The HolyPhone Confessional Crisis

by Charles Brett

  After looking at each other for no reason she could now think of, Miriam leaned over the tiny distance between them and kissed Inma on the mouth. She did not think that their reactions had been what either expected. Reflecting, Miriam knew this was going to create a mess and intuitively realised she had expected an outraged slap or worse. Instead Inma had responded, melting into Miriam. For perhaps a minute they continued kissing, ending with tongues entwined and arms clasped around each other.

  It did not last. They paused for breath. Inma immediately pulled back, almost abruptly. She became distant and formal, climbing out of the pool and wrapping her pareo around her. Before leaving the pool area she said only that lunch would be in about half an hour on the shaded terrace. Nothing more.

  Miriam wondered what to do. In the end she went to her room, showered and dressed in a simple tennis dress in a blue that she loved and had bought with a matching cardigan. In truth it was less a dress for playing tennis than a combination in which to be seen watching tennis.

  Downstairs lunch was set. Inma came out from the kitchen with some chilled wine. She had donned her brown tent uniform while her hair was messily coiled on the back of her head. Boring flat shoes covered her feet. She possessed a frozen look, like an animal caught in headlights.

  They ate in silence. Miriam regretted not joining Michele. She felt a fool with only herself to blame, though that was not unusual.

  With the food eaten, and after Inma drank more than her share of the wine, Miriam took the plates to the kitchen. When she returned, Inma was sitting still, as if she could not move.

  On instinct alone, Miriam stood behind her. Saying nothing, she gently released the long black hair. Without quite knowing why, she gathered it to one side and bent down to kiss Inma lightly on the neck. There was a tiny moan, which might equally have been a groan. Again, with an almost feather-light touch, she kissed Inma’s neck a little higher and then again, almost like a mother might kiss a child. After the third or fourth kiss Inma sighed gently, as if a decision had been made or something had changed.

  Feeling more than a little nervous though still acting on instinct, Miriam undid the clasp at the top of the brown dress, slowly unzipping the back. Inma did not move or speak. She put out her left hand to take Inma’s right one, turning Inma towards her, helping her to stand. Inma’s dress fell to the ground leaving Miriam free to take in Inma’s rich firm figure clad in the most delicate of white briefs and a matching top and looking as if they came from a very expensive designer.

  Inspiration arrived. Inma was almost naked while Miriam was fully dressed. Holding Inma’s eyes, Miriam stepped back, slowly removing her cardigan and letting it drop. She released each button down the front of her tennis dress before shrugging her shoulders and letting it also drop. There was a difference, however: Miriam’s underwear was no way as pretty as Inma’s and she was not wearing a bra. This meant that her nipples, now fully aroused, were all too visible. Inma’s eyes moved to them as Miriam took her hand and led her upstairs towards her own bedroom.

  At the top of the stairs, as Miriam had turned towards her bedroom door, Inma surprised her. In the first overt reaction since leaving the pool, Inma tugged her Miriam towards her own room, introducing her to its oversized bed with its exceptional views.

  For two hours they explored each other. Miriam could not believe how swiftly or fiercely Inma had reacted, nor the relish with which she had come again and again. Even more surprising was how fast Inma had learnt. Miriam found herself screaming with a delight and satisfaction that was priceless. Thinking back on it, it proved way better than anything she had ever enjoyed with Michele or any other man.

  They only stopped through exhaustion and because both were starving. After a swift dinner, of some quickly fried steak and remains of salad, they raced upstairs to start again.

  Sometime after midnight Inma fell asleep and Miriam was near to doing so. She covered Inma and left her gently snoring before returning to her own bed.

  In the light of morning Miriam wondered if she had done the right thing by leaving Inma, whom she had thought a virgin until yesterday afternoon. Miriam had never made love with a woman. Yet feminine instinct still said that the shock to Inma would be much greater having been celibate for so long.

  “What should I do?” she asked herself. “In for a penny, in for a pound. I must see her, even if it is still frighteningly early — only a little after midnight in New Jersey.”

  Monday, El Roble, Yuste

  Inma still did not know what to think. Miriam had turned her convenient, carefully-ordered world upside down. No, that was not fair. She had assisted. Inma acknowledged to herself that she was not guiltless in this. She could not blame Miriam for anything but that first kiss, which had been wonderful, like having an inaccessible itch unexpectedly scratched.

  Yes, she ran away from the pool. Yes, she had wrapped herself in one of her gender-sublimating brown dresses in the hope of preserving herself. Yet she had also donned that wonderful underwear bought from the Tel Aviv hotel along with the swimsuit. All the time Inma had been assembling lunch she felt guilty knowing what she wore underneath her protective dress. She did not even know if she wanted Miriam to find out or not.

  Miriam had been gentle through lunch, saying nothing but looking so slim in that tennis outfit. She had not initially noticed that Miriam was without a bra. When Miriam had kissed her neck she wanted to move, to respond. She had been unable to until Miriam helped her to stand. When her dress slipped off, she felt naked and exposed, not knowing how to react. She had not been with a stranger like this since that summer camp long before.

  When Miriam stepped back and removed her cardigan, followed by the unbuttoning of the dress it was a like a long, slow striptease, one that was utterly sensuous. It also reassured her until she saw Miriam’s erect nipples. Inma had not been able to not keep her eyes off them, feeling her own rise in sympathy.

  Upstairs, before meeting Miriam’s tongue again, she was touched by the delicacy and silence when Miriam had removed her cilice, without comment or question. With it gone she felt suddenly free to touch Miriam; to respond. What followed was magical. She still could not believe the experience of receiving and then finding herself giving deep satisfaction time and time again. What still shook her was how her first orgasm had crept up on her, like a feather landing, or how her second could be as violently satisfying as Miriam’s tongue explored.

  When Inma had woken earlier she knew her old world was shattered. The question was what to do. Could she put it back together again? Did she even want to? As an Associate Numerary she had no obligation to be celibate. Yet Inma had not found Miriam beside her when she woke and was uncertain if she was sorry or pleased. Today she would need to try organising her thoughts. Equally, she knew Opus would utterly disapprove.

  A door opened. It could only be Miriam. It was too early for the housekeeper, who would have been shocked witless by yesterday, as any devout Catholic would be. That was something else to consider. And she would have to confess. That thought unnerved her.

  “What should I do? What happens if Miriam comes to me now? What happens if she doesn’t?”

  Inma could not realise how precisely she was echoing Miriam’s thoughts. She felt panicked. Either result terrified her.

  She heard nothing more. Probably Miriam had gone downstairs. Her sense of loss was enormous, far greater than the relief she had hoped to feel.

  Her heart leapt upon hearing a gentle knock on the door but like after lunch yesterday she froze again. The door opened a crack.

  “Inma, are you awake? Can I come in?”

  Still Inma couldn’t move. Fortunately Miriam was bolder. She entered and recognised the expression on Inma’s face.

  Without more words she came to the bed, climbed under the sheets and hugged Inma, who finally relaxed and was able to return it. Slowly Miriam removed the top sheet, so that they were openly naked beside each other, free to stroke and touch wherever they chose. B
efore long they were recreating last night, except this time, with full daylight pouring in, it was more satisfying to watch how each reacted.

  Later, seated, they talked about what had happened and why, and about what to do next. Hesitantly, Miriam suggested staying longer, providing Inma wanted it. Inma definitely did.

  Miriam was sensitive enough to ask what complications there might be for Inma. Inma laughed. Like when she had done so in Israel, her face changed to something of such beauty and richness that Miriam gasped as she had on the beach.

  “The first implication is that I am giving up on trying to bring you into Opus, at least for the moment. But why did you gasp like that?”

  “Inma, has nobody ever told you that when you smile or laugh in that particular way you become so beautiful that it must take anyone’s breath away? I saw it once when we were in Israel. Actually I thought it was my mistake, seeing something I was imagining. Yesterday I saw it again, especially when you climaxed. But just now was the first time it has been there in normal conversation. You are lovely beyond comprehension … and you are sensational in what you do for me.”

  Inma laughed again before saying, “I just followed you, at least to start. I guessed that if what you did to me worked for me then it would probably do the same for you. Was I wrong?”

  “No way! But we should experiment. No, not now. I want to learn more about you and what you want.”

  Inma turned away. She started crying.

  “What have I done? What have I said?”

  “Nothing, nothing at all except to show me a generosity that I don’t deserve. You have released something. Here was I plotting to persuade you to come to Opus. I’m guessing that you knew this was a risk all along. I had the arrogance to think this would be profoundly good for you and Opus.

  “Instead you show me a new path, one which maybe I have been looking for without realising it. And you make no fuss about your achievements. For Opus you may be no angel but for me …”

  She tailed off as Miriam held her fiercely.

  “Now that we have time, let us make good use of it. I had already booked this week as a holiday. My housekeeper will be coming soon. She is ultra-traditional, so we should probably make ourselves decent. I must return to my brown dresses, at least until she leaves. It is probably good that you slept in your room last night. The good news is that she will suspect nothing because what we have been doing is beyond her comprehension as a traditional Catholic. After she leaves we will go out for a local speciality lunch that will blow your mind. Then we can come back here. Will you stay with me tonight?”

  Inma returned to looking apprehensive. It did not suit her.

  Miriam intuited that Inma was way more emotionally delicate than an old hand at failed relationships like herself. She was going to have to take great care. But what a person to find! She was almost speechless herself.

  “The brown dresses must go, but all right, not yet. I accept this may have to be gradual. But you must always wear something delicious beneath for my imagination to contemplate removing from you. Understand? Good. Now, are you asking me to join you in a shower? Because even if you are not, I will.”

  Inma relaxed and led the way.

  Monday, Barajas, Madrid

  At last Conor led Caterina and Davide off the plane. Iberia had been true to its reputation with the Spanish who mostly view it as airline run by its employees for its employees. Attention to customers? Don’t even dream of it. Not only had the flight taken off from Rome late, owing to air traffic control delays according to the purser’s announcement, but headwinds further delayed arrival and the gate where they finally stopped would not work. There were three open gates on either side. That made no difference. They waited almost forty-five minutes to deplane, by which time Conor’s fury was on the point of boiling over. Lousy, horrible and careless were three of the more printable words he had used in the past hour.

  Fortunately they had eaten some breakfast at Fiumicino. Otherwise they would have starved, for nothing was given out during the flight. Now, at almost noon, they were off the plane. As they emerged into the main concourse of Terminal 4, a policeman came up to Conor to ask if he was Señor Laoghaire (or something that sounded like a cross between a gargle and terminal wheeze). Davide stepped in and translated, saying that Laoghaire was pronounced something like ‘Leery’, which left the policeman looking baffled. The latter recovered himself and led them to a private room deep in the terminal. To their delight there was coffee and water plus small delicious-looking bocadillos with chorizo and jamón.

  “We thought you might not have eaten, knowing our national airline. Please help yourselves,” offered a gentleman in stylish plain clothes before introducing himself as a Pedro Casals, the Comisario Principal in the Cuerpo Nacional de Policia with responsibilities for liaison with Interpol. He introduced two uniformed colleagues. Conor reciprocated.

  “Since your communication with Lyons and during your flight we have been busy looking out for Monsignor Severino and Señor Weizmann. I am pleased to say we have found Señor Weizmann. I am less pleased to say that we do not have him in our possession.”

  “What?” puzzled Conor.

  “He was identified trying to leave on this morning’s El Al flight to Tel Aviv. When he saw our officers approaching he played what might be called the El Al security game in reverse.”

  “Which is?” asked Conor, completely baffled.

  “You have to understand some background. If you know this already I apologise. Embarrassingly for Spain, some previous minister agreed to an Israeli demand that it be allowed its own security staff to protect El Al flights. Even though we have fully approved European passenger security, Jerusalem demanded more. Worse still, the people it sends to perform these extra checks have a well-deserved reputation for incivility, even of abusing and bullying passengers, Israeli and non-Israeli, but especially women and Arabs. They do this as a second so-called precautionary check, which is undertaken in the boarding area or within their own secure premises below.

  “This is where they perform their more aggressive searches. We can do nothing because these people are granted diplomatic passports and therefore immunity. They are also” – the Comisario raised his eyes to the heavens – “permitted to carry small arms. In practice we believe most are either Mossad or Shin Bet intelligence operatives who have additional other duties. Until a minister here has the courage to face down the Israelis, as some Nordic countries are doing, we have to tolerate this. By the way, in case you are interested, we are not offered equivalent rights in Israel.

  “Anyhow, back to my explanation. When I referred to an El Al security game in reverse what I meant is that Señor Weizmann, seeing our people, approached the El Al staff at the gate and had himself taken away to their secure area where they do the searching. This is protected from us.

  “Whilst there, he is effectually in a grey area of the law. If he was on the plane then that would be Israeli territory. But he is still on the ground and cannot board without stepping back onto Spanish territory. We have two officers stationed to prevent this. Irrespective, we have withdrawn permission for the El Al flight to depart until his situation is resolved. But I should warn you we have the makings of a diplomatic incident. In my experience Israelis will find a mortal insult where no such thing was intended. They will scream to high heaven that they are being persecuted.”

  “That is interesting as well as unexpected. Do you have his wife and children who I believe he was travelling with?”

  “No, we don’t. They weren’t specifically named by Interpol. Once they saw what was happening I understand they had their luggage retrieved. When asked they said they were going to return to their hotel in Madrid. The children are quite young and did not look ready for any sort of prolonged stand-off.”

  “Can we find them? I’d like to talk with his wife.”

  “Let me find out where they’ve gone. It shouldn’t be difficult as all this happened less than two hours ago.�
� He turned to one of his uniformed colleagues who immediately left the room. “As for the Monsignore, we haven’t seen him and don’t believe he was on any of this morning’s flights. There are several flights this afternoon to Rome, with at least four airlines. We’ve asked these to check their passenger lists for the name Severino. There is an M. Severino on the 1745 Alitalia flight and we believe the airline will notify us when this person checks in. Of course this may not be your man, so we will have officers at the boarding gates of all Rome and Milan flights. The latter is a precaution.”

  “You’ve done well. The question is, what should we do now?” Conor turned to Caterina: “Any ideas?”

  “If I follow correctly we still have at least two others who may or may not be involved. There is this Condesa and Weizmann’s sister-in-law, whose name we don’t know, who may still be in the meeting place called Yuste.”

  “Weizmann’s wife is American or is at least travelling on a US passport. That surprised my people at the El Al gate,” responded the Comisario.

  “So the sister is possibly American as well, not that we have any confirmation of this. Do you think we should head for this Yuste place and see if the Condesa is still there?” suggested Caterina.

  “Yuste, as in Cáceres?” asked the Comisario. Caterina and Conor looked puzzled, but Davide nodded. “If so, that is about 250 kilometres from here. In normal driving that would be about two and a half hours each way, with the main variable being the traffic round Madrid. I could make a couple of cars with drivers and our authority available if you wish?”

  “That’s most kind, Comisario. This is a puzzle. Caterina’s suggestion is a good one. Yet the fact that Weizmann has gone to ground here may mean we have some time. I might have to reconsider later. Could it be tomorrow morning when someone goes to Yuste?”