Lili had pleased her even more by requesting that both Inma and Ana present the revised version of what they'd discussed at their dinner. Lili had been quite candid when she asserted that, with their looks and with most of the attendees being male, there was little chance of a poor reception.
"Dress to stroke their sad egos, please."
She'd accompanied this with a caution to Inma that this would not necessarily produce acceptance. Overall, Inma felt complimented. Lili envisaged the sort of selling environment Inma relished most, persuading people who might not yet know what was in their best interest. Yes, it was challenging but doable.
Inma's thoughts drifted back to the bar she and Lili had stopped in after their dinner. To Inma's surprise Lili had relaxed. It was as if dinner was business and afterwards was social.
The more they'd talked, the more Lili riveted Inma. She'd started with war stories from her banking days. The way she portrayed its hidebound male chauvinism, which dismissed a girl starting out, was hilarious and horrifying in equal measure. Yet Lili was resolute. She'd refused to sleep her way to advancement. Twice she'd lost promotions, attributable to the offended pride of her then boss. Each time, at least in her own telling, she persevered until she'd won enough new business to bypass, and leave behind, the obstacle. It was refreshing for Inma to hear. Their routes forward could not have differed more.
To start with Lili had talked essentially about herself. Inma was happy to listen but obtained the distinct impression Lili was desperate for new ears. Enrique was too wrapped up in growing his olives to be a good listener and the truth, according to Lili, was he didn't care about anything that interested her unless it coincided with one of his own preferences. Lili had dismissed this in an offhanded way, as a toss-away thought. To Inma it sounded more like a gentle plea.
The conversation moved on to discuss the possible job with her old boss. Lili faced a dilemma. A part of her wanted a return to the financial world with all its excitement and deal-making. Balancing this for the moment was her determination to see Olivos Ramos y Tremblay succeed.
By their third drink Lili was in full flow, pouring out more and more, discreet, but sufficient for Inma to infer much that was not expressed. Lili conceded that her failure to keep Enrique in the picture, about how she'd subsidised the business, meant he'd never really valued her contribution. Over time the discrepancy, between perception and reality, had calcified their emotional involvement. Although they slept in the same bed it was more as cousins than partners.
Inma was sure she didn't want this level of detail. At best it was premature. Plus she would have to work with Enrique alongside Lili. It was an unusual situation, when knowing too much might prove to be a disadvantage. Here it might be. Still, Inma ensured she had made all the right noises until Lili ran down.
Suddenly, to Inma's surprise, all had taken a different direction. Steam vented, Lili became a delightful conversationalist. She enquired after Ana and how they came to work together. Inma found herself telling Lili about Opus and her escape, without rummaging into too much detail concerning the events that freed her. For once she was thankful she was bound by a legal agreement and was happy not to be able to share everything with Lili. She'd almost embarrassed herself.
By midnight they were almost confidantes. Not quite there, but close. Lili heard the bar's clock strike twelve; she rushed off, explaining she had to sleep before her flight to her olive-grower meeting outside Lucca. Bemused, Inma watched her totter away.
Back home she'd tried processing the Lili of this evening. The contradictions were many – all that banking brilliance marching hand in hand with such personal uncertainty. Inma worried. Could Lili be unstable? This would require careful navigation for any mutual business to flourish. She should alert Ana.
Still office-bound, Inma was clear. She'd enjoyed the evening on several levels. There was Lili. There was business. It was also refreshing not having Ana present.
Inma liked Ana; she had already proved good for her firm and Inma did not regret for a moment inviting her to join. But Ana was a cousin. She was also younger and in some ways less worldly-wise. This meant they didn't connect on certain topics. Like about La Abuela.
Inma instantly regretted the negative thought, despite feeling she was honest about her own attitude. To complicate matters, Ana was behaving out of character. Inma didn't know why. Was La Abuela responsible? No, that couldn't be right. She could only blame herself for refusing to visit La Abuela. This insight prompted action. She called out to Ana who was working next door. Ana walked through the connecting door. Inma waved for her to make herself comfortable.
"I was just talking with Lili. We're to present to ten or twelve olive producers at a lunch hosted by Enrique and Lili."
Inma couldn't resist tweaking Ana.
"Lili requested you and I should do another of our Amazon appearances."
"That was a one-off."
"I'm winding you up."
Ana glowered, her face tightening in irritation.
"Do we need to arrange a time to see La Abuela?"
This time Ana stared at Inma.
"Are you joking? If so, it's not funny."
"I'm serious. I've decided I do want to see La Abuela."
And, thought Inma, to thank her for finding out about Davide.
"You are? That's incredible! Thank you, thank you! You'll make my day and hers. Normally I don't need to warn La Abuela, though I usually try. It might be best if this time I did."
"Do it before I have an anxiety attack and succumb to second thoughts."
Thursday, Benidorm
Oleg was relieved their time in Benidorm was almost up. One last evening to go before catching the plane to Copenhagen. He was ready for home. You can have too much of a good thing, though Andrei did not seem to think so.
That day in Callosa gave him confidence. Andrei had everything ready to go into production for the coming season. This removed his first major concern. The second long day spent visiting the secondary breeding location outside Murcia confirmed his view. At least it did until they were driving back when he'd confronted Andrei, telling him of Kjersti's question: was Alger really German? Kjersti had guessed Alger was Russian. On one of their competitive runs he asked why Kjersti thought this. Her response: she'd heard him use a phrase that wasn't German and had the intonation of a native Russian. He berated Andrei for a mistake. He was indifferent to Andrei's denials.
The good news was Kjersti had not accused Oleg. Perhaps this was because they used English as their common language. He was not an exceptional speaker and worked hard not to default into German, which she spoke little. English was good enough for exercise talk and perpetuating his deception.
Running and extreme running was the channel of connection between him and Kjersti. It was a first for him to enjoy the company of anyone as committed as him. The downside was she could, on occasion, outrun Oleg. This was especially true when going up, and even down, hills. This annoyed him even if it was inevitable when she was younger and her native Norway had real mountains. His adopted Estonia possessed a high point of all of 300 metres and that was far from Tallinn. It and Norwegian mountains didn't compare.
Kjersti had surprised him when she invited him to visit in the summer to improve his mountain running abilities. If that was unexpected her revelation that her family home was in Kirkenes in the far north of Norway had almost cost him his balance. Most Norwegians in Kirkenes spoke Russian because the frontier was so close. He'd even been there, unofficially, more than a decade earlier.
As far as Oleg could tell she suspected nothing about his origins. Better still, she seemed interested in little but their exercise regime and the resulting endorphin highs. He speculated about whether she was one of those women he'd read about who reached orgasm through exercise. If true, he was envious, though he hadn't the nerve to ask. Oleg was happy their relationship was defined by mutual relentless outdoor exertions rather than bouncing round a hotel room. Extreme sports
were more satisfying than bonking.
Andrei was the opposite. Oleg watched with amusement Andrei's imminent sex-withdrawal symptoms, surging even before he, Freja and Helga parted. From his descriptions, he had eventually talked one into his bed and the other on a different evening. On a third night they'd seduced him in their hotel room. If his tale was accurate Andrei had thought he was visiting Helga but when he'd arrived he discovered they shared a room. They'd bought the most provocative clothing they could find.
Andrei, of course, relished every moment, and could not resist retelling every detail to Oleg. Oleg was encouraging if a little envious. He had not known pleasure could come in so many perverse – or did he mean perverted? – ways.
Andrei at least had the good sense to consult Oleg about meeting up with his conquests in Oslo another time. Oleg had dithered before agreeing. He'd emphasised to Andrei how this must only happen so long as it didn't compromise their schedule and plans. Andrei confessed he hadn't yet been invited but was sure he would be. The confidence of the big man. He did not seem to care that Helga and Freja must have compared detailed notes about his sexual performance before deciding to invite him to join them. Andrei was a womaniser. Oleg could do nothing about it.
Would he miss Kjersti after tomorrow? He hoped not. He would try not. After this proof of the first fly fundamentals Oleg wanted to concentrate on the three extra elements of his overall plan, only one part of which depended on Andrei's preparations. Andrei knew nothing of the others, which demanded secrecy and dedication if market-moving associations were not to catch them out later.
He grinned to himself. Andrei would make a lot of extra money. Oleg would make even more, as he destroyed one crop, ruined one commodity and, by buying in advance, exploited a once-off global shortage of premium olive oil. The coming months would be tense but the patience he had insisted on back in Tallinn was close to paying off.
His room phone rang. It was Kjersti, from the lobby, waiting.
He found Kjersti twitching with impatience. It was to be their last run and she, with his input, had designed a short but stunning traverse of the Serra Gelada. The question was, who would finish first? Graciously he had donated her a ten-minute handicap. After all, a couple of long, flat stretches meant his height and longer legs would give him an advantage. While Andrei, with Freja and Helga, sipped cocktails on the roof terrace bar in the first part of the evening, he and Kjersti were to compete. Anticipation coursed through him.
"Ready, Oscar?"
"Yes. As the English say, may the best man win!"
"You mean woman. You promise not to start for ten minutes?"
"Yes. And I'll have overtaken you before we're three-quarters through."
"That confident? Want to bet on it?"
"Like how?"
"The winner chooses dinner this evening."
"That's easy. You like Thai?"
He had seen a new place that morning.
Kjersti nodded before declaring, "Okay. I'm off. No starting before half past!"
She was away. He admired her efficient gait as she disappeared down the road. Once out of sight doubts assailed him. Was ten minutes too generous? The climbs totalled at least 800 vertical metres. Even if he lost ground there, surely he should be able to catch her on the road back from Albir, shouldn't he?
Now he had to wait ten long minutes. Well, eight would suffice. She'd never know.
Thursday evening, Madrid
Ana caught herself. For the third time she was about to chew her nails. La Abuela saw the symptoms.
"Ana, cariño! First your Davide makes you nervous and now Inma. You must explain."
The doorbell interrupted her. Ana leapt up. It must be Inma, arriving to make peace. It wasn't. A neighbour was checking La Abuela was fine and whether she needed any shopping. Ana cursed. This was far worse than imagined. Why had she taken it upon herself to repair a family rift? How dumb could she be?
The good neighbour left. Before Ana could explain the doorbell rang again. This time it was Inma. The lift seemed to take an eternity, doubled. Even La Abuela was affected. Silence reigned.
Hearing the lift doors opening Ana left her grandmother to meet Inma. Her hands shook. So did Inma's. This calmed Ana. She whispered her thanks and led Inma into the salon.
"Abuela, this is –"
"Don't be ridiculous, Ana! I know who she is. I first saw Inma as a horrid, wrinkled baby not long out of the womb."
She faced Inma from the chair where she spent most of each day.
"Come, Inma. Let me give you a kiss."
Inma sashayed over before she lent to peck La Abuela on each cheek. Without conscious thought she went further. She wrapped La Abuela in an intimate hug. It didn't last long. It didn't need to, yet the affect was surprising, at least to Ana. Her grandmother had tears sliding down her cheeks. So did Inma.
La Abuela sniffed. Unsteadily, she pulled a couple of tissues from a nearby box, handing one to Inma. Recomposed, her grandmother asked Ana to bring some tea and coffee. As pre-planned Ana headed for the kitchen.
"Stand back a little, Inma. I want to see you clearly."
Inma did as instructed. On the spur of the moment she gave a modest twizzle. She wasn't sure why but it brought a throaty chuckle of appreciation from La Abuela.
"You're not the Inma of three, five, or even twenty years ago."
"No? Why?" responded Inma, more coquette than relative.
"That response alone would be enough to convince. You were always a serious child, even before Opus got its grubby hands into you. Before you would've never answered back like that. Your parents would've scolded you on the spot. But that isn't what I meant. The last times I saw you, at family gatherings, you weren't dressed like now, and certainly not as fashionably. I'm being kind. You were plain and dowdy, always with the same brown dresses."
Inma regarded La Abuela. She waited, offering nothing. She was curious about what might follow.
"Look at you now. You could step straight into the pages of ¡Hola! or any other of those awful glamour magazines. Not only fashionable, you're fabulous. I never carried off such elegance as effortlessly. I had to work for hours to look good."
Inma dipped her head at the compliments, accepting them with an easy grace.
"It isn't easy for me either. I confess I'm vain enough to try making it seem effortless but it isn't. I spend far too much time seeking out the simple, which is much harder than being conventional. Plus keeping my figure in shape is a full-time job, if one performed in my leisure time."
"You do it well. Forgive me, it's even better to see you in the flesh, so real, so lovely. Thank you for coming. I hope we may forget a stupid past."
"I should be thanking you, on several grounds."
"Why? I pushed you away secure in my prejudice against Opus with all its horrid associations. I hope I don't offend?"
"Not now. I should be thanking you. First, for your generosity when I'd ignored you for so long. But, much more relevant, for what you have accomplished for Ana in finding out about Davide, after his tío Toño's intervention."
"Ah. Ana told you."
"She needed a listener. Her parents, as we well know, are not sympathetic."
"They don't know what I told Ana."
"No? She didn't warn me. Is their ignorance important?"
"Yes. Ana can explain. It's about inheritances. Tell her I gave you my blessing to do so, though I'm pleased she yet again confirms her innate discretion.
"Now I want to change subjects, if you don't mind humouring an old lady? Tell me about Davide and what you make of him. I also want to know why you left Opus. A fine action, if you'll overlook my prejudices."
Inma and La Abuela re-inspected each other. It was judgement time. Inma used the moment to take stock.
"May we leave Davide for another time? Ana's close by. For here and now, I like him. I have faith in him as a human being. I trust him. Is this sufficient for the moment?"
"It'll have to do. It's a
comforting assessment, positive. Another time, though I don't want to see Ana continue as she has for the past year. That Toño has much to answer for. So, Opus and your exit?"
When Ana re-entered with her tray of English Breakfast Tea for her grandmother (though why La Abuela drank this at any time but breakfast always puzzled her) and coffee for herself and Inma, she found Inma in full flow explaining about the HolyPhone and her involvement in trying to rip off a tiny slice from the Church's confessional revenue stream. That her grandmother was in stitches as Inma narrated an edited version of what happened pleased Ana no end. A rupture was healed.
The one aspect she didn't like was listening to Inma mention Davide. He remained a raw memory even if it was Inma, not Ana, who was involved with the HolyPhone. Just hearing his name evoked good times she must place behind her.
Her daydreaming was interrupted.
"Ana? Inma's agreed to stay for a light dinner. Will you? Good. May I ask you to go out to buy some things para picar – the usual? You know what I like and what I can't eat these days. But do buy the best, the very best, Jamón Serrano and some Cava. We should celebrate a day that you've both made for me."
"But you're not supposed to drink, Abuela."
"Damn the doctors! At my age wine can't make much difference one way or the other. I'm going to enjoy myself. Today is a gift."
Thursday, Benidorm
Oleg was furious with himself. He'd been had, twice over. Kjersti had beaten him through and through and she knew he'd set off earlier than agreed.
How did she know? Standing on the steps of his hotel waiting for him she'd accused him, once he had recovered his breath, of leaving too soon. He denied it. She produced the tiny cell phone she carried in case of emergency and called a number. She uttered a few words in Norwegian before handing him the phone. To his acute embarrassment it was Andrei's Helga who confirmed his early departure. This must mean Andrei also knew.
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