated truck with high sides and an open top. From above they could see two va
st olive hopper cages with the two pairs of counterpoised Kanons, one pair at the front and one pair midway. From the side the Kanons and hoppers were invisible. As the simulated truck proceeded down the road, only the four streams of olives emerging from the top were visible.

  Inma coughed and advanced towards the table. Only María needed an introduction. Inma added her own congratulations. Ana winced. Inma might smile but seethed inside. Ana knew the signs.

  Friday: Tallinn

  Oleg couldn't find Andrei. He was uptight because his actions weren't working out. He felt disadvantaged, which he resented because it meant somebody or something possessed more control than himself.

  He walked to Reval in Pärnu Maantee. If he did not have much hope of running into Andrei at least he could buy a decent coffee and connect. With a Latte in front of him, he opened his computer and started to work through the sites he visited each day. It took an hour.

  Finished, he glanced up to find Andrei ushering in an attractive, short-haired lady. So that was it. Andrei had been womanising without informing him of his movements, as he had promised to do. A warning bell jangled.

  Andrei didn't see Oleg. He was delighting in making a fuss over his companion with a style that to Oleg betrayed intimacy. If it wasn't his friends from Oslo it was ... Except that this woman resembled somebody he'd seen before. He shook his head and concentrated on discreetly trying to attract Andrei's attention but not the woman's.

  His attempt flopped. Oleg stood. This time Andrei noticed and came over, all smiles. Oleg interrupted and went on a roll.

  "Where've you been? I've been searching for you for days."

  It was the one question, together with the reason behind it, which Andrei didn't want to answer. Knowing he had visited Benidorm would send Oleg ballistic. Hearing about the car would aggravate him further. He squeezed Aniika's arm, to convey she should remain quiet. He hoped she'd understand.

  "I was travelling."

  "That's not the point, Andrei. You should've warned me in advance as agreed. The time I've wasted –"

  "So why do you want to see me?"

  "The situation's deteriorating. Haven't you read this?"

  He held up an Estonian newspaper from the weekend. It carried, in translation, an article describing the fly pestilence in Andalucía and the damage it was doing to olive oil production.

  "The last line's the problem."

  "You mean, 'There are some who believe the infestation cannot have natural origins. This raises the question: what alternatives are there? Could the infestation have been artificially caused?'"

  "Exactly. How can the writer suspect anything? What did you do wrong? What gave rise to such suspicion?"

  "Me? I did nothing. Probably the devastation being so great is what's prompted the questions. To be honest, the flies are far more widespread than I ever expected. Did you think we could be that successful?"

  Oleg seethed. Andrei's points had occurred to him but this wasn't the issue. No one should suspect the unnatural. Their whole scheme was built upon a natural pest behaving naturally. He held his head in his hands. Despair crept closer, so much so he almost didn't hear Andrei speak.

  "Does this make any difference to your insurance policies and what we're about to receive?"

  "I don't know. It could do. If anyone starts investigating –"

  "They'll find nothing to connect us. We cleared our tracks. There's no way. So what changes?"

  "Markets. We built the plan based on moving markets to favour us. They're doing the opposite."

  Oleg continued to keep quiet about the link to the Italian oil poisoning. It did not matter what the cause was, his oil or not. The poisoning had changed market behaviour. He said as much.

  To Andrei, Oleg now smelled of rotten fish. He let his temper ignite. He watched Oleg absorb the indicators. Words weren't needed. Except that when words came, they didn't originate from Andrei.

  "Tere, Oleg. Don't you recognise me without my blonde hair? What an interesting tale you both confirm."

  Oleg turned. It was the first time she'd spoken. Recognition arrived.

  "Reelika?"

  Her smirk resembled a snake poised to strike. Before she could say more, Oleg whipped back to confront Andrei.

  "You stupid, stupid, debauched, skirt-chasing, womanising playboy! You're screwing her? You poor fool."

  Andrei looked blank. Aniika was Aniika. She was the wife of a sick old rich guy whom he had had often during those fabulous few days in Benidorm. Her adventurousness, whether in bed or outside, knew no bounds.

  "You still don't get it, do you?"

  Andrei shook his head, bewildered. Oleg re-energised his anger. How dare he treat Aniika like this?

  "Her real name is Reelika, you pig-ignorant philanderer! She's Toomas's wife. They'll screw anybody for advantage."

  Realisation dawned for Andrei. Oleg had used Toomas. Years ago Andrei had introduced Oleg to Toomas as a bent Estonian willing to play financial games for a slice of the profit. Toomas must be Oleg's local contact for all which required Estonian credentials, ones he and Oleg could not provide because they weren't Estonian citizens, despite having the grey EU identities enabling them to travel throughout Europe.

  He could suppress his anger no more. It began to overflow, until she interrupted again.

  "In fact, Oleg, my name really is Aniika. Andrei's correct. I use Reelika for business. Thank you for failing to recognise me in Córdoba and heading back to Madrid. When I learnt you'd be attending the tour I thought you might realise who I was. So I changed my appearance. But you were so keen to stay inconspicuous you didn't see through me."

  Oleg groaned. He recalled thinking a woman he saw resembled somebody familiar. Out of context in Spain he hadn't put two and two together, and she had not joined them in Úbeda.

  As his mind churned, Aniika took out her phone to send a brief message.

  "We've some adjusting to do. I'll start and if I haven't finished when Toomas arrives he can do the honours. To explain, we've known all along what you two were doing. We think you've been wonderfully inventive. We appreciate and applaud your efforts. Yet Toomas and I always prefer an inside edge."

  Aniika smiled at Andrei. His appetite for her charms withered.

  "We've savoured this moment, despite not planning to rearrange your participation today. No matter. Tomorrow you'll transfer your olive oil gains to us, both those earned and those about to be. That includes assigning us those delightful insurance policies you just mentioned. In consideration, we'll leave you alone. If the authorities know nothing, you'll be able to remain in Estonia. This is your reward.

  "Ah, Toomas! You time your arrival to perfection. Andrei and Oleg now know what to transfer to us. You may take me in our rented apartment upstairs. Andrei, shrink your little ego. Toomas is so much more original than your facile efforts, though I agree you make an effort."

  She rose, stretched out an elegant leg to taunt Andrei and grasped Toomas by the elbow. Outside, they walked down Pärnu Maantee towards the entrance to the apartment above. Passing by Reval's windows they glanced in, to find Oleg and Andrei assaulting each other. The wail of police sirens was audible.

  Toomas addressed his wife: "You handled a potentially difficult negotiation with your customary savoir faire, chérie, almost as delightfully as you behave in bed. Darling Aniika!"

  Friday: Úbeda

  Ana doubled back to the meeting. Another call from Señor Delafuente had obliged her to leave the room if she was to hear what he needed to say. Now she was attempting to absorb his information. Pressure piled up upon pressure. Space and time were her number one requisites, yet neither were available.

  Reseated, Ana listened to María review the OIMs. She knew most of what María discussed. Improved volumes of sorted olives meant Olivos Ramos y Tremblay might produce about half of last year's Extra Virgin Olive Oil and about a quarter of the VOO and POO. So many olives were infected. It was not like earlier years when these could be sold off in th
e bulk market. They must be destroyed to be certain the basic fly breeding grounds were removed. María had even proposed using the mills to crush the infected olives before consigning the output for waste disposal.

  María switched subjects. Now that the design for both an OIM2 and OIM3 were available on the website, along with sorting software with varying degrees of sophistication, the take up astonished her. Orders were flowing in, not only from across southern Spain, but from California and other places where the olive fruit fly was endemic. What Olivos Ramos y Tremblay lost in olive income it was gaining in olive-sorting sales.

  This made Inma and Ana rise in their seats. Was there a change of control within Olivos Ramos y Tremblay? It seemed so. They had already heard from Soledad that she'd asked to combine oil production with Enrique and Lili for this harvest. María was adding herself to the cast.

  María continued. It was her impression that, she declined to go further, the OIMs would change the face of the high end of Extra Virgin Olive Oil production. By removing unrecognised infected olives before the milling process, irritants would be fewer from infected olives in future output. The taste should be better.

  She hazarded further refinements. Improved future OIMs would scan for more than pests. They will weed out, for example, bruised fruit. The implication was clear. Better, cleaner, fresher EVOO.

  Furthermore, because of this year's mass presence of Bactrocera oleae in Andalucía, Spain would be the leader, for a while. The cost of building OIMs was significant. Their invention had only happened with an emergency sufficient to kick-start an economic justification. It was Andalucía's sad lot to be the involuntary guinea pig.

  After María had finished, Enrique addressed the group. He sped through more information about the POPIC members and what was happening locally. The possibility of rescuing even a quarter of the high value oil was like a dream. That would only occur for those who made the effort to install OIMs, mostly large mills rather than individual producers like Olivos Ramos y Tremblay. From talking around, most producers were resigned to VOO or POO this year, but at least it would be fly-free.