Virginity Despoiled

by Charles Brett

  Lili chipped in. She believed Olivos Ramos y Tremblay's premium olive oil products would sell for almost double their previous prices, due to scarcity. Furthermore, the Italian olive oil poisoning, by causing a national scare, was improving their own prospects, though this was hardly a cause to celebrate.

  This brought silence for a moment. Memories of the 1981 Toxic Oil Syndrome episode remained fresh in Spanish minds. The likelihood that it had been caused by weed killer and covered up afterwards had never taken hold. Toxic olive oil was an existential threat. Nobody wished to re-encounter it.

  A common shudder of shoulders ran round the table. However unfortunate, what was happening in Italy was being contained. There were no new reports. One big batch was responsible. The authorities were, they claimed, closing in on the culprits.

  Nevertheless, according to Enrique, they could all expect change. It was conceivable, he argued, that finally their best Extra Virgin Olive Oils would attract valuations similar to those of the best wines.

  Finally it was Inma and Lili's turn to assess the insurance and re-insurance implications. Before Ana and Kjersti's discoveries in Murcia the position had been relatively clear. Claims were expected by the insurers and would be paid. Bactrocera oleae was a named pest and nothing suggested any malign action. The situation with the re-insurance wasn't as clear and would only resolve when the cedants eventually made their claims against the re-insurers. In short, nothing had yet changed.

  But, finding the building in Murcia, along with an example of a Blanqueta olive infected with a Bactrocera oleae egg and a mechanism for dispersing olives, altered everything. The possibility that the pestilence was artificially induced with malevolent intent had become a probability, though without hard evidence to confirm it. Inma continued.

  "In my view, however original María's digital simulation is, we still don't have any suspects for who did this."

  Kjersti dragged herself from her laptop screen, on which she'd been typing throughout. She interrupted.

  "What about Oleg and Andrei? We know they were involved."

  "No, we don't. We think they were. So far nothing explicit ties those two to the pestilence here. Murcia is 200 kilometres away."

  "But it could only be them. Who else?"

  "Kjersti, you should know better than any of us. You're inferring a connection. There're no trucks like María envisaged. None were seen here."

  "Not quite true. Oleg was here, masquerading as Schmidt."

  "But he didn't bring and distribute Bactrocera oleae from his pockets. He wasn't caught in the act. We don't have proof of their involvement."

  Inma paused. Kjersti glared. She returned to her keyboard.

  "The difficulty lies in deciding what to tell the insurers. On one hand they're already suspicious, which is natural when their losses look like they'll be high. On the other hand, revealing Kjersti's suspicions may set them off on an investigation, which will suspend all claims from being paid. For Olivos Ramos y Tremblay and others the loss of the cash infusion from paid claims would be almost as destructive as the flies. Banks aren't known for generosity, however sympathetic their public personas make them want to appear."

  "So what do we do?" asked Enrique.

  "I don't know what's right or wrong. It's become so confusing, especially for Ana and myself. We're in the middle. Insurance and re-insurance is our speciality. You're our clients and we don't know what to suggest."

  Kjersti stopped typing. She beamed. No one took any notice. They were too absorbed in Inma's doubts and self-flagellation.

  Saturday: Úbeda

  Ana frequented Enrique and Lili's olive groves. She'd visited the Super High Density ones but, stripped of their fruit, they were sad, like vines after grapes have been plucked. They lacked their previous riotous lustre.

  For her, the previous evening had been torture. She'd been obliged to act as referee to keep Kjersti and Inma apart. Their different agendas threatened a fallout of titanic proportions.

  While her natural sympathy, as well as family and business interests, lay with Inma, Kjersti possessed the momentum and she was up to something. Ana didn't know what. She didn't want to find out. She was certain it would place her in an untenable position. With the three of them staying in the same hotel it posed a constant risk of an explosion. Dinner together had been an impossibility.

  What did please her was how Enrique and María flourished. Within days they'd gone from childhood friends to something Ana wasn't certain about. They didn't behave like lovers. A definite tension still existed between them. Would-be lovers? Did María have so great a whip-hand to hold out? It seemed so. María commanded, Enrique obeyed. Not exploitative; possessive.

  Ana was firmly shut out by María. She didn't mind. It was one matter resolved. At the same time, María was masterminding the harvest rescue, almost singlehanded, with her OIM designs. It was a not-inconsequential achievement.

  Lili, in contrast, was disconsolate. Ana didn't seek a cause. If it was Enrique's new relationship, Lili was in for a hard time. She had brought it on herself.

  Inma was little better, as yesterday evening demonstrated. She was on edge about the insurance and re-insurance implications. Ana knew she should be as well. She couldn't summon the stamina. She was distracted by the news from Señor Delafuente and what she must do. He'd explained everything during his urgent phone call yesterday. She could wait no longer – a time limit existed. If Ana did nothing, in effect a decision was made. She must register her interest in the estate in the coming week or forget it.

  A month earlier she would have let it evaporate. The involvement with Olivos Ramos y Tremblay had changed her attitude. For one, she was much less sure she wanted to continue in business with Inma. One side to her cousin was proving too relentless. Not that Inma treated her badly. Just a constant pressure left her drained. The mess concerning POPIC left a sour taste. Nobody would come out well.

  Also there were the olive trees and their fruit. Ana had gone crazy about them. The notion, fanciful a year earlier, of growing her own, appealed, even if Bactrocera oleae was an ever-present threat. In delving into Señor Delafuente's list of properties the fincas in the Sierra de Mariola had drawn her eye. If they had not found the adapted tennis ball serving machines in Murcia she had intended returning to Madrid via the Sierra de Mariola to check. Of course, Kjersti's insistence on heading back to Úbeda ruined that plan.

  It was strange. The fincas grew the Blanqueta cultivar, the same one they had found in the Kanon used to cause the pestilence. According to Soledad, it wasn't so much of a coincidence. Blanquetas were found across the Comunidad de Valencia. By digging deeper she found Blanquetas possessed many worthwhile properties. According to one description they offered 'a tomato-like aroma, a light-green fig scent with a spicy aftertaste reminiscent of banana skin and nutshells.'

  Ana snickered to herself. How stupid it was that she should recall, verbatim, the words of one description. With olives, like wine, oil language embraced an excess of flowery language determined to impress. Tasting was far better and she wanted to try some oil made with Blanqueta for herself. As an oil it was comparatively rare, only made in small commercial quantities. This might distinguish it from common ones like Picual, Arbequina and Hojiblanca. As relevant was its alleged tolerance to droughts and frosts, its high volume and early production. Against was the strength of the trees, preventing most mechanical harvesting. Could it be cultivated in Super High Density groves? Could the harvesters even work in the mountains?

  Ana berated herself under Enrique's Arbequinas. Her dreams were running far ahead of reality. She had not claimed, never mind inherited. She had never been to the Sierra de Mariola. The fincas looked remote on the map, worse even than Úbeda. Could she contemplate living so far from Madrid? In Valencia of all places?

  She idled on. Ana was almost resolved to stake her claim. Davide, even if she was back in communication with him, showed no signs of coming back to Spain or matching her feelings. It was,
as she'd admitted to Kjersti, beyond time to write him off. If he was history the consanguinity issue became irrelevant. Her father might grumble if she inherited while her siblings did not. He would grumble more when she declined the title. Too bad.

  Ana must reclaim her own life. The past two years had had their excitements. Now she must grow up, accept the unlikelihood of ending up with a man of her choice and start living for herself. Hearing this in her head sounded good. It was organised, sensible and would be on her terms. But was it in her heart? It did not channel contentment. Damn Davide! Damn Toomas! Damn Inma! Damn Kjersti! Damn, damn, damn and damn them all!

  She kicked the ground in frustration, cursing until interrupted by a chirp from her phone.

  "Yes, Inma?"

  "Your wretched Norwegian is blowing everything apart. Can you come and halt her."

  "How so?"

  "Just come to the Parador. Please? Now?"

  "On my way."

  She reversed track, regretting she was leaving the Arbequinas, while hoping she might one day walk beneath her own Blanquetas. Her phone chirped again. Ana responded with impatience.

  "I said I'm on my way. I'll be with you in ten minutes."

  "Will you? Good. Where?"

  Davide? What a moment for him to want to speak. Just when she thought she'd made her decisions. On impulse, Ana decided to confirm her claim to Señor Delafuente on Monday, whatever the outcome.

  Sunday, Úbeda

  They reassembled in the pueblo meeting room. There was, with one exception, a funereal air among those gathered. Seated and with drinks to hand, Inma began.

  "On Friday we discussed the insurance position. As I explained, if we said nothing, the claims would proceed as normal, with the re-insurance needing to be worked out afterwards. That's now all ruined. By this."

  She held up two tablets. On one was a Norwegian newspaper headline nobody could understand but with a picture of the now all-too familiar Bactrocera oleae beside a bottle of Extra Virgin Olive Oil. The other displayed an English headline from a digital magazine. It was bold though not quite straightforward. Virginity Despoiled, screamed the text. For those who didn't understand, they made the connection underneath, via the looping video sequence recycling María's simulation of the van, with the olives arcing into groves alongside a road.

  "For those who haven't had a chance to look, you'll see everything here tomorrow. The Spanish press has picked up on these foreign stories. TV stations are already reporting, albeit second-hand. Expect to see reporters and droves of interviewers later today as they assemble tomorrow's news. No doubt they'll be interviewing you, Kjersti."

  Inma's venom would have poisoned a rhinoceros. It bounced cheerily off Kjersti, like a warmed-up squash ball off its court's front wall. Remorse? There was not a shred of evidence of any.

  "All I did was write a story and send it out. I took the highest bidder, in Norwegian and English. It's a hell of a tale. A scoop about the unnatural causation of Úbeda's fruit fly infestation. It's not about you."

  "But you didn't tell us, or check with any of us."

  "Why should I? I'm an investigative journalist. My job is to look for and research stories. And, in case you've forgotten, remember who met Oleg, who made the connection to Andrei, who spent the money coming to Spain and on buying the car. I found the sheet of paper between the seats with the diagram. I searched for the evidence and if it was Ana who found the tennis ball ejectors and the infected olive, I recognised them and put two and two together. It was my suggestion to María that brought forth that simulation, even if it was Davide who engineered the animation."

  Ana sat upright. Davide? Involved in this? Not possible, surely?

  Kjersti broadcast satisfaction. With two ample cheques on the way to her bank account and paid interviews completed or queued up, she was jubilant. Her story was the news and she was pleased with how she'd handled the Oleg and Andrei connection. Not quite accusing them, but laying the ground for others to follow up.

  "Remember also that I honoured Ana's instruction. There's no mention of the OIMs and what they can do. If I were María or Enrique, I'd start singing now. Free publicity and all that. Would you like me to write that story as well?"

  To Enrique's consternation, María nodded vigorous agreement before he could object. He restrained himself. It wouldn't matter what he said here. Perhaps later María might reconsider. In front of others, not a chance. She possessed an obtuseness that reminded him of her late mother. He would have to adjust that, or adjust to that.

  "Thank you, María. I'll start tomorrow. I've the shape of a piece in mind, and all the material."

  Groans resounded. There was no universal enthusiasm. Most felt Kjersti had betrayed them by going public. The exception was Ana. She didn't think Kjersti was completely in the right but she wasn't the villain. She had done all she had listed.

  If it were not for Kjersti, after their accidental meetings on the Tallinn flights, the mechanism for scattering the Blanquetas would not have surfaced, nor the people behind the flies. Kjersti was the one who'd met Oleg and Andrei. If she was bringing trouble on her own head from that direction, that was for her to deal with. Ana did not think there was any risk to anybody else, though Davide's warnings, via Inma about Toomas, refused to dissipate.

  Unable to stand it any longer Lili burst out with: "Now everything's screamed out to the world, what happens about the insurance?"

  Ana glanced at Inma who hesitated. Ana accepted the baton.

  "From what I can judge today the insurers will suspend all claims until there's a resolution one way or the other. If they determine the pestilence to be man-made they can probably escape paying out. This is the route they'll attempt, because it costs the least for them. If they succeed there'll be no call on the re-insurers.

  "If, however, the Bactrocera oleae infestation is deemed to be natural, or if it can't be proved as fact that the pestilence was caused by Oleg and Andrei, they'll pay up. Whether or not the size of pay-outs will trigger the re-insurance cover remains unknown. Much will depend on the success of the OIMs. In this instance the only aspect that's 99 per cent certain is no payments will be made for months, maybe years."

  Ana halted. Should she say the next piece or not? She decided to, despite its probable unpopularity.

  "Kjersti hasn't changed anything with her reports. The insurers were already sniffing around looking for excuses. In my opinion it was only a matter of time before they began to freeze payments."

  This time it was more of a primal moan than a groan. Even Soledad participated. She suffered for her fellow producers, not herself. She did not have insurance but knew the other POPIC members who did. An awful harvest would leave them financially weaker and far feebler than before. The only saving grace was the rise in the price of EVOO. But that benefited only those capable of making it. María unexpectedly spoke next.

  "What about Oleg and Andrei? They caused the pestilence."

  Kjersti took it upon herself to respond.

  "I'm not sure. We don't know why they did it. No, that's not precise. We can be pretty sure they did it for financial gain of some sort. But how they proposed to obtain the gain is a mystery. Maybe they already have, by cashing in when news of the infestation broke out."

  "You could ask them," volunteered María. "You know them."

  "No and Yes. I don't think they would speak to me now, never mind tell the truth. Why should they? To all intents and purposes they succeeded. This year's harvest remains a fly-induced disaster."

  What Kjersti didn't add was she had already tried to contact Oleg and Andrei by phone. Neither had answered. She was unaware they were guests of the Estonian President, reposed in a common jail cell after convictions for brawling in Reval, the length of which was doubled for assaulting the police. In consequence neither Oleg nor Andrei knew of their unmasking. Kjersti's reportage had yet to cross the Baltic. Olive oil was not a subject vital to most Estonian hearts, not when Russia rattled its tanks across the borde
r from Nava, the place where, in one sense, the formulation of the idea for the pestilence had started.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Late winter

  Soledad: Úbeda

  Soledad had been surprised to be invited to that lunch long ago. Enrique and Lili weren't her friends. She knew their image of her was as a crusty old bag beyond her time, like it was for most people. In a dull way, she passively subscribed. It was easy to conform to the perceptions of others. You fell in line and acted like they expected.

  She did understand her skill lay in olive growing, not in premium olive oil production. For the producing phase she didn't possess the temperament to fashion a taste people wanted. Trying left her cold. It was like asking her to play sports. She was useless as a child, useless as a young adult and had never improved.

  Ironically, the pestilence was proving to be a blessing for her. She had missed out on the insurance mess through lacking the ready cash to buy a policy, though this she kept close to her elderly chest. The flies had become a benefit, if an accidental one, because they had woken up a dozy industry, forcing it into the corner of a wrecked harvest. Her fruit had suffered as much as anyone's.

  The real gain in her case came via María's OIMs – a ridiculous name. Being able to sort the infected from the uninfected represented a breakthrough that could not have occurred without a catastrophe to provoke a spark of creativity. Enrique recognised what might be possible. Alone, he enabled María's vision to soar from paper to reality. Soledad was a beneficiary.

  Today she was happy. Her talks with Enrique had delivered all she'd hoped. He had been warm in his praise for her knowledge and recognition of those early, out of place Blanquetas. He seemed to value her strengths even as he was polite enough not to indict her inability to decant a good Extra Virgin Olive Oil.