“And Jillian’s in there somewhere,” Redden said, gesturing to the back seat of the van, concealed from Charlie’s view by its tinted windows.
“Just looking for my file,” came the reply from the far recesses of the vehicle’s interior. Charlie had developed a mental image of Jillian Gray, whether due to the sharp precision with which she crafted her emails, or to the general impression created by the title “government property lawyer.” In any case, the image was distinct and tended toward anal, bookish, and dowdy. When Gray finally emerged a few seconds later and stood in the bright sunshine, Charlie was taken aback.
“God, for a moment there I thought I had left some documents on the plane,” she said, standing up straight and smoothing the fabric of her pinstripe pantsuit. Gray had to be close to six feet tall, with glowing auburn locks framing freckled skin and piercing green eyes. Charlie was trying to reconcile his preconceptions when he realized reality was staring back at him.
“Charlie Hillier,” he said, closing his mouth and trying a casual smile. “I hope your flight was okay?”
“Jillian Gray, Justice,” she said, flicking a piece of her hair from her eyes and holding out her hand. “It was fine, but I’m not dressed for this weather.”
“Come on inside, where it’s cool,” Charlie said, motioning to the stairs that led up to the side building. “We’ve got a couple of empty offices where you can set up for the week.” He noticed Gray’s glance at the back of the van and understood. “You can leave your luggage in the van. Carlos will drive you over to the hotel when you’re done here.”
“What time are we meeting with the head of mission?” Redden asked, as they made their way up the stairs.
“Three,” Charlie said, checking his watch. “He just wants a quick briefing,” he lied, knowing there was never anything quick about a visit to the ambassador’s office. “First time in Cuba?” he asked the group, as they assembled outside the secure door and he entered his code.
“Antoine and I worked on the renovations on the main building a couple of years ago,” Redden said.
“First for me,” Hart said, as they all turned toward Gray.
“Me too, unless you count Varadero,” she said with a grin as the door beeped and Charlie swung it open. As they entered, they were hit by a blast of air-conditioning.
“That’s better,” Gray said as the door closed behind them. Charlie led the way down to the large spare office at the end of the hall.
“Here you are.” He paused by the door and looked at his watch. It was almost two-thirty. “Have you eaten? I could try to get some sandwiches brought in….”
“We had lunch on the plane,” Redden said, settling behind one of the desks as Hart and Lefebvre jockeyed for the only other computer in the office.
“If you want to call it that,” Gray said, looking up from her BlackBerry as the others chuckled. “Do you have another office? I don’t need a computer, but a desk would be nice.”
“Of course,” Charlie said, resisting a powerful urge to offer her his own office and scrambling for an alternative. “There’s a meeting room two doors down that you can have for the week,” he said, with no idea whether it was available. He was also acutely aware, in the silence that followed, of the attention of the three men that he had just condemned to a cramped office designed for two for the same period of time.
“Thanks,” Gray said, her focus back on her tiny screen as she followed him out into the hall.
“I’ll come and get you when it’s time to go over for the briefing,” Charlie said to the group as he turned to head back to his own office.
“Oh, Charlie?” He turned and almost bumped into Gray, who was standing right next to him in the narrow hallway. “Where’s the lady’s room?”
“Last door on the right,” he said, following her down the hall toward his own office. His attempt not to stare at her shapely backside in the narrow hallway was futile, and he barely heard her joke about the weather in Ottawa, but managed a laugh at the appropriate moment when he reached his office door and disappeared inside. As Gray’s light fragrance hung in Charlie’s nostrils, he realized that all the dread he had been feeling about the week ahead had vanished, replaced with a different feeling altogether.
“So,” Ambassador Stewart said, with the introductions out of the way and everyone settling into the sitting area of his large office. “Welcome to Havana. I hope you have a very productive visit.”
“Well, they certainly have a very busy schedule,” Charlie said from his chair at Stewart’s right.
“You’re going to meet with the Cubans tomorrow?” Stewart leaned back in his chair and tapped a manicured finger on his chin.
“Yes, in the morning. Then we’re talking to a couple of developers tomorrow afternoon — one Canadian, one French,” Charlie continued, pulling out his agenda. “Uh, then it’s the architects and a project manager on Wednesday, and the planning office on Thursday.”
“What about the local lawyer?” Gray asked.
“Oh, I forgot. That’s on Wednesday, too.”
“You are going to be busy,” Stewart remarked, looking at the Ottawa team and adding: “Did you drive by the site on the way here?” Charlie had given the driver strict instructions to point it out on the way in from the airport.
Redden nodded. “It looks good from the point of view of size, and I assume you like the location.”
“The location is excellent,” Stewart said.
“We couldn’t get a security officer teed up in time for this trip,” Redden said. “But they’ll be sending someone in the next couple of weeks to check it out. We’ll have a better idea after this week what the plans will look like, but as I said, the size should accommodate whatever security features they’ll want to see.”
Stewart looked on thoughtfully as Redden spent twenty minutes going over the general expectations for the configuration of a new building, taking everyone through the boxes the Ottawa team would be looking to tick during the week ahead. Hart and Lefebvre weighed in on their specific areas of expertise along the way.
“And who are these developers?” Stewart asked when they had finished.
“The Canadian one did the renovation on that hotel near Parque Central,” Charlie said.
Stewart snapped his fingers. “The Capital, of course. That was a good job.”
“And the French one has done several hotels out at Varadero, and recently did the Venezuelan embassy.”
“We’ll have to tender the construction, of course,” Gray jumped in, “and the architectural work, as well, so these are just preliminary discussions.”
Stewart’s features clouded for the first time in the meeting. “How long will that take?”
“Depends on the value,” she replied. “But I would think a couple of months for the architectural work. The construction will be done later, once we have a design.”
“Hmm,” Stewart was frowning now.
“And we’ll have to make sure the site is free of legal claims,” Gray continued casually, oblivious to the ambassador’s darkening features.
“I don’t want to lose this site over legal niceties,” he said.
“Neither do I.” Gray smiled. “But we don’t want someone from Miami showing up at our door with title documents a few years down the road, after we’ve invested millions.” Stewart looked at Gray as a pall of silence fell over the room, causing the others to fidget. She seemed unperturbed, eventually breaking the silence without the slightest appearance of unease. “But I’ve already seen a preliminary title search and sent the particulars to Washington, so we should know more by the end of the week.”
“Washington?” Charlie didn’t see the connection, and the others looked just as puzzled.
“That’s where the foreign claims were registered in the sixties,” Gray replied easily.
“Oh.” Charlie coloured
slightly. This woman was sharp. And cool as a cucumber, as well.
“You’re using Sam Sanchez?” Stewart asked Charlie, referring to the local lawyer, a Canadian ex-pat who had come to Havana from Toronto ten years ago.
Charlie nodded.
“Well he’s a bright guy, and he knows how things work here,” Stewart added, glancing at Gray for a fleeting moment before turning back to Charlie. “Do you have a dinner planned for the Cubans?”
“Yes, at that new paladar you suggested, tomorrow night.”
“Excellent. Well then, I wish you the best of luck. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
“Of course,” Charlie said, as they all stood and shook hands again. The group filed back outside. Standing in front of the main building, waiting for Redden to emerge from a pit stop at the men’s room, Charlie took the opportunity to sound out Gray’s impression of the meeting.
“The ambassador’s all right,” he began. “He’s just keen on getting the project going.”
Gray tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and smiled. “They all are. Believe me; I’ve seen enough of these projects to know the dynamics. But don’t worry,” she added quickly, seeming to sense his discomfort. “It’s not usually a legal issue that sends these things sideways. Right guys?”
“Yeah, right,” Hart said, as he and Lefebvre exchanged looks.
“So, can we check into the hotel now?” Gray said, as Redden appeared.
“I’ll get the driver to run you over there right away,” Charlie said. “Pickup will be at eight-thirty tomorrow morning.”
“Sounds good,” Redden said, as they moved toward the main gate.
“I didn’t arrange anything for dinner tonight,” Charlie added, before heading off in search of the driver. “But the hotel has a couple of restaurants, and there’s that plaza nearby.”
“Yeah, we’re fine,” Hart said.
“I’m looking forward to a dip in the pool,” Gray said, as she slipped a pair of designer sunglasses over her eyes. “It’s stifling.”
“Well, have a good rest, and we’ll see you in the morning.”
Chapter 14
It was two-thirty in the afternoon on the first full day of their visit, and Charlie was feeling as though the team had been there for a week already. The morning meeting with the Cubans had stretched a good two hours over the allotted time and had led to a hurried lunch before the ride downtown to the developer’s office, where they had just been led into a large conference room. As they arranged themselves around the table, waiting for their hosts to arrive, Gray took a seat next to Charlie, set out a yellow legal pad, and pulled a shiny black pen out of her jacket pocket.
“So how did we end up talking to these guys, anyway?” she asked.
“Word of mouth, basically,” Charlie said, pleased that she had chosen not only to sit next to him, but to also deem him worthy of her inquiries. He hoped to God the mysterious bean side dish that had accompanied his chicken lunch wouldn’t wreak havoc on his breath. “They’ve done a lot of construction in Havana, as well as the stuff out in Varadero that Stewart mentioned. They were going to try to arrange for us to have a walk-through of the Venezuelan embassy.”
“Oh, good,” she replied, as a woman appeared behind them with a tray of coffee. Hart and the others were looking out the open window, commenting on some architectural feature of the adjacent building, as the woman set down little cups of espresso. Charlie felt the need to make conversation with Gray.
“So how’s the hotel?” he asked, before remembering that had been his first question upon greeting Gray at the embassy this morning. If she noticed the gaffe, she gave no indication.
“It’s very nice,” she said. “Big rooms.”
“First time in Havana?” he said, scrambling to recover from his blunder.
You asked her that yesterday. What the fuck’s wrong with you?
The appearance of several men at the meeting room door saved him from further embarrassment. The two groups exchanged greetings and business cards before sitting down to begin the meeting.
“Well, we’re so glad you were able to meet with us today,” said the man at the head of the table. Charlie glanced at his card — Société Immobilière, Daniel Leblanc, President. Leblanc was dressed in an elegant linen suit over a sky blue shirt, and his watch was probably worth more than Charlie’s car, though that wasn’t really saying much. Leblanc carried on with a welcoming speech, then introduced the other three men as a VP, engineer, and project manager, respectively. After that, Leblanc launched into a company bio, accompanied by a glossy brochure of the major projects SI had completed in Cuba. Charlie was impressed by the presentation, and he noticed Gray and the others scribbling notes from time to time.
When Leblanc had finished, the Canadian side took turns asking questions about the company’s various projects. Gray seemed particularly interested in their experience in getting permits from the Cuban authorities, and how the requirement to hire Cuban labour had been dealt with in their other projects. Lulled by mid-afternoon fatigue and the subtle scent of Gray’s perfume, Charlie’s mind began to wander. He wondered if Gray was married, and glanced at her left hand. No ring. She was probably dating some rich class-action litigator and happy to avoid marriage altogether.
He frowned as he thought of how his own fifteen-year experiment with the institution had turned out, and felt the now-familiar sense of … what was it, anyway? Shame, he supposed. How could have he have missed the signs?
At first, he had taken refuge in the almost bearable notion that Sharon’s infidelity was limited to a one-off fling with the Swedish Meatball. But the more he thought about it, the more his mind brought up uncomfortable memories from his past. Like the time about five years ago when he had arrived home early from a business trip to Toronto. His meeting had wrapped up ahead of schedule and he had managed to get an earlier flight back. He had called out upon entering the house, with no reply, and was surprised when, a few seconds later, he went downstairs to get something out of the basement freezer and found Sharon standing there next to a burly tradesman, looking awkward. At the time, he thought nothing of her hurried explanation of the electrician’s presence — she had called him to fix the dryer plug. He remembered the man seeming very preoccupied with the panel in the rear corner of the laundry room, but then again, wasn’t that what electricians were supposed to do? He didn’t recall feeling any suspicion at the time, only annoyance that she had called an electrician in the first place, as though Charlie were incapable of even taking a look at it first. And though this sensitivity may have obscured his objectivity at the time, it was odd how his memory presented the scene so differently now. Her skirt had seemed rumpled, and her blouse was untucked at the back — both rare occurrences for someone as fastidious about her appearance as his ex-wife. And had she seemed flushed? Or was that his memory supplementing the facts in light of more recent events?
Charlie’s mood darkened even further as he thought of the dismantling of their decade-and-a-half union — a process that had begun with Charlie’s decision to leave the house after their mid-January heart-to-heart. His divorce lawyer would quickly tell him that by doing so, Charlie had essentially evicted himself forever from the matrimonial home by voluntarily leaving, and it soon became apparent to him that being an innocent cuckold didn’t get you much sympathy in a divorce settlement these days. After the dust had eventually settled, Charlie was left with no wife, no house, and not a lot of money to show for the past fifteen years. Just thinking about it now made him want to …
Charlie snapped out of his brooding when he realized Leblanc was wrapping up the presentation and proposing a tour of the Venezuelan embassy. At least it was better than having to attend to that staffing report waiting for him back at the office.
“You okay?” Gray asked in the shuffle of papers that preceded their departure. “You seem kind of … pre
occupied.”
“What?” Charlie said, wondering if the hammering of his pulse that made his ears throb was audible to her. “No, I’m fine. I’m looking forward to the tour,” he added, trying to convey a relaxation he didn’t feel as they all headed to the door of the conference room.
Chapter 15
Charlie stood over his kitchen sink, sweating as he removed the last of the shells from the lobster tails.
“You sure you don’t want a hand?” Landon was leaning against the counter, sipping on a cold Cristal. “Why didn’t you just get Marta to make dinner?”
“She made the salad, and the dessert.” The housekeeper came in every couple of days, and usually left pre-made dinners in the fridge for him. “I figured I could handle the barbeque, and I wasn’t really thinking about having to shell all of this shrimp and lobster. Anyway, it’s done now,” he said, reaching into the fridge for one of the distinctive green bottles. “Let’s go out by the pool; it’s too damn hot in here.”
Heading into the backyard, Charlie and Landon sat in a couple of loungers by the edge of the pool. The sun had almost set, but the heat of the day still lingered in the air.
“When are they coming, anyway?” Landon asked, as Charlie leaned down to splash some of the pool water on his face.
“They called just before you got here to say they’d be a little late.”
Landon nodded and sipped his beer. “So how’d it go this afternoon?” he asked. Though he had attended the morning meeting with the Cubans, Landon had skipped the afternoon session with Société Immobilière at Charlie’s request, in order to make sure their famously unreliable Cuban carpenter actually showed up for a repair job at the head of the political section’s house. The work was already weeks overdue and Charlie had enough on his plate already without Miles Johnston harassing him.
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