The HolyPhone Confessional Crisis

by Charles Brett

  “Ah; I see my driver already coming over. I must leave. Please talk further. Indeed, Jaime, please feel able to exploit Maria’s knowledge and expertise of management to assist us.” He stood. “No, don’t get up. Good luck. Now off to the cardinal.”

  He smiled, even though he didn’t really feel like it, and left.

  Monday, El Roble, Yuste

  Miriam looked at her watch. It was after eight in the evening and becoming dark. She must have been sleeping for almost three hours. It was going to be difficult falling asleep tonight. She felt hungry, though how this was possible after such a lunch wasn‘t clear.

  Her mind turned back to when they returned to El Roble. She loved the long drive round the multiple corners between the trees until suddenly coming out into a wide gravel parking area surrounded by a low wall, more to prevent people and cars from falling over the steep drop on the other side than to keep animals out. They had gone inside. To her surprise Inma had turned to her rather formally, though with an affectionate kiss, and asked if she would excuse her as she needed to finish something in her study. Miriam said that was no problem and Inma headed upstairs, still in that awful dress.

  Miriam had pottered around until deciding to become Spanish and have a short siesta. Before going to her room she visited Inma’s bedroom, a little reluctantly, to leave a couple of presents bought earlier.

  The visit to María’s shop had been unexpected fun, as much in the initial embarrassment of Inma as the result. María was truly tiny, curvaceous, with a wicked look in her eye. Miriam couldn’t understand a word she spoke. What was clear was her being over the moon to have Inma there. When Inma explained about Miriam’s clothing needs she had insisted on personally showing them what seemed like everything. Besides the modest and practical there really were some of Jesús’ naughty clothes, some quite deliciously so.

  After a while, when María and Inma moved on to gossiping, Miriam took the opportunity to make some discreet purchases via the assistant sales girl, who was happy to help, even speaking a little English.

  More than one of those items was wrapped as a present and now on Inma’s bed. Another was a dress that Miriam had seen in another window. At first she had thought of it for herself. After suggesting that Inma get the car, Miriam went into the shop. Looking closer she realised it would not suit her but saw it might flatter Inma nicely. She bought it, congratulating herself that she had noted Inma’s sizes from her clothes, though she had to guess a little about what was right for the transition from brown tent to audacious.

  Hearing nothing she decided to go and make dinner, or at least to see what was available. Pottering around the kitchen she found cheeses and hams, Spanish style, plus the ingredients for another salad. She was mixing these when Inma came in, though she did not hear her enter.

  “I’m so sorry, Miriam. I was far longer than expected. I also was not honest with you, for which I wish to ask your forgiveness.”

  “Not honest? How so?”

  “I told you I was going to my study. That wasn’t exactly correct. I needed to go to my private chapel, something I haven’t shown you. I had a strong urge to pray. You must forgive me. This is ingrained. I can’t throw this away lightly and I have much to consider.”

  Miriam felt nervous. Was Inma going to return to her sackcloth and ashes? That prospect suddenly created a huge hole, a potential absence that she didn’t wish to contemplate. She said nothing, waiting to see what would happen next, wondering if her new world was already set to collapse.

  “My praying took longer than expected. I left you alone, which was most ungracious of me, and you’ve prepared dinner. Good; thank you. And you can breathe. You don’t need to look so nervous.”

  “Can you read me like a book?”

  “In this case I think so. Are you wondering if I’m going to deliver bad news, perhaps that I have sinned and wish to seek the repentance that I described?”

  Miriam nodded, dumbly sensing impending doom. This was far worse than imagined. Was Inma about to dump her after only twenty-four hours?

  “”Your fears are correct, Miriam. I prayed about what to do next and what would be best, contemplating long and hard. But you’re wrong in one small detail.

  You must not, however, fear that you have awoken something in me. That was already awake though I have been resisting it without realising. What you did was introduce me to a different fulfilment, one that I’ve never known. It is the path that I’ve decided to follow, at least for the moment. That’s if you will allow me?”

  Her last sentence was said in almost a whisper. From avenging angel she’d become a supplicant.

  Miriam did not know how to respond. In truth she wasn’t sure she’d really understood.

  “Inma, please tell me in simple words what it is that I can allow you?”

  “To continue to share yourself with me as you have already done.” She paused. “To go back to bed, if you want it put crudely, and as soon as possible.”

  “Not a problem, and it does not even have to be in bed.” The satisfaction on both faces was palpable. They smiled at each other, more in relief than delight. “Why don’t you go to your bedroom? I’ve left a couple of little things for you.”

  “You mean these packages? I saw and brought them down. What are they?”

  “There’s only one way to find out. Try opening them.”

  Inma dithered between the bigger and the smaller. She went for the former. On opening it she found what she‘d read was called ‘a little black dress’. When holding it against herself it stopped high above her knee.

  “This is indecently short. I can’t wear this.”

  Miriam only smiled, waving to indicate the other package.

  “If the dress is indecent I’ve no words for these,” Inma protested, holding up black-patterned silk stockings and matching underwear.

  “What shall I do with all this?”

  “That’s easy. You put them on for dinner. Come here. Let me help you out of your tent.” As gently as yesterday, she unhooked and unzipped the back, allowing the brown monstrosity to fall to the ground. After undoing Inma’s bra, Miriam removed Inma’s panties, which today were made of a cheap, coarse material.

  She stepped back, saying, “Now you can dress yourself.”

  “Where do I start?” Inma picked up the new see-through and almost negligible alternatives, as if to put these on first.

  “Might I suggest you start with the garter belt before the stockings?”

  Inma obeyed. After the garter belt she eased the stockings up her legs. She was becoming breathless with the feel of them and of mounting excitement. Miriam helped her with the clasps and handed her the bra from which her breasts stood firm and magnificent.

  As she pulled on the panties, Miriam enquired: “Now you see why those go on last? No? Because they can come off first or so you can go to the bathroom if we are being more practical.”

  They laughed together. Finally the dress was pulled on and zipped up.

  “Phew! I know undressing can be sensual but watching and assisting you dress was incredible. You look like a billion dollars. Inma, go admire yourself in a mirror. I need to get myself dressed and at least try to keep up with such style.”

  Miriam rushed from the kitchen. She desperately wanted Inma and to have to wait through dinner was going to be purgatory. Equally she had something else she had bought herself.

  Less than five minutes later Miriam reappeared in that same tennis dress, minus the cardigan, but with dramatic matching coloured stockings and medium heels. She had also brought some tall black high-heeled party shoes for Inma, in case they might fit. Even if they did not they weren’t going to be worn for long, of that she was very sure. Approaching Inma, who was speechless, she helped her put them on. Not a good fit, but adequate for the circumstances.

  She stepped back to admire Inma and was again blown away. Transformed, this woman was beautiful in a way she knew intuitively she could never be. She had poise and the form
of a mythical goddess. She saw the inherent dignity of the Condesa in Inma. Miriam was out of her class. She felt tears snatching at her eyes.

  “What’s wrong, Miriam? Have I done something now?” This time the fear was in Inma’s voice. “Tell me.”

  Miriam confessed: “I look at you and you’re so far out of my league. I can only lose you when others see you.”

  The anticipation of imminent regret and hopelessness was clear.

  Inma hurried over. “What can you mean? Look at you. You are sexier than either of my sisters. You may not be innocent but the way you project femininity and sexiness is something they would die for. Michele could not keep his eyes off you. I can’t either. I want to undress you as you did me yesterday. What are you talking about?”

  There was a genuine sadness within Miriam. She decided it wasn’t for discussion. She would just have to hope. She changed tack.

  “We should have dinner first.”

  “What? I can’t wait until after that. That’ll be far too long, even if I eat fast, and I don’t. You asked before for simple words. Here they are: I want to undress you – now!”

  With a mischievous glint Miriam interrupted: “Anticipation and delay, Inma, are something to learn together … It can be very experience-enhancing as well as deliciously painful.”

  Monday, the Vatican

  Father Federico was still on duty. He met the ambassador and took him to the cardinal’s private study.

  “Your Eminence, may I present His Excellency, His Majesty’s Ambassador to Italy.”

  “Your Excellency, please come in and sit down.”

  “Your Eminence, thank you. I am delighted to meet you. I saw you a few weeks back in a pleasant restaurant behind my residence, Giovanna’s.”

  Though Catholic by upbringing, as nearly every Spaniard was, he no longer believed and had decided on the way to the Vatican, between phone calls, that he was kissing no rings. Nelson did not look as if he expected it.

  “You were there? I did not see you. An interesting coincidence, because there is a connection to why I asked you to meet me. In one sense all started there.

  “However, may I ask you to be patient? A senior official from Interpol is due here shortly. His plane landed at Ciampino about thirty minutes ago and he should arrive imminently. I would rather delay until he’s here for he will be able to explain some matters. I am also grateful to your minister, and you, for stepping in when your Embassy to the Holy See is unable for reasons not of its making to assist the Holy See. In fairness, as you will learn, it may indeed be better to deal through you.

  “I understand that I interrupted your dinner. I hope you will not object that I have some cheese and wine if you would like.”

  Nelson waved an expansive hand.

  Before Francisco could respond, Father Federico led Paulino through. Nelson made the introductions and in passing mentioned that not only was Paulino a fellow Brazilian and an old friend but also that he, Nelson, was the Vatican’s unofficial contact with Interpol.

  He continued: “Ambassador, I suspect that you were about decline the wine and cheese. I know Paulino will not. Please join us if you will.” They walked over to a small table. “This is often where I have dinner if by myself, or with Father Federico who showed you in.”

  Nelson poured each of them some wine, a good Montrachet noted Francisco.

  “Now let’s start.

  “I am not sure what you know already from Madrid. One of my people, Monsignore Severino, apparently entered Spain using his Italian identity card, as the Schengen treaty permits. When checking in for his flight back earlier today he reused this ID card, again wholly correctly.

  “When, however, he was asked by two members of the Spanish police if he was Monsignore Severino he agreed he was but pulled out a Vatican diplomatic passport and asserted immunity.”

  “That accords with what I have learnt from Madrid. I also understand that this Monsignore was offered the opportunity to return to Rome in the company of some Interpol agents but refused preferring to make contact with your Secretariat of State’s Nuncio and with the Vatican direct. We assume this was because he wishes to avoid detention or questioning by non-Holy See representatives.”

  “I agree with you, as that is also my supposition. Let me bring in Paulino hopefully to shed further light. Paulino?”

  “Thank you, Nelson. Your Excellency will know of the Santofonino and what it has done for the church. You may also know that my friend Nelson has been the Curial sponsor. What you will not know is that he suspects that the Santofonino is being abused. Naturally, if it is, he doesn’t wish this to become public knowledge, partly for the harm it might do to Santofonino credibility but mostly because he wishes to avoid any further or new harm to Mother Church.

  “This is where I come in. Nelson started an internal investigation using Monsignor Severino, who incidentally was the man responsible for setting up the Santofonino financial arrangements in such a way to avoid any past taint from the Vatican bank. He was an accomplished banker in New York before taking Holy Orders.

  “In parallel to Severino’s enquiries, Nelson started a different review using an Englishman, who is part Spanish and bizarrely the progenitor of the whole Santofonino initiative, along with two of my people who have been confidentially reporting to me. Their remit was to review the systems and financial areas where the Vatican is not best placed to understand, including considering what this Monsignore might have been up to. Remember also, for Nelson and the Holy See, establishing that nothing is remiss is the ideal end point.

  “Until recently this parallel team had made little tangible progress. They had, between them, identified a number of possible loopholes that might be exploited. But, because they were working behind the scenes and with only Nelson, myself and two trusted aides of Nelson’s knowing the full picture, they were effectively prevented from finding hard proof of anything wrong.

  “That is until yesterday when they found a previously unknown connection between Severino and an Israeli called Noach Weizmann who has a financial computing background and a dubious reputation in some police circles. By coincidence Nelson’s team also established that Severino and Weizmann were meeting with a senior member of Opus Dei; a countess who seems to own a house near a place called Yuste.”

  “That is where Carlos I was buried and has a monastery. Do not tell me that the Opus Dei person is the Condesa Inmaculada Concepción de Arenas de Ávila?”

  “That is correct. Do you know of her?”

  “My wife knows her family, particularly her sisters. The Condesa herself is regarded as a cold fish, very spiritual and unsociable. I am sorry, Your Eminence, about my description of one of your flock but it would be fair to say that Opus Dei has a mixed reputation, even in Spain.”

  “You do not surprise me. It has the same within these walls. There are many who cannot forgive the Blessed John Paul for making it a personal prelature. But that’s not relevant here. What is, I believe, is that Paulino’s people may have uncovered a link between Opus Dei, the Santofonino, Weizmann and possibly to Weizmann’s sister-in-law, who was also to be at the meeting in Yuste.” He turned to Paulino. “Is that correct?”

  “Yes, and nicely put. My people went to Spain to see if they could informally interview these people. They left having talked with me and having laid out their reasoning. The CNP in Madrid were alerted by my office and were already looking for Monsignore Severino and Weizmann because there was a suspicion that the meeting was to end, either today or tomorrow. When my people arrived at Barajas your efficient CNP found Weizmann but he went into a diplomatic no-go area, which I understand that your Government has authorised El Al to have. Later the Monsignore turned up. That pretty much brings us up to date, except I understand that one of my people will be going to Yuste tomorrow to see if the Condesa is there.”

  “You mean that we have two diplomatic incidents?”

  “I’m afraid so, Ambassador, though it is Spain, thank goodness, that ha
s to deal with the Israeli dimension. I am told that Jerusalem is already screaming blue diplomatic murder, if you will excuse my phrasing.”

  “We always knew in Santa Cruz, our Foggy Bottom or Quai d’Orsai, that giving into the Israeli demands for El Al was a mistake. But ministers will be ministers. Fortunately that is not my problem. What about Monsignore Severino? I assume this is why you asked for me? Have you any suggestions?”

  “Actually we do, Ambassador. Ideally, we would like your people discreetly to return Severino to Italy, preferably in the company of my Interpol team, but not to the Vatican. That way we can talk with him before making him available to Nelson and the Holy See. Do you think this would be possible?”

  “I can’t be sure but can certainly make that representation to my ministry. May I also assume that you would like this executed with haste? If so, I will leave now for my Chancellery to confer with Madrid about your suggestion. What about the Israeli? Do you have any preferences there?”

  “In an ideal world the Israeli would accompany the Monsignore. That, we suspect, is impossible. It is, I am afraid, is for your ministry to resolve. You have both Nelson’s and my sympathies.”

  “I will take my leave then, Your Eminence. It was a pleasure to meet you – and you too,” he said, turning to Paulino — whose last name he had not taken in and so couldn’t use.

  “Thank you again, Your Excellency, for responding so fast and being so receptive. I hope we can meet again in less pressured circumstances.”

  Father Federico showed the Ambassador back to his car.

  Nelson turned to Paulino: “That achieved what we wanted. It might have been easier with his opposite number at Santa Sede, whom I know well. But that in itself might have been a complication because I think he is also Opus Dei.”