Corruption's Price: A Spanish Deceit (2 page)

What both Caterina and Emilia did seem to have in common was an inability to sustain a relationship. In Emilia's case it was because of her love for many brief ones. In, out and move on. Caterina was the opposite. Neither approach had brought either any consistency, though Emilia appeared the happier.

Thinking back over the previous evening, which had been unusual because Emilia had not been on her usual hunt for a new conquest, Caterina wondered if what they'd agreed made any sense. She'd allowed herself to be persuaded by Emilia that together they should go to Europe to find out more about their roots. Where Emilia was part-Spanish, part-Italian and part-Portuguese, Caterina was wholly Italian by parentage. Nevertheless, both regarded themselves as modern Australians.

But, in one particular way, neither was like so many of their antipodean contemporaries who, after uni, travelled for many months, mostly in Europe. They had deliberately missed out, preferring to start work immediately upon graduating. But now they'd been more than ten years in high-pressure jobs. Though Caterina had spent a brief period with Interpol in Lyon before working on the HolyPhone in Rome she hadn't explored France or Italy.

Both she and Emilia knew they possessed a common compulsion to experience more. That previous evening had produced their unexpected joint decision to go as soon as practical. Both were certain they could obtain unpaid time away. Neither had work commitments only they could complete.

"What about that Davide you used always to talk about? You know, the one whose Spanish mother preferred the Italian 'Davide' to her native 'David', even though she was married to a Brit? Could he help? Maybe provide a base for us?"

Caterina recalled bring stumped for words. She'd stopped talking about Davide months back, deliberately, to dissuade Emilia from asking more. But Caterina had not forgotten Davide, not least her embarrassment about propositioning him for a job and a place in his bed, ultimately chickening-out of the latter just when seeming poised to receive what she sought. She had compounded this error subsequently by walking out of the HolyPhone project with zero notice. Caterina still felt bad about the latter. She knew now, after months of introspection, it was her timidity to blame. Admitting this to herself, however, did not help. Davide was a bridge she'd well and truly burnt even if she'd never admitted as much to Emilia.

Yet Emilia had insisted and pushed. Caterina eventually gave in and agreed to try to contact Davide in order to find out if he might offer some form of base for their travels. She had pointed out to Emilia that he lived outside London and was often abroad.

Emilia's unhelpful response had been: "Even better. Perhaps he can lend us his house if he's away."

Now Caterina was stuck with writing Davide an email because she knew Emilia wouldn't let her forget. Using her laptop, she tapped out a brief email describing their plans, also asking where Davide was. On rereading she saw it was polite, even perfunctory.

Caterina sent it, copying-in Emilia as proof that she had done as requested. This complete, she wandered into the kitchen for some coffee before taking a shower. The combination, assisted by an over-the-counter painkiller, cleared her brain.

Half an hour later Caterina returned to her laptop to start exploring flight possibilities and costs. Though making coffee and showering hadn't taken long she found several new emails, including one from Emilia, stating: "Well done!"

She methodically worked down the list of unread ones. At the bottom was one from Davide. Surely he couldn't have responded that fast. She checked the sent times. No, his was timed just before she had sent hers.

Curious? Coincidence? Caterina opened his email.

"Currently in Madrid. Need you. Please come. Davide."

That was short and sharp, even curter than hers to him. What did it mean? Well, at least she now had a sort of invitation and to one of the places in Europe that she and Emilia had promised themselves. Caterina copied Davide's email to Emilia, asking her about starting in Spain. It would be a change from the damp grey skies of the UK that so many sun-accustomed Australians instinctively dislike. She began investigating flight combinations more seriously.

A ping alerted her to the arrival of another email, tiresomely from Emilia of course, who was typically straight to the point: "What do you think Davide wants? You???"

Caterina had not let Davide's words seep through to her. She had automatically assumed that Davide would only consider business interests after what had not happened in Certaldo and later in Rome. Rereading his email she could see Emilia's point. Now she really was 'up shit creek', as Emilia would indelicately put it, especially after sending her own email to Davide.

Another ping. This time it was a second email from Davide. There were more words this time but the gist was simple – he was living in a huge apartment in Madrid with two spare rooms. Both Caterina and Emilia were invited. The sooner she could come the better.

She called Emilia, who responded with: "Book the tickets. I'm free as of thirty minutes ago. I sweet-talked my boss and have six months off. It's your turn. It's too good to miss."

CHAPTER TWO

Resolution Initiated

Thursday: Valencia

Marta entered her office. As customary her first task was to check her appearance. While not exactly vain she liked what she saw, especially that her drive from home had not mussed her appearance as all too easily happened when she lowered the roof of her prized BMW convertible, now almost seven years old but definitely a friend of the family. She would change it only when it died.

Her self-inspection revealed a smartly-dressed lady almost in her fifties. Marta was not tall, nor thin but high, high heels and sheer stockings created the illusion of long legs and slenderness. Her ample bosom stretched her blouse tight; few men complained, especially not her 'mister'. Only her husband took no notice. Her skirt was form-fitting and a tad short for her age. It showed-off a decently proportioned stern that almost balanced her prow. Her make-up was on the heavy side. Too much time in the harsh Spanish sun meant she had to work that bit harder to achieve the desired youthful effect. Marta was sure she measured up and could deliver.

That was the good news.

Her brow darkened when considering the bad news. Those letters asking for repayment wouldn't go away. Initially she had replied to the first ones, saying that the elapsed time was excessive and that her clients could do nothing to help. As anticipated, this hadn't worked, at least not for the first couple of letters. Marta did not think it would work for any of the others.

More strident demands followed with the threat not so much of legal action, which she expected to be able to fight, but focusing more on future business, or rather the potential loss of it. The implicit challenge seemed to be that "If you do not repay what your firm owes us we will have to suspend buying from you". This was much harder for her clients to resist. It also made sound business sense, she admitted to herself, especially as it did not preclude legal action later if repayments did not occur.

The problem was how to tell her clients. Marta was pretty sure they were not going to be pleased. No, she knew they would be furious and probably with her even though she had only been their agent executing their instructions. That would not prevent them blaming the messenger.

Considering her choices, there was Luis 'El Cerámico' Zavala, now in his late seventies but still the patriarchal bull ruling a ceramics manufacturing empire located near Castellón, just north of Valencia, and permanently engaged in fierce competition with other major tile manufacturers in the region. In some ways, from a suitable distance, he was a favourite of hers. Still lecherous, at least with his hands, he appreciated striking-looking women who were competent. His beloved wife had died almost twenty years before. That did not stop him ruling his children with an iron rod, nor prevent him from expecting whatever he wanted from suppliers or politicians. The only people he treated well were his grandchildren, employees and customers, and the latter only if they ordered often and paid on time. She reflected that starting with him might be unwise. El Cerámico's temper was infamous. She needed practice to polish her story before making any appointment to see him.

Alfredo Gómez was very different. A lawyer turned politician, he was an elegantly-dressed snake as far as Marta was concerned. He had made his first pass at her when they were at university and continued periodically ever since. Long ago she had comprehended that he had only two real interests, money and power. Sex was not a third, unless he thought it would increase his powers to influence. Broadly, he was faithful to his wife when he was near home. Beyond this he seemed to have some unsaid licence. In his defence Alfredo had taken his father's modest law firm and, over almost three decades, built this into a Spanish powerhouse with large offices in Madrid and Barcelona as well as Valencia. Now he was Senior Partner Emeritus, in theory with only an economic interest and no management one. This arrangement meant he could play politics from behind the scenes, at which he was rather adept. Alfredo might be approachable in the first instance. After all, they had known each other for more than twenty-five years, plus he was infinitely pragmatic.

María Teresa (Maite for short) Valle was a pain in the neck. As the head of what had started out as a minor Comunidad de Valencia-sponsored Training College she had raised its prominence way above its – and her – competence. What she was best at was obtaining money from commercial enterprises and local government to sustain her position as Rector. To do this she knew everybody and worked everybody in the best American political style. If you needed an introduction she was the person to approach. Marta neither liked nor disliked her. Ten years older and unmarried, Maite was intolerant of anything that failed to improve her 'institution', meaning herself. This had, however, been profitable for Marta over the past decade.

Vicente Pérez was your typical builder's merchant. Essentially a local peasant come good with the ability to charm birds out of any tree, he was devout, a discreet recent member of Opus Dei by reason of his wealth and utterly under the thumb of his wife Rosa whose daily attendance at Mass proclaimed a virtuosity she let no one ignore. He did not wander, being too scared of what could happen. On the other hand he was rapacious in both his business and local political dealings. He exploited all he could with a smile that left you innocent at the very moment he raped your wallet.

The contrast with Estefanía Caballero was immense. Vicente and Estefanía each detested the other and made strenuous efforts to avoid meeting, which was kind of entertaining because they lived almost next door to each other near the old Turia riverbed park that runs through Valencia. Whereas Vicente was a die-hard member of the essentially right-wing
Partido Conservador
, often now referred to, ironically, as the 'PC' (traditionally this had stood for the now essentially-defunct
Partido Comunista
), Estefanía had a social conscience and was a life-long supporter of the
Partido de la Izquierda
or Party of the Left – equally irreverently known as
la Piz
. These left-leanings had not stopped her making a fortune from founding FyP, a chain of stores now spread across Spain and Portugal, which combined pharmacies and para-pharmacies in one, much like Boots in the UK or Walgreens in the USA. She had become fabulously rich, seemingly happy to ditch a dizzy sequence of boyfriends and husbands, who were no match for her. These days Marta felt somewhat overawed by Estefanía, even a touch lucky to enjoy a small part of her business.

Finally there was Inocenta Acosta. She was the only one whom Marta counted as a genuine friend. In contrast to the others she was not self-made but had inherited her wealth after her much older husband died when Inocenta was in her thirties. Greatly mourning his loss Inocenta had first become depressed. Later she threw herself into supporting various charities related to the illness that had killed her husband. Her generosity had spiralled almost out of control until she met Marta who had introduced her to the disciplines necessary to protect Inocenta from an excess of the greedy seeking to dispossess her of her inheritance, all in the name of charity of course. Inocenta had been and continued to be grateful.

Logically, thought Marta, Inocenta or Alfredo were the right starting points, even though each had their drawbacks. What to do?

Friday: Malasaña

Davide was frustrated. As of yesterday he possessed two Australian house guests and had seen virtually nothing of either. On arriving they had gone to sleep on the
terraza
sun loungers. They had only woken when the sun went down, demanding food and liquids. Having eaten the former, accompanied by an unhealthy amount of the latter, they had entered a short sharp debate about which room each should choose. Once resolved, they went to bed. He had been an onlooker, no more.

This morning they had woken late and left. He hadn't even had time to give them the keys to the
piso,
meaning that he couldn't go out until they returned. Luckily this did not matter as he had planned to work from home today rather than go to Alcobendas. If Felipe, the principal for OverPayment Recovery Services (or ORS as Felipe preferred to shorten it) called he would answer but not move from the
piso
.