“No, we fly back tomorrow afternoon,” Gray said. “At least, I do.”
“But you’ll be back soon, I hope?”
“It’s a distinct possibility.”
“Oh, I have a feeling you’ll be back before you know it,” Charlie said.
“My turn,” Gray said, as the waiter arrived with their daiquiris. She handed him some bills over the protests of her two bar-mates.
“You’re going to get soaked,” Gray said to Sanchez, looking out at the rain cascading down the windows.
Sanchez waved his hand. “My apartment is just around the corner.”
“Know any good places to eat near here?” Gray asked. She looked at Charlie. “Unless you want to head back out to Miramar and meet up with the others.”
“I think they were going to do their own thing,” Charlie said, finessing the truth. He hadn’t actually heard from them since the brief message to the effect that they were behind schedule, and he wasn’t about to check his BlackBerry now.
“There’s a pretty good restaurant right here, if you don’t want to get wet,” Sanchez said, pointing to the rear of the room. Charlie hadn’t realized there was a dining room, in addition to the bar. “It’s a bit pricey for Havana. But in Canadian terms, it’s still pretty reasonable.”
“Sounds good to me,” Charlie said, taking a sip of his daiquiri.
Chapter 17
“Are you going to have dessert?” Gray asked, as the waiter removed their dinner plates.
Charlie was feeling pretty full after a feast of grilled dorado. “I don’t know. You?”
“Let’s see the dessert menu,” she said, looking up at the waiter, who nodded and disappeared. The dining room was almost full, the crisp white linen in stark contrast to the red-brown carpet and velvet-covered chairs and the waiters’ crimson vests.
“That fish was fantastic,” Gray remarked. “How was yours?”
“Great. I’ll have to add this place to my A-list.”
“Do you eat out a lot here?”
“A couple of times a week, but not like this.” Charlie gestured at their surroundings. “There’s an Italian place near me that has good pizza and pasta. My housekeeper’s a pretty good cook, too, thankfully.”
She smiled. “That place we went to with the Cubans was nice, but the food wasn’t as good as here.”
“No, the paladares are really hit and miss. La Guarida is supposed to be really nice.”
“One of the guys mentioned it the other day.”
“It’s in a really cool old building, and they say the food’s excellent. Maybe we can go next time you’re here,” Charlie added, suddenly feeling awkward and thinking it had come out sounding a lot like he was proposing a date.
When the waiter arrived with the dessert menu, it didn’t take Charlie long to zero in on the cheesecake, while Gray liked the sound of the apple torte.
“So,” Charlie said, after the waiter had taken their orders, “how long do you think before Ottawa gives us the green light?”
“Depends on how quickly we can get all the paperwork in order,” Gray said, curling a strand of auburn hair around her finger. “The environmental report should take a week or so, and Sam’s report on title will take about the same. After that, it’s just a question of Redden’s boss making the call.”
“And then you’d be back to negotiate the final terms with the Cubans?”
She nodded.
“So, realistically, late August to early September?”
“Probably. Hey,” she added suddenly, “isn’t that hurricane season?”
“We’re in hurricane season now, technically.”
She looked out toward the bar and the windows beyond. “Speaking of weather, it looks like the rain’s stopped.”
“Good,” Charlie said, as the waiter returned with two large desserts and a pair of coffees. “We might have to walk some of this off.”
By the time they stepped out of the Floridita, the rain clouds had dispersed, revealing a canopy of stars in the inky sky above them. The warm night air had an intoxicating freshness, and Charlie filled his lungs.
“What a beautiful evening,” Gray remarked.
“Do you want to walk down the Prado to the water and get a cab from there?”
“Lead on.”
After crossing the square, they strolled along the marbled walkway in the centre of Havana’s main boulevard, the Paseo del Prado.
“It’s such a strange place,” Gray remarked, looking up at the mess of laundry lines strung across the balconies of what had once been the most exclusive apartments in all of Havana.
Charlie followed her gaze. “I know what you mean.”
“You really are lucky,” she said, “to have the chance to live in a place like this. And especially now. I mean, who knows how the country will change in the next few years.”
“Yeah, it’s certainly got its charms, if you can get over the things it lacks.”
They continued to stroll, taking in the unique scenery. “So, you’ll be here for, what, two years?” she asked.
“Maybe three. We’ll see.”
“And you’re not married?” She said it casually, her eyes still on the buildings lining the Prado. He hesitated a moment before answering.
“Divorced.”
“Oh, sorry to hear that. A long time ago?”
They were coming up to a group of teenagers milling around a marble bench built into the central walkway. The boys were showing off their dancing skills for the girls, to the music crackling from a battered portable radio.
“Actually, that’s one of the reasons I took this posting. To get away from Ottawa.”
“I didn’t mean to pry.”
“It’s all right,” he said, unsure what had prompted his uncharacteristic candour. He had made every effort not to utter Sharon’s name in the past six months, let alone acknowledge any element of the pain she had caused. “My marriage just sort of fell apart one day, you know? And we both worked at Pearson, so …”
“Must have been awkward.”
“You could say that, yeah.”
“So, Havana’s a new start for you, then?”
“That’s the plan,” he said, as they neared the end of the Prado. “Do you want to walk along the Malecón for a bit, or get a cab here?”
“Let’s walk for a bit. I like the smell of the sea.”
They crossed the street and stood at a light, waiting to cross to the promenade by the seawall. A pretty young girl in a miniskirt tottered on stilettos by the waiting cars, smoking a cigarette.
“I think she’s looking to transact a little business,” Gray remarked as the light changed and they started to cross. One of the cars had pulled over to the curb and the girl was leaning in the window.
“How about you?” Charlie said, after they had begun walking along by the wall. “Are you married?”
“No. Came close once, but I never took the plunge.”
They passed a couple sitting on the wall, kissing playfully and sharing sips from a little bottle of rum. Ten feet further along, another couple had moved beyond simple kissing.
“Boy, they’re really going at it,” Gray whispered after they had passed. She had leaned closer to Charlie in the process, and he had felt something like an electrical current as they briefly touched. She looked out at a light off in the distance and gently tugged on his arm as she came to a stop. “That looks a long way out. I wonder where it’s coming from.”
“Who knows,” Charlie said. “A Venezuelan tanker maybe?” They both looked out over the calm waters of the bay, the soft sloshing of water on the breakers below mingling with the competing sounds of a couple of passing motorbikes.
“Well, Charlie,” Gray said, leaning on the wall and turning to face him. “You seem to have made the right choice. I can’t think of a bet
ter place to escape to than Havana.”
She was close enough for him to smell her perfume and the fresh scent from her hair. He stood there watching her for a moment, and to his surprise, she leaned in and kissed him. She stopped after a few seconds and pulled back, a smile on her face. This time, he moved into her and their mouths locked in a long embrace.
“I don’t usually do this,” she said, after they had come up for air a second time.
“Do what, kiss?”
“I mean mix work and pleasure,” she said, with a laugh.
“Oh, right. Well, that makes two of us.”
“I guess we should get a cab…. It’s getting late.”
“Sure,” Charlie said, wondering what he should do next. Was she saying they should get a cab to his place? Or was she thinking she had made a horrible mistake and looking for an exit? He had no idea as he waved at a passing yellow cab.
“I should probably go back to the hotel,” she said, as they got in the back seat, putting an end to his internal debate.
“Meliá Habana, por favor,” he instructed the driver. It was only after they were underway and an awkward silence had descended that it occurred to him that she might have been waiting for him to suggest an alternative, like a nightcap at his place. As the cab followed the seawall out to the tunnel, then along Fifth Avenue into Miramar, Charlie had almost forgotten Gray was sitting next to him in the back seat, he was so angry with himself over fumbling his one chance.
“I had a great time tonight Charlie,” she said suddenly, breaking the silence. “Thank you.” She put her hand on his and gave it a light squeeze.
“My pleasure,” he said, as the cab took the ramp up to the hotel and pulled up to the front entrance.
“So, debrief with the ambassador at nine?” she said, as she opened the door to get out.
“Hector will be by at eight-thirty. Sleep well.”
“You too.”
As the cab pulled away and headed out toward Jaimanitas, Charlie reclined and closed his eyes. He could still smell her hair and feel her body pressed up against his. First Maria Aguirre, now this, he thought, as he opened his eyes and felt the warm breeze on his face. But whereas Maria was a question of animal attraction, pure and simple, there was something different about Gray. She was certainly beautiful, but she had stirred something that Charlie hadn’t felt in a very long time. The only problem was, she was getting on a plane tomorrow afternoon.
As they drove west along the darkened streets, Charlie pulled out his BlackBerry and switched it on. He had turned it off for the evening but couldn’t resist its siren call now, after several hours of neglect. He scrolled through a couple of messages and saw one from the head of security at the embassy, marked IMPORTANT. As he clicked it open and read the glowing text in the darkness of the car’s interior, he felt his chest tighten.
A few hours earlier, while Charlie and Gray were having dinner, Amirjit Saini — the Indian consular officer he had met at the official residence in his first week — had been abducted from her Miramar home.
Chapter 18
Charlie sat in the ambassador’s office, half-listening as Stewart went on about the importance of maintaining the momentum that had been gained over the course of the week. Charlie was there in body, but since giving his initial summary of the week’s events to open the meeting, his mind had been wandering between two different topics.
The first had been on everyone’s mind since the general briefing at eight-thirty this morning to discuss what was known about the abduction of Amirjit Saini. The police had released few details, other than to confirm that she had been taken from her home, which had been ransacked.
Kidnappings were generally rare in Cuba, but they were unheard of in the diplomatic community. The news had cast a pall over the usually noisy cantina, where the entire embassy staff had gathered to hear the ambassador deliver the bad news. The dark rain clouds outside seemed to add to the gloom.
But it was the warning issued by the embassy’s head of security that had sent a real chill through the assembled group. Security at the embassy itself was to be heightened, and in addition to being reminded of the personal security measures that had always been in effect, members of staff were also being asked to exercise increased caution when going out, until more details of the Saini incident became known. The diplomatic guards were to be doubled until further notice.
The other subject vying for Charlie’s attention was sitting across the room. He had only to look at Gray as she sat there listening to Stewart and he was right back on the Malecón, the warm onshore breeze whipping her fragrant hair in his face as he held her in his arms. Though he had done nothing wrong, Charlie had nonetheless been avoiding direct engagement with Gray all morning. And though it seemed silly, he had the distinct impression, on the few occasions where they had shared a quick glance, that she was doing the same.
Charlie tried again to focus on the picture of Teddy on the side table as the ambassador rambled on, but it was useless. One minute he and Gray had been hot and heavy and the next it was goodnight and goodbye. Half drunk and horny was not the best way to cap off an evening, in Charlie’s experience, and, with the news of Saini’s abduction, it had taken him hours to get to sleep. And there would be little, if any, opportunity to talk to Gray alone after this meeting, since the whole team would be leaving for the airport together. It had occurred to him that she might be pissed off, or worse. Perhaps her noncommittal smile this morning had been designed to conceal the fact that she had spent the entire night in her hotel room framing the mother of all harassment claims — she was a lawyer, after all.
Jesus, what were you thinking?
Charlie felt clammy as he thought of the possible consequences. Had he forced himself on her? Had the daiquiris and the red wine obscured his ability to read the negative vibes that would have prevented a sober Charlie from even considering smooching a member of the Department of Justice? He was mentally resigning his post and packing his bags when he realized someone was actually talking to him. He looked up, and the entire room, including Gray, was staring at him.
“Sorry?”
“Are you all right, Charlie?” Stewart said, his brow knitted with concern. “You look a little … off.”
“Oh, I’m fine. I was just thinking …” He looked away from Stewart as he tried to think of something, and locked eyes with Gray, “… about the legal report on title, and when we might get it from Sam.” He looked back at Stewart and smiled, pleased that he had found something to say. Stewart was eyeing him suspiciously, and Charlie noticed that he had moved back into his chair a little, shifting subtly into a defensive pose. At least he wasn’t rolling up the rug.
“That’s a good point,” Gray said, coming to his rescue. “I’ll ask Sam to confirm his estimate, but I think he mentioned he would try to get us a draft report in about a week.”
“Good,” Stewart said with a nod, and looked at his watch. “Well, I think we’ve covered everything, haven’t we Charlie?”
“I think so,” Charlie lied. He had no idea what had been said in the last ten minutes, but he knew what the next steps were, so he wasn’t too worried.
“Have we arranged a ride to the airport for these good people?”
“Eleven-thirty,” Charlie replied. That much, he knew.
“Well then. Thank you for your excellent work this week, and I look forward to seeing you all again very soon to wrap this up.”
They all shook hands, and then filed out of the ambassador’s office, down the stairs, and out into the mid-morning heat.
“Well, I’m going to check my email and log off,” Redden said, looking at his watch. “We’ve got twenty minutes, right?”
Lefebvre nodded. “I’m going to have an espresso. Anyone care to join me?”
“Sure,” Hart said, as Redden headed off toward the administration building.
�
��Order me one,” Gray said. “I just have to ask Charlie something about the legal report.”
Hart and Lefebvre headed off toward the cantina as Charlie and Gray stood in silence.
“Listen, about last night,” Gray began quietly. “I just want you to know, I don’t usually act like that. It’s not very professional.”
Charlie stood there, wondering whether this was a trap — part of her harassment claim strategy, perhaps. He was about to formulate a strategic apology of his own, but then he stopped himself.
Fuck it!
“Well, I thought it was great. Actually, I was thinking it would be nice to check out La Guarida when you come back.”
She looked at him, her face registering mild surprise. Charlie spent an anxious moment as he waited for more, but she only laughed softly.
“That could be arranged.”
“Good. Now, let’s go get that coffee.”
With Gray and the rest of the Ottawa team gone, Charlie had come in to Old Havana in the hope that the charms of the city would cheer him up. He had stopped at Plaza Vieja for a bite to eat and had been disappointed with the food, and the walk back to the waterfront hadn’t done much to lift his spirits either. On the contrary, the dimly lit streets that a couple of weeks ago had seemed so intimate and quaint now just seemed squalid and seedy. Even the Malecón had changed character, the hopeful anglers and suitors on the seawall replaced by drunks and pickpockets. There was also something ominous about the sea spray coming over the wall and soaking parts of the sidewalk, as though a rogue wave might come over at any moment and sweep Charlie into the inky blackness of Havana Bay. The last straw was an encounter with a cigar peddler who had become more and more insistent when he found out Charlie was Canadian, giving up only after following him for several minutes and rambling on about his sister in Toronto.
Charlie decided to cut short his planned walk down to the Prado, and doubled back toward his car instead. As he crossed the Malecón, he noticed a commotion near the market square, where a couple of police cars were stopped and people were milling around. As he skirted the crowd, he caught sight of the same cigar salesman he had encountered on his way west, just as one of the cops shoved him into the back of a patrol car. A woman was crying as the car pulled away, the man’s face pressed to the glass of the rear window, an unmistakable look of terror in his wide eyes.
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