"Oh be quiet, Emilia! I'm not the immediate problem, you are."
Davide listened, more astonished than believing.
He said, "Ummm. What can I or we do to solve this?"
As soon as he had uttered the words he felt stupid. He prayed that neither would interpret this as him suggesting that he was the solution to Emilia's requirements. That was not a role he envisaged or wanted, however flattering being the focus of Emilia's attention might be.
"Relax, Davide. Emilia is not expecting you to perform – or I hope she isn't."
Caterina frowned at Emilia who was sitting, still taken aback, though more at Caterina's taking the initiative than anything else. Emilia shook her head in agreement.
Caterina said, "No, this is a general problem requiring a specific fix. That said, I'm not playing pimp for you, Emilia."
A phone warbled outside the salon. Seizing the opportunity Emilia jumped up.
"That's mine." She left, with Caterina and Davide eyes following after her, before turning to each other.
"If that was one shock, Caterina, I have another for you. I've arranged to have dinner with Inma tomorrow."
"Good for you!" was the tart response.
A chill descended swiftly on the room and sustained itself until broken by a beaming Emilia returning.
"That was Alberto, from ORS. He's asked me out to dinner on Wednesday night. It's a bit of a surprise. He hardly said two words to me on Saturday evening."
"You accepted?" said Caterina.
"Of course, though I'm not sure he's my type."
"Everyone's your type, male or female, if your need's sufficiently great."
"Don't be catty, Caterina. Anyhow, beggars can't be choosers. I feel invigorated already."
Tuesday: Valencia
Marta had been putting off making the call to ORS. She had understood Alfredo's grim logic. Making contact with her other three clients would be worse, given that Inocenta had repaid, Alfredo's firm was already within the game plan and El Cerámico was being uncooperative.
An idea came to her. Rather than go to ORS as representing a potential client, why not visit as the representative of FyP or one of her other clients? This way she might see whether she could negotiate some form of lesser settlement. If so this could reduce the financial burden on herself.
Instinctively Marta knew that she should pass this by Alfredo. She preferred not to. Rather, she would show him that he was not the only one with brains and ability.
Nevertheless, every time she contemplated contacting ORS her feet froze to the floor and her mind turned soggy. Marta knew she must act. Alfredo had already phoned to ask if she'd made contact or, if not, when she intended to. She'd replied, saying that they had not been able to agree a date last week and that she'd call again today. Now she'd no alternative.
Reluctantly she picked up the phone and dialled the number for ORS. She asked for Felipe Garcia-Martín and was put through to a smooth talking secretary. Marta requested an appointment for Thursday or Friday with Mr Garcia-Martín only to be questioned about why she wanted to meet him. Marta stated that she represented FyP, to which ORS had been writing letters about monies owed. This immediately brought a more positive response. Shortly afterwards she possessed an appointment for noon on Friday in Alcobendas.
Now she had to arrange everything else. An email to Alfredo explained that the meeting was set up. A discreet call to Salvador confirmed that he would join her in Madrid that Friday afternoon after seeing his sister for lunch. Salvador was going to tell his wife that he would stay in Madrid that evening. Salvador also said he would book a hotel and asked if the Santo Mauro would suffice. They could meet there when each had finished their chores.
This pleased Marta immensely. She had never stayed at the Santo Mauro, which was often mentioned as one of Madrid's best hotels. It was also famously discreet, which would suit them both well.
She felt better. A prolonged evening and night of mutual entertainment and release suddenly dominated her thoughts. Anticipated endorphins were making her feel good again.
Moments later Marta shook her head. Had she made a mistake? Choosing FyP had been a spur of the moment action. Should she talk with Estefanía beforehand and make sure she had the authority and backing to speak on behalf of FyP? What bothered was that Marta had still not received a decision from Estefanía. This puzzled.
Deciding that prudence was better than winging it she called FyP. The same personal assistant who had been able to put her through so quickly before was unable to do so this time.
"Estefanía is travelling and won't return to the office until Friday morning. May she call you back first thing on Friday morning between nine and ten?"
Marta thought fast. She would need to catch the seven thirty morning AVE to Madrid, which would bring her to Atocha Station around ten.
"Yes, that would work, though I'll be on the AVE, so you ought to warn Estefanía that I may need to speak circumspectly if there are people close by."
"I'll tell her. Is there a particular subject?"
"If you say 'ORS' that should be sufficient."
Now all Marta had to do was prepare what she would say to ORS and how she would shape any proposition. Friday would be a big day, especially if she was to deliver what Alfredo, Puri and she had plotted in Soria.
Her smartphone rang. By coincidence it was Puri. They had already connected a couple of times since the weekend. They were both finding being able to talk refreshing, an admission that each had made to the other during their last conversation.
"Puri, I've just messaged Alfredo to say I'm heading for Madrid on Friday to visit ORS. They've finally agreed to a meeting."
Marta felt mildly guilty putting it like this. It was really she who had prevaricated.
"Sounds good."
"I'll make a point of calling to update you, though it may not be until late on Saturday, or possibly Sunday, because I'm staying in Madrid on Friday night."
"Anywhere interesting?"
"The Santo Mauro."
"Oooh, lucky you! Do I assume you won't be by yourself?"
"Too right."
Wednesday: Madrid
When Davide left the piso to meet Inma, Caterina appeared dejected, even deflated. The prospect of having to spend an evening alone, or at least she would have to do so once Emilia departed to join Alberto, clearly did not appeal.
Davide had worried this might happen, after realising that his dinner with Inma coincided with Emilia's date. But it had been too late to rearrange Inma, though he had tried. Equally, there was no way rescheduling Emilia's social excitement was going to permit any deferral of pleasures anticipated. Emilia had made this abundantly clear.
It was with somewhat of a heavy heart that he'd headed towards Opera, to a place called Taberna del Alabardero. He'd never heard of it but Inma, when they made arrangements to meet, had enthused about it as a place she and her sisters much liked. It was mutually convenient. Both could walk there, though Madrid had turned colder. It was threatening rain, if Davide was right about the smell in the air.
Davide arrived earlier than expected, finding that the restaurante had outside tables. He glanced at the sky. It remained forbidding with the street lighting reflecting off low scudding clouds. Definitely rain was on the way. No outside eating tonight, then.
On entering he wasn't surprised to find Inma not there yet. Finding a small table near the bar he ordered a vino blanco and sat back to think.
ORS was getting them all down. Nothing had improved since the conversation the other day. He wondered what he could do or even should do, not least about Caterina. Probably the best thing was to let her fade away and accept that was it. Unfortunately one part of him was unconvinced.
Inma's voice interrupted his musings, which had been such that he had not even touched his wine. He stood, returning her greeting. They took stock of each other.
To Inma Davide looked tired and dispirited, the opposite to how he had been in the night cl
ub on Saturday. There was an air of defeat she did not associate with him though, as she acknowledged to herself, she did not exactly know him well. He again looked better dressed than when in Rome. Interesting.
Facing Davide was a lady of medium height, in her later forties if he remembered correctly. But she had the figure of someone ten years younger, generous yet firm and rich without a gram of excess. Simply dressed in an open, loose pale-blue linen shirt and a medium-short black leather skirt he saw, from the corners of his eyes, that she was attracting looks from both male and female customers. She did not have a pretty face. It was too long and severe, dominated by heavy dark eyebrows and a solid chin softened a little by discreet make-up. But this was more than compensated by the wave of luscious hair that flowed down and around that face and over her shoulders.
"What will you have to drink?" he asked as a waiter materialised at her elbow.
"Rather than sit here, shall we go to our table?
"Why not? I didn't realise there was a restaurant apart from the terraza outside."
"Most people don't. It's through here."
She led the way through to a small back room with tables for about twenty, depending on how they were arranged.
"Oh good, they've given us a corner one. It's spacious there. I hope you won't mind but I've ordered a bottle of my favourite Priorato, a particular wine that I can only obtain here. As a family we adore it."
Inma opened her hands, realising she was on the fringes of babbling. She was more anxious than she anticipated but she could not stop herself.
"I live in terror this place will run out one day. They assure me they'll always obtain more. Nevertheless ... Another thing I like about this place is that they treat their loyal customers royally."
As if prompted there came, "Condesa. How good to see you again. Welcome back. How is your family?"
"They are all good, thank you, Tomás. This is my friend, Davide whom I intend to introduce to your excellent food and to the Morlanda."
"Welcome, Señor. I hope you will enjoy yourself here. The Morlanda is coming now, Condesa. We opened it an hour ago and you will be pleased to hear we have just received a new delivery."
Inma indicated towards the table. Davide followed her over. As he drew back a chair for her, Inma commented dryly, "Ever the English gentleman."
This time, when she smiled at him, Davide comprehended just how on edge she was. He sat opposite as the Priorato arrived. This was tasted, approved and poured for them (his white wine having magically disappeared en route to their table). He sipped the Morlanda. It was enormous and very different to the other Spanish wines he was accustomed to drinking. He wondered whether tío Toño knew of it.
"This is quite delicious. I've never heard of Morlanda. Indeed, I know little about Priorato."
"I'd never come across it either until encountering it here. As I mentioned, it's become a family favourite, almost a tradition. I'm glad you like it."
They each took another couple of sips, savouring and enjoying its rich tones as well as putting off what to say next.
Inma broke the lengthening silence: "Should we order or talk first?"
"As we have the wine, why not talk until they come for our orders?"
"Sounds good to me." Inma became quiet again, before plunging in: "Davide, I'm bereft. I don't know what to do."
"Why? Miriam?"
"Yes, Miriam. Did I mention on Saturday that she went back to New Jersey to be with her sister?" He nodded. "She and I spoke yesterday. There were enough complications beforehand with her sister and boys staying in Miriam's house, plus her sister starting divorce proceedings from Noach. Now I gather their father and his weird sect in West Virginia are adding to her troubles.
"My problem is there seems little chance that she'll be back anytime soon. And this comes at a point where I'm not sure whether Miriam wants to stay here with me or remain permanently in her own country. I know she loves Yuste and likes Madrid and sees possibilities here. Yet the pull of her family may be so great as to ..."
Tears welled up.
Davide was about to interrupt when Tomás reappeared to take their orders. Inma pulled herself together, rapidly asking for una selección de la casa para picar and requesting that this should not come too soon, explaining that they would choose main courses later. Tomás departed discreetly.
"Sorry, Davide. I'm thinking only of myself. Was that Caterina I saw you with the other night?"
"Yes," confirmed Davide, puzzled by the abrupt change of subject, though not unhappy. Handling a weepy Inma was not something he was prepared for. She had always seemed so much tougher. "She's travelling with another Australian. Both are staying with me, though this evening Caterina's alone." For some reason he could not place, he added, "And she does not look happy about it."
"Pobre. I know that feeling all too well at the moment. Do you think we should invite her to join us?"
"That's up to you, Inma. I thought that you wanted to talk to me. Wouldn't she inhibit what you want to discuss?"
"I do, and you are sweet to think of me. Yet misery recognises misery. I should know. It seems mean to leave her alone. Why not call and ask her to come here? If she agrees, I'm sure I can tell you everything before she arrives."
"That's fine with me." Actually, Davide had his doubts. Caterina had never liked Inma's Miriam and he felt pretty sure this antipathy rubbed off onto Inma herself. Nevertheless, he phoned Caterina, whose voice audibly caught when she answered.
"Aren't you with Inma?"
"Yes. She wonders if you'd like to join us."
"What? Why?"
Inma, who could just about hear what was being said, motioned to Davide to pass her the phone.
"Caterina, it's Inma. I know you didn't like Miriam but hope that doesn't pass onto me. In any case, Miriam's not here." Her voice cracked a shade. "Davide and I are enjoying an excellent wine. Come join us. No, there's no need to dress up. Just don't stay alone. It's not always good to do so."
Caterina dithered.
"Caterina, if you'll permit me, I insist. I'll explain why when you come."
Grudgingly Caterina agreed. Inma passed the phone back to Davide who gave directions and told her to come to the back of the restaurante when she arrived.
"See you in 15-20 minutes," he said before closing the connection, betting to himself it would be half an hour or more.
"It's kind of you Inma, especially when you're not so happy yourself. So, tell me more."
Wednesday: Madrid
Though Davide had said 15-20 minutes it was nearer 40 before Caterina's taxi pulled up in the calle Arieta near the Alabardero. As she paid her driver, he pointed down the calle Felipe V and said, "It's on the right. I envy you; the food's excellent there."
As she walked doubtfully towards the entrance, Caterina wondered if this was a good idea. Why had she let herself be sweet-talked?
It was too late to turn back now, unless she called to say she wasn't coming. Her feet had minds of their own. She found herself walking up the restaurante's steps and asking for the back room where her coat was taken from her.
Davide rose when she entered, as did Inma to Caterina's surprise. Inma seemed ... Caterina couldn't identify the right word. 'Edgy and teary' was the best she could find. Her second surprise was Inma giving her a big hug and a kiss, welcoming her as if they were old friends.
After sitting down, Davide smiled encouragingly, pouring some wine and pointing to the selection of jamón and other delicacies in the middle of the table. Caterina tried the wine, taking a swig. She needed it.
She swallowed and spoke without thinking: "Wowee! That's a big wine. It's incredible." She took a more lady-like sip the second time. "Yes, that's really different. What is it? Am I supposed to know?"
She looked up to find both Inma and Davide regarding her, almost in a relieved way though she didn't know why. She pulled herself together.
"Thank you for inviting me, Inma. Your timing was good. Any later and I woul
d've had to eat the last eggs in Davide's fridge."
"Is that all he has? That doesn't sound very promising, Davide. Even so, it's a pleasure to see you again, as well as knowing I have prevented you from sliding into eggy-boredom."
Even Caterina had to smile at that. She relaxed, remembering her manners by asking Inma what she'd been doing. What had happened since Rome?
"I was telling Davide some of it." Actually, this was not exactly true. Inma had spent most of the preceding half-hour pouring out her fears about Miriam to Davide, who had proved as good a listener as before. "You know that Miriam and I were 'excused from prosecution', for want of a better term, because we obtained no personal benefit and we cooperated."
Caterina nodded.
"Once the no prosecution agreement was confirmed I left Opus as well as resigning from the company I'd been working for in Madrid. I set up my own reinsurance firm. At the same time Miriam looked at the property market, deciding that the way that estate agents work, if that's the right term, in Madrid is archaic, primitive and without any sense of customer service compared to the US. With my support she began investigating what it would take to create a professional US-style agency exploiting the Internet."
Inma's eyes turned moist for a moment. She recovered herself before continuing by describing how for the next few months she and Miriam had worked in parallel on both initiatives. Initially all looked promising for Miriam but gradually obstacles had arisen. For her these came in two unrelated forms. The first was simple resistance to changing of the status quo accompanied by the size of the investment to create a full-service Internet site. The second was her sister, who'd moved into Miriam's New Jersey house and who started to ask for ever more.
"And you?" enquired Caterina, reluctantly admitting to herself she was more interested than she either expected or wanted to be.
"I was finding out the hard way that establishing a reinsurance firm is much tougher than expected. At my previous company I was a director and had all the connections and interconnections that came with the business and from Opus Dei. On my own I lacked the reach or scale as well as the financial resources to be able to recreate and seed reinsurance pools that would be profitable. Indeed, when I look back, I fundamentally misunderstood my own strengths, which I've come to realise is all too easy."
Corruption's Price: A Spanish Deceit Page 9