Corruption's Price: A Spanish Deceit (18 page)

Avoiding the last issue was a clear attraction of Madrid, though not ORS. There were lots of eligible English-with-Spanish speaking women. Now he had 'cracked' the Retiro exercise classes he was sure the right person would appear if he had patience.

Perhaps it was a pity about Ana. She was good to look at and about the same age as himself. Yet she scared him. Her intelligence was formidable, plus she was related to one of his bosses. But there was the indubitable fact that she was too tall – she had towered over him on that Saturday night. He did not like being shorter than his girlfriends. She was also too thin for his taste even if she did possess a bust to admire. Together, these represented sound reasons to stay well away. It was good that Ana had not shown any signs of minding.

He had, at one point, feared that he was expected to be paying due attentions to her. After that Saturday it no longer seemed to matter. Having Emilia chasing after him had been a treat though he remained puzzled how to respond.

What did he think of Emilia? That was harder. Not overtly pretty but when she focused on you she undoubtedly attracted and her attention to him on the dance floor had been fun. He was tempted, very much so. No, it was too close to work. Don't mix work and pleasure. He made that decision for the umpteenth time. But if she really made a play for him he doubted he could resist. The good news: if he read her right it would be a fling, a dalliance, nothing more. She always looked hungry for more.

Caterina? She was
much
easier on the eye, especially when she bothered to make an effort. She had style on those occasions. Nevertheless, she also frightened him, like Ana, though for no reason he could rationally pin on her or himself. He largely ignored her, when polite to do so. She had also been fun on Saturday, especially when she saw Davide with Ana and the latter's relatives. Such language of distaste. He smiled at the memory.

He took the exit for Castellón and wondered what he would find on his arrival. He could not realise that he was retracing almost the exact same route along which Marta Márquez had travelled not very long beforehand, also about ORS, or that he would park in the same spot as she had.

He was not obliged to wait long before being ushered into Luis Zavala's office. Just like Marta, Felipe did not consider it impressive. Nor was the wizened little man sitting behind a desk. The assistant introduced Felipe to Zavala.

Felipe strode forward with hand held out. El Cerámico did not move. Felipe had no choice but to stay standing. He lowered his hand, confused about how to react in the face of such overt hostility. Ana had not coached him how to handle business situations like this; nor had his mother.

El Cerámico stared at Felipe. Nothing hid his disdain. The silence stretched.

Eventually Felipe began: "I represent ORS, which has been writing to your company about double payments made against invoices and refunds of credit notes not given to MMH, Constructores Equilibris and ServiArquitectos. In all ORS believes that your business owes the following total amount –"

El Cerámico finally moved; it was more a twitch of disgust.

"No, no and no again! In case I'm not being clear, I am not repaying anything to those
cabrones
in CE or ServiArquitectos. Not even a
céntimo
."

"But our records indicate that you owe –"

"–They owe me far more in cancelled orders than anything you and Marta Márquez can cook up. No. Nothing. That's how much I'm paying, unless they pay their cancellation penalties first, which will cost them millions more."

"Sorry, but what does Señora Márquez have to do with this? I met her last week. She said she was representing FyP, not you."

For the first time a flicker of interest or consideration or something flashed across El Cerámico's face. If Felipe hadn't been looking directly at the shrivelled ogre in the chair at exactly the right moment he would have missed it.

"I wouldn't know. The simplest way forward is for you to leave. So go."

The door opened behind him and Felipe found himself being guided to his car. He had little choice but to get in and drive off.

Felipe seethed all the way back to Madrid. There were several million euros at stake here. That represented lots of potential income to ORS. No, there was no way ORS was going to give in lightly. It was to the courts next that ORS would go.

He was tempted to call Ana but decided to wait. She would be long away from the office by now and he would feel foolish. Though she had not said it in as many words, he could now see that she had tried to prevent his humiliation. It was, after all, only his own insistence and belief in his powers of persuasion that had taken him to Castellón and his undignified dismissal.

Monday: Ana

Ana was puzzled by the mysterious call she had received from Davide. With Felipe in Castellón, and Davide having said that he had spoken to Felipe, she was pretty sure she was not doing anything wrong in going to Malasaña.

But why there? Why not Alcobendas? She supposed she should be grateful. Living in nearby Chamberí meant it would not be far to go home.

Whilst travelling her mind wandered back to meeting Inma. What a complete change. If anyone had asked she would have disbelieved the possibility. Even stranger, if Ana had understood Caterina's commentary later, which she was sure Davide was not meant to hear, was that Inma was gay and had an American girlfriend. What a turn up for the books.

She was sure her family did not know. This was not surprising because nearly all of them had begun avoiding Inma when she became ever grimmer and more depressing as Opus sunk its hooks in. Now, at least on the basis of last Saturday, Inma was good company, clearly different and her sisters were actively concerned about something. Ana needed to call her mother, but how was best to pass on the information without sounding nosy or appearing a busybody? Probably better to say nothing and let others do the work. Subconsciously she agreed with herself.

She left the Metro at Bilbao and walked into Malasaña. It had always struck her as an odd area. When she was younger it was at the extreme of unfashionable, even dangerously squalid. Now it was youthful with energy. Her father had said there were good houses there, not that she had ever been inside anything but a bar or
restaurante
.

Ana stopped outside the address Davide had given her. The portal was imposing enough. She stepped back to look at the building from the other side of the road. Not quite so imposing but still good enough. Somebody seemed to have a nice
ático
at the top – lucky them. She would love to have her own
terraza
but these did not come cheap in Madrid, being relatively unusual. She was grateful that her grandmother had given her a small
piso
in a decent area. According to her
abuela
, this was partly to free Ana from having to live with her parents and partly to prevent the taxman taking too much when
la abuela
died.

Ana remembered that conversation well because it was the first time her grandmother had talked to her of death and Ana did not want to lose her.
La abuela
had a magnanimity of spirit to all that was lovely to behold. She might be ninety-one but she could charm the delivery man just as easily as whichever
duque
or
marquesa
was arriving that day to pay their respects. It was fun to watch.

Ana wished she had inherited her grandmother's charm and the ability to make everybody feel at ease. She knew these qualities had not passed down to her, that she was regarded by her contemporaries as too abrasive for a 'young lady'. What would
la
abuela
think of Inma? That was a different thought to savour.

After pressing the doorbell, Davide's voice told her to take the
ascensor
to the top floor and to come straight in.

Having done as instructed, Davide materialised. He led her into an amazing salon that was an eclectic mix of ancient and modern, the former being large dark and gloomy pieces of traditional wooden decorative Spanish furniture, while the latter was made up of a startling gathering of light-coloured modern leather sofas, chairs and glass tables, with some facing towards a fireplace and others looking out onto a large
terraza
, possibly the one Ana had envied earlier.

"This is an amazing place, Davide. Yours?"

"In my dreams. No. It belongs to my mother's youngest brother, a retired lawyer who these days prefers the charms of Marbella for most of the year. He insisted I live here when hearing I was going to be working in Madrid. My mother was his favourite sister, or so he always tells me. She died when I was young, so I don't know. I can't complain."

"She was Spanish?"

"Yes. From
Castilla
. My father was English."

"I always wondered why your Spanish is so good. All is explained. Anyhow, you didn't invite me here just to chit-chat. How can I help?"

"
Au point
as always, Ana. Not so common amongst the Spanish." They acknowledged each other's awareness with a light smile. "We have a problem. That is Caterina, inadvertently she claims, has created one. I understand the circumstances but not the implications."

Davide proceeded to walk Ana through what had happened on Friday in the meeting with Marta Márquez and what Caterina had backed up. He described what Emilia and Caterina had found on the smartphone and Emilia's initial suspicions but now almost certainty about the connections with ORS clients and their transactions. He also mentioned, in passing, the personal photos without being overly specific other than to indicate that the man did not appear to be Márquez's husband.

He did say that one aspect that Caterina had confirmed was that normally the whole smartphone was set to be encrypted. Márquez had some sense of securing her data. It was only because she had asked for the recharge to be performed without shutting down the phone first that the encryption was bypassed, a program fault that Caterina had not been aware of even though she used the same software.

"So that's where we are now and we don't know what to do next."

Challenging, Ana thought, before saying, "To be honest I'm not certain either. Should you have this copy? No. Was it deliberately stolen? From what Caterina describes, that it seems unlikely. Plus, to some degree, Márquez contributed to creating the copy by asking for the phone to be connected to a stranger's laptop. It was clearly a coincidence that she and Caterina use the same backup software.

"If it was just about the photos or other personal data I would suggest quietly deleting it all and saying nothing more to anybody. But, as you pointed out, there is the possible ORS connection and the copy was taken on ORS premises when Caterina was working for ORS. Does that mean the copy belongs to ORS?

"My head is beginning to hurt. I have this creeping sensation that I'm only beginning to scratch the surface of the implications. Ayiiiii. Every time a thought occurs those complications multiply."

"I know. You follow my own thought train precisely. Have you any suggestions?"

"Not immediately. I guess it would be a good idea if you, Caterina or Emilia showed me and explained what you or they think are the ORS connections. Would that make sense as a starter?"

"Why not? Come this way."

Monday: Marta

A glorious autumn day dawned over Valencia. Because Marta knew she was turned out well she felt positive. Add the sun emerging from the Mediterranean in the distance and the sweet smell of burning orange wood rising from the fields surrounding her house and she felt pretty much all was good with the world, or would be until her meeting with Estefanía.

Just two things bothered her. The first she did not know how to handle and it had kept waking her all night. The breakfast on Saturday had been fine. What happened afterwards was not. There she was in the Santo Mauro, in a delicate state of semi-undress beneath a deliciously not-quite see-through silk robe, which both hid and made obvious what was beneath. Next, Salvador acted as never before.

Previously, and the night before, he had been all consideration. Now he wanted her to behave like a whore. First he had demanded, not even asked, to tie her up before ... She had demurred and he had been upset. She tried to explain that bondage did not turn her on.

What did he do? He flipped her over, stripped off her underclothes and ravaged her. She had hurt afterwards, and she hurt now.

What had changed? Had she done something wrong? Had she unintentionally set off some unexpected reaction? Marta felt abused, by her own lover. It was unthinkable.

She had been distressed at the time though felt quite sure of her decision to resist being tied up. Just the thought made her squirm with imagined discomfort. Yet, though she could hardly bear to admit it to herself, the violent penetration had excited her, bringing her to climax. No, that couldn't be right. Or had Salvador understood a facet of herself she didn't recognise?

Marta didn't know what to think though she was deeply unhappy he had reacted so badly about not being allowed to moor her to the bed. He had lost all sense of mutual consideration. How should she act?