Читать книгу Escape to Havana - Nick Wilkshire - Страница 7

Charlie sipped his lukewarm coffee and tried to find a comfortable seated position. The newish chair he had found behind his desk when he came in was a definite upgrade over the relic from the day before. In fact, the whole office had undergone a transformation, with the windows, floor, and furniture having been scrubbed clean and the dead plants removed. After getting his pass and access code from the security officer, Charlie had been visited by the resident IT expert, who set up his computer account and got him ready for his first real day of work. He was reading an email summary of his first consular case — a tourist from Moose Jaw who had lost his passport on what appeared to be a drunken junket into Old Havana from Varadero — when Landon appeared at his doorway.

“Ready?”

Charlie hopped out of his chair and searched his desk for a pad of paper. Michael Stewart was a career diplomat on his fourth posting, his second as head of mission, and he was unanimously described as decent and down to earth. Still, there was something unnerving about having an ambassador as your boss. Finding a pad and donning his jacket, Charlie followed Landon over to the main building, through the secure entrance and up the stairs to the ambassador’s reception area.

“You can go right in, gentlemen,” Martine said, barely looking up from her computer.

The ambassador was seated at his massive desk, poring over a report of some kind when they entered. He looked up and took off his glasses. “Come on in,” he said, coming out from behind the desk and shaking Charlie’s hand first. “I guess you’re our new MCO?”

“Yes, sir. Charlie Hillier.”

“Call me Michael, please. Welcome to Havana,” he said, as they arranged themselves on facing sofas. Charlie knew from reading his bio that Stewart was in his late fifties, but there was something about the man, perhaps an aura of confidence, that defied age. While Charlie straightened his tie and sat ramrod straight, Stewart crossed his long legs and assumed a leisurely pose, his tan linen suit a second skin. “What kind of housing have we got lined up for Charlie?” Stewart was looking at Landon and his top leg began to swing gently up and down, showing off a highly polished brown Oxford.

“We’re putting him into the new one. It should be ready this weekend.” Landon looked at Charlie and added. “We hope.”

“The one around the corner from the residence? Oh, well. You’ll be very comfortable there,” Stewart said. “I wish I could credit that one to your diligent efforts, Drew,” he added, grinning at Landon, “but I think it had more to do with that aid package we announced last month.”

“And here I thought someone at ImCub must really like me,” Landon joked. “ImCub’s the arm of the Cuban government responsible for leasing property to diplomatic tenants,” he added, turning to Charlie.

“Well, let’s hope we have as much luck with a new embassy site,” Stewart said, clapping his hands together.

Charlie had been briefed on the situation before leaving Ottawa. The current embassy was too small, and in need of a major retrofit. The Cubans had floated the possibility of selling land to Canada for a new building, something they generally didn’t do but seemed willing to consider for some of their diplomatic tenants. Charlie had heard that Stewart was keen on the idea, and on making it happen within the two years left on his own posting.

“I’ve been reviewing the property file,” Charlie said, wanting to appear just as keen.

“Then you know we need a new building.” Stewart became more serious. “We’re bursting at the seams here, and if the changes people are talking about come to fruition,” he said, stroking his fingers over an imaginary beard — a gesture that Charlie knew was the universal reference to Castro, “well, you can imagine. I’ve invited the president of ImCub to this weekend’s reception. You can meet him yourself.” Landon had already told Charlie about the reception to be held on Saturday night at the official residence. “I understand you spent some time in property management in Ottawa?”

“Yes,” Charlie replied, momentarily distracted by a five-by-seven portrait of a Labrador retriever in a gilt-edged frame on the side table. He hadn’t noticed it when he had scanned the office from the doorway the day before, and it seemed out of place in the otherwise formal setting. “I was mostly on the finance side,” he said, looking away from the picture and concentrating on embellishing his property credentials. “But I was involved in some major greenfield projects.” He hoped Stewart wouldn’t ask for much in the way of details. Charlie had authorized a lot of payments to contractors, but he hadn’t exactly been close to, let alone in charge of, the actual projects. A critical path to him could just as easily mean a well-worn trail to the building site’s porta-potty as a key project management term.

“Well, that’s excellent news,” Stewart said, leaning forward on the sofa and gesturing with a manicured hand, “because I intend to make this a reality, and I’ll need your help to keep Ottawa on side.”

“Of course.”

Stewart spent ten minutes on other priorities, none of which seemed even remotely as significant to him as securing a new embassy site, before returning to the property file. Charlie kept his reservations about having the whole thing built in two years to himself, and the meeting concluded with a personal invitation to attend the weekend reception at the official residence.

“He seems like a decent guy,” Charlie said, as he and Landon made their way back to the administration building after the meeting.

“I told you.”

“What’s with the picture of the dog?”

“That’s Teddy.” Landon laughed, but only briefly. “The ambassador’s a serious animal lover — so is Mrs. Stewart. The last gardener got the boot because they didn’t like the way he talked to the dog.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for Saturday night.”

As they reached the secure door and Charlie punched in his code, he turned to Landon. “You said you hoped I’d be in my house by the weekend. I thought you tracked down that electrician.”

“I did.” Landon sighed as they went into Charlie’s office and sat down. “And he swore he’d be there on Saturday morning, but you just never know when it comes to local labour.”

“Is it a safety issue?” Charlie asked. “Because I can probably live without basement lights for a while.”

Landon shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t think so, but I can double-check the inspection report the guy from Ottawa did up a couple of weeks ago, if you like.”

“Would you mind?”

What little furniture and personal effects Charlie had shipped from Ottawa had arrived ahead of him and were sitting in the garage downstairs, and he was eager to get settled. His new place was fully furnished and Sharon had grabbed most of the furniture in the settlement anyway, but there were a couple of items that she and Jimmy the Leech had let him keep, including an antique desk and chair that he especially liked. He saw no reason to delay his moving into what would be his new home on account of a little electrical problem.

Charlie stood in the expansive backyard of the official residence, a glass of champagne in his hand, listening at the edge of a cluster of guests for the punchline to the Australian political officer’s joke about his first week in Havana. The blue water of the pool shimmered behind him, and the sound of crickets filled the night air, cooled to a comfortable temperature by the gentle breeze that stirred the tops of the trees. It was such a perfect evening, or would be, if Charlie weren’t so preoccupied with wondering what he was doing there. He jumped as the crowd burst into laughter, and took a sip of the champagne. He was already halfway through his second glass and he would have to watch it, in case he had to make small talk with the ambassador, or worse, some Cuban official. He scanned the crowd again for Drew Landon, or any other familiar faces from the embassy. Seeing none, he briefly considered a stroll to the other side of the patio, but the thought of trying to incorporate himself into yet another group of strangers was more than he could bear at the moment. So he stayed where he was, pretending to be relaxed.

Social situations had always been difficult for Charlie, for reasons he could never fully understand. Whether it was some innate flaw in his physiological makeup, or an acquired tic, he always seemed just a little … off, as though he were operating in a parallel world just slightly out of synch with everyone else. He had struggled with it through university and law school, thinking the awkwardness would eventually fade, but it still plagued him twenty years later. Standing there in silent agony, he could only marvel at the irony of his current situation. A lawyer who hated to argue, Charlie had successfully abandoned his legal training years ago and settled in to a perfectly bland bureaucratic career. How fitting that his role as faithful husband to an unfaithful wife would eventually force him to transform himself into a diplomat who couldn’t schmooze. Was it any wonder he was so screwed up? He tipped back his glass and was looking for a waiter when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Charlie Hillier,” Landon said, gesturing to the woman at his side. “I’d like to introduce you to Martina Blanco, Argentine special envoy for trade.”

“Nice to meet you,” Charlie said, shaking her hand and feeling a combination of relief at Landon’s arrival and pleasure at Blanco’s warm smile.

“Martina’s specialty is agriculture.”

Charlie guessed she was in her early twenties, and was about to ask whether this was her first posting when they were joined by another woman, who pecked Blanco, then Landon, on both cheeks as Charlie looked on. While Blanco was attractive, her acquaintance was stunning. Charlie found himself so absorbed by her smouldering brown eyes that he barely registered that Blanco was speaking.

“This is Amirjit Saini,” she said. “She’s with the Indian embassy. Amirjit, meet Charlie Hillier.”

“Pleasure,” Charlie said, shaking her hand.

“Charlie’s our new MCO,” Landon said, patting him on the shoulder.

“Oh, really?” Saini tilted her head to one side. “I’m a consular officer as well. You must be really new.”

“I just arrived this week.”

“Then you’re here at an exciting time,” Blanco said, referring to the recent historic meeting between the U.S. president and Raúl Castro. Opinions were mixed on whether this would amount to a significant change in the short term, but there was no question it was a milestone in Cuban history.

“Yes, interesting times.”

“Where were you, before Havana?” Saini asked.

“Actually, this is my first posting,” Charlie said, recognizing a slight widening of the eyes in the two twenty-something women. “I’ve been with Foreign Affairs for a long time, but I’ve been at headquarters until now,” he felt the need to explain.

“A refreshing change, I hope?” Blanco offered.

“It’s hard to argue otherwise in this environment.” He gestured to their surroundings with his empty champagne flute and both women smiled, though Charlie recognized something in Saini’s eyes that was at odds with the white flash of her teeth.

“Havana’s my first posting, too,” she said. “Martina’s the veteran among us.”

“Where were you before Havana?” Charlie asked, trying not to show his surprise at Blanco’s experience.

“I have been in Brussels and New York, at the UN in both cases. But Havana seems like home to me. I studied here for three years. I am very happy to be back.”

“The work here is challenging,” Saini added, “but the people and the place are charming, as I’m sure you’ll discover.” Charlie was about to respond when a tall Cuban man appeared at the edge of their little group. Landon’s reaction on seeing him made the man’s importance clear.

“Señor Ruiz, what a pleasure.” Landon shook his hand, then turned to the others, starting with Blanco. “Gustavo Ruiz, director general of Inmuebles Cubana, this is …”

“We’ve met,” Blanco said, as Ruiz stepped forward to embrace her on both cheeks. “But I don’t believe you’ve met Charlie Hillier, the new Canadian MCO, and Amirjit Saini, consul with the Indian embassy.”

Ruiz gave Charlie’s outstretched hand a perfunctory shake on his way to a two-cheek peck with Saini, which took considerably longer. He remained planted next to her as the conversation continued, and Charlie was so busy trying to think of an appropriate segue into possible building sites in the diplomatic area of Miramar that he barely noticed when Saini wrapped her arm in his and leaned against him. His furtive, sidelong glance at her when he realized they were standing arm-in-arm was met with such an easy smile that all he could do was respond with a dopey grin.

“You were going to show me the inside?” Saini pointed toward the residence.

He stared at the house for an awkward moment before recognizing the part he was being asked to play. “Of course.”

“If you’ll excuse us,” Saini said, leading the way toward the house, tugging Charlie past Ruiz. “So nice to see you again, Señor Ruiz.”

They strolled across the patio and inside the drawing room of the rambling villa, where pockets of guests stood around chatting. They stopped in front of a large painting.

“I’m sorry about that,” Saini whispered, withdrawing her arm from Charlie’s. “It was terribly rude of me, but I’m afraid Mr. Ruiz’s reputation precedes him.”

“My pleasure,” was all Charlie could think of saying. He didn’t really know what Saini’s remark meant, and he didn’t much care, but he was missing the sensuous feeling of her soft, warm skin on his. She was even more beautiful in the muted light of the drawing room.

“I suppose you haven’t had a chance to do much in the way of consular work yet?” she asked, apparently keen to gloss over the reasons for her improvised escape.

“No, not really. I’ve been focused on getting my bearings, so far. I’m sure you have a wealth of experience, though. How long have you been here?”

“Almost three years. I meant what I said earlier, about the work. It really has been worthwhile.”

“You must be nearing the end of your posting, then?” A waiter passed by and they exchanged their empty champagne glasses for full ones. “Will you go back to India?”

“I haven’t really decided. I was considering something in South America,” she said, trailing off. “What about you, Charlie? What brought you to Havana?”

“Mmm,” Charlie mumbled, swallowing a mouthful of champagne while considering his answer. He knew the truth was out of the question, and decided to keep things vague. “I was looking for a change, really. I know it sounds a bit corny.”

“I don’t think it’s corny at all,” Saini said, with a genuine smile. Charlie was still considering pinching himself as he stood next to this exquisite woman in the opulence of the ambassador’s drawing room, sipping champagne and chatting, when a familiar voice brought his dreaming to an abrupt end.

“Charlie. Good to see you. Having an enjoyable evening, I hope?”

“Oh, hello, Ambass— Michael. Yes, thank you.”

“I’d like you to meet my wife, Katherine,” Stewart said, as Charlie came face to face with the tall, graceful woman with an intelligent sparkle in her eyes at Stewart’s side. “Charlie’s our new MCO,” Stewart added, pausing as he glanced at Saini.

“Oh, this is Amirjit Saini,” Charlie said, hoping he got it right — he had never been good with names. “Meet Ambassador Michael Stewart and Katherine Stewart. Amirjit’s with the Indian embassy.”

“So, you’ve just joined us, then?” Katherine Stewart asked him, after exchanging greetings with Saini.

“Just got here on Monday, yes.”

“Well, I hope you’re enjoying yourself and not letting him work you too hard,” she said, laying a slender, jewel-encrusted wrist on her husband’s arm.

“I’m doing my best.”

“Charlie was good enough to show me around the inside a little,” Saini said, looking around the room. “It really is a beautiful house, but I must be getting back outside. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

“Charlie’s got the place around the corner,” Stewart said to his wife, as they watched Saini leave. “So we’re practically neighbours.”

“It’s a very nice neighbourhood,” Charlie remarked, wondering if being so close to the official residence might be a liability. Then again, it wasn’t as if the houses were in sight of each other.

“You’ve got your family with you, then?” Katherine Stewart sipped her champagne.

“Charlie’s flying solo,” Stewart said, as Charlie noticed a slight change in his wife’s expression.

“I’m divorced,” he felt the strange need to say.

“In that case …” Her smile returned. “Havana’s just the place for you. Just watch out for the staff,” she added, a frown appearing at edges of her pert mouth. “The locals will be falling over themselves when they find out there’s an unattached man in town.”

“Really, Katherine,” Stewart scoffed, as Charlie tried to work out whether she was joking or not. He smiled anyway.

“I’ll bear that in mind.”

“Isn’t that…?” Stewart began, before his wife followed his line of sight and finished his sentence for him.

“Hector Garcia. Yes. And he’s looking bored. I’d better get over there. It was so nice to meet you, Charlie. Enjoy yourself.”

“A pleasure to meet you, too,” he said, as Katherine Stewart flitted gracefully across the drawing room toward the patio.

“He’s in charge of Havana’s protected buildings,” Stewart said, as they watched his wife greet the Cuban official with an elegant embrace. “Katherine’s been after him for weeks to let her hold a reception for one of her clubs in a heritage building near the Cathedral.” He took a sip of champagne before adding: “And she has a habit of getting her way.”

“She’s certainly very charming,” Charlie said.

“Relentless, actually,” Stewart replied. “Poor Hector doesn’t know when to throw in the— Oh, look who it is. Come with me.”

Charlie was halfway across the room, following Stewart’s long strides, when he realized they were headed toward Gustavo Ruiz, who was standing alone by the pool munching on a canapé.

“Buenas tardes, Gustavo.”

Ruiz’s smile at meeting the ambassador seemed to fade when he noticed Charlie standing next to him.

“I’d like to introduce you to Charlie Hillier.”

“Yes,” Ruiz said, shaking his hand. “We have met already this evening.”

“Well then,” Stewart continued. “The first of many meetings, I’m sure, on the way to securing a site for our new embassy.”

“I’m looking forward to working with you on that very important file, Mr. Ruiz,” Charlie said, though Ruiz’s thin smile was less than encouraging.

“There is much work to do, Señor Hillier,” he finally said, after an awkward silence.

“Well, we’re certainly keen to get started.” Stewart plucked a caviar-laden cracker from a passing tray. “These are quite good. You should try one.”

Ruiz nodded, taking a bite. “Almost as good as what the Russians once served.”

“Times certainly have changed,” Stewart said, waving off the tray. Charlie had driven by the Russians’ massive and largely deserted diplomatic site out in Miramar and imagined they must have had quite a presence in Havana in their day. He wasn’t sure whether Ruiz was dissing the caviar or just making conversation. If it was meant as a dig, Stewart was unfazed, and continued to chat easily with Ruiz, while Charlie decided to watch in awe as Stewart gradually eroded Ruiz’s gruff façade with a subtle combination of charm and humour. He was caught off guard when the ambassador suddenly patted him on the shoulder.

“Listen to me, going on. Charlie here is keen to fill you in on our property requirements, Gustavo, and I see Katherine is looking for me.”

Charlie struggled to think of something insightful to say, as Stewart slipped away and Ruiz sipped his wine for a moment, before breaking the silence himself.

“How long have you been in Havana?”

“Just a week.”

Ruiz nodded, as though he understood. His dark eyes were making Charlie increasingly uncomfortable, and as a nervous reaction, he began rattling on about his flight from Canada, the weather there, and similar nuggets of information that were obviously of no interest to Ruiz. While he babbled, his mind was imagining Ruiz’s position in the diplomatic property program as a front for his real role in Castro’s secret police, tasked to add to an already thick file they had been gathering on a certain Charlie Hillier.

“So, you are in charge of property matters for the embassy?”

“Hmm?” Charlie was absorbed by the image his mind had conjured of Ruiz standing over him in some dingy basement interrogation cell, waving glossy pictures of his ex-wife wrapped around Lars the Swede. Then he remembered Ruiz had asked him a question.

“Yes … I’m in charge of property.”

“You don’t like your current location?”

“Oh, it’s a wonderful location,” Charlie said, quickly. “It’s just that we’re at capacity. Beyond it, really.” Ruiz nodded. “And your …” He paused to think of the right word, though his English was excellent. “… personal needs have been met, I hope?”

It took Charlie a second to realize he was referring to his new house. “Oh, yes. Yes, it’s very nice. Near here, actually.”

Ruiz seemed impressed. “I know it well, then. You are very fortunate.”

“So everyone keeps telling me. I haven’t actually moved in yet, though.”

Ruiz set his glass on the tray of a passing waiter. “I have another engagement this evening, Señor Hillier, so I must leave now. We shall meet soon to discuss your embassy’s needs, yes?”

Does that mean there is a site? Charlie wanted to ask, but he decided not to push his luck, and fumbled instead for his business card. “I look forward to hearing from you,” he said, before Ruiz set off toward the living room. He was about to head over to the buffet table when Landon appeared out of nowhere.

“How did that go?”

“Okay, I guess,” Charlie replied, though he wasn’t sure he had made any actual progress. He decided to concentrate on the positive. “He wants to have a meeting.”

“Did he mention a site? Something on Fifth Avenue, maybe?”

“Sorry.” Charlie shook his head. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see. What was all that about, with Saini?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing.” Landon was grinning.

“She ditched me in the drawing room, as soon as Stewart and his wife showed up. Does she have some history with Ruiz?”

“I don’t know. Ruiz has a reputation as a bit of a player. That much I do know. They must have crossed paths before. Maybe he made a move on her.”

“He seemed to know all about my SQ,” Charlie added.

Landon shrugged. “That’s his job.”

“I just thought it was a bit … odd.”

“Havana’s a small place, Charlie. And the diplomatic community’s even smaller. Everyone knows everyone. But it’s nothing to be concerned about,” he added, patting him on the shoulder. “Speaking of your place,” Landon continued, “I talked to the electrician this afternoon.”

“You mean the guy who was supposed to be there this morning?”

Landon shrugged. “He had some excuse or other, but the bottom line is, I don’t know if we can count on him to get it done any time soon.”

“Maybe I should do it myself,” Charlie said, omitting to mention that his previous experience in electrical home repair was limited to installing a very standard furnace thermo­stat — a job he had botched so badly that he had almost burned the house down. It had quickly become Sharon’s favourite dinner party anecdote, and Charlie had always laughed along. It didn’t seem as funny now, somehow.

“Or you could just leave it,” Landon said, oblivious to the dark cloud that had just parked itself over Charlie’s head. “I could put it on the to-do list for the next time one of our maintenance guys comes down from Ottawa. As long as you don’t mind not having any lights in the basement.”

“No problem,” Charlie muttered, taking a slug of champagne and enjoying the growing buzz it was giving him. He had no idea when the next scheduled maintenance visit was, and he really didn’t give a shit. He didn’t plan on spending any time in the basement, anyway.

“I figured you’d want to get in there ASAP,” Landon said. “So I arranged for Carlos to help us with getting your crates over there from the embassy tomorrow. It shouldn’t take us long, if you’re up for it.”

Charlie’s cloud dispersed at the news. “You don’t have to do that, on Sunday no less.”

“I’ve got no other plans,” Landon said, shrugging his shoulders. “Come on, let’s get something to eat.”

Charlie set down his end of a crate and mopped his forehead with the back of his arm. “That’s it.”

Carlos gently deposited the other end of the crate on the dining room floor and smiled. “You need a cerveza, Charlie.”

“Now you’re talking,” Landon said as he arrived behind them and set a cardboard box down on top of one of the crates.

“I wish I had some, but—”

“I got you a little housewarming present,” Landon said, pulling a six-pack of Cristal out of the top of the box.

“You think of everything,” Charlie said, as they made their way out to the backyard. He and Landon leaned over the side of the pool and splashed cool water over their faces, while Carlos sat in the sun, a little grin teasing the corners of his mouth.

Arranging their chairs poolside, the three opened their beers and Carlos raised his in a toast.

“To your new casa.”

“Thanks for helping me move in, guys,” Charlie said, taking a sip of the beer. It was like liquid gold in the midday sun.

“So, did you enjoy yourself last night?” Landon asked.

“Yeah, it was nice to meet some people,” Charlie replied. “Martina seems very nice,” he added. He had noticed she and Landon were both gone by the time he had left for the hotel, and he was still trying to figure out whether they had left together.

“I dated her for a while, a few months back,” Landon said, sipping his beer. “We’re still friends, but that’s it. So if you’re interested …”

“Oh, I didn’t mean it that way, but she sure is attractive,” Charlie said. “And her friend, from the Indian embassy …”

“Amirjit. Isn’t she something?”

“She is beautiful.” Carlos was nodding.

Landon looked surprised. “I didn’t know you knew her, Carlos.”

“I make it my business to know all of the beautiful women in Habana.” He grinned as he savoured a mouthful of beer. “I give her a ride back to her embassy from that conference last week.”

“I think she’s got a boyfriend,” Landon said.

Carlos frowned. “No boyfriend.”

“How do you know?”

Carlos gave Landon a broad smile. “Maybe she tell you yes, because she knows you are a wolf.”

“You’re messing with me, aren’t you, Carlos? I can always tell.”

Carlos’s face was an inscrutable mask as he turned to Charlie.

“Maybe she likes her men a little more … how you say?”

“You mean older?” Charlie was grinning.

“Invite her to your new casa,” Carlos waved his bottle toward the house, “and find out.”

“Now there’s a plan,” Landon agreed. “A little housewarming party.”

They lounged in the sun and chatted for a while before Landon drained his beer, got up, and stretched. “Well, Charlie, can you handle the rest on your own?”

“You bet. Thanks again, guys, really.”

“No es problema.” Carlos patted him on the back.

Seeing them out, Charlie returned to the living room and the assortment of crates and boxes scattered over the hardwood floor. He would unpack for a while, then go for a swim. There was no reason to push himself. He had all the time in the world.

Charlie sat alone by the pool puffing on a cigar, its aromatic smoke dancing in the night air as he dangled his feet in the cool water. The sound of Latin music wafted out from a neighbouring yard, interspersed with peals of high-pitched laughter. He watched the smoke waft up into the night sky, and marvelled at the bright canopy of stars overhead as he contemplated his first week in Havana.

Landon and the rest of his embassy colleagues seemed nice, as did Ambassador Stewart. As for the details of his new job, Charlie considered himself a quick study. What he lacked in experience he would make up for easily enough with a little hard work. Even the previous evening’s reception had been all right, once he’d gotten over his initial discomfort. He imagined himself a year from now, jumping easily from one conversation to another and allowed himself to think briefly of Sharon, if only to assure himself that wherever she was sleeping, it wouldn’t be anywhere half as nice as his new villa in Jaimanitas.

With the first week under his belt, Charlie was beginning to feel better about the decision to come to Cuba. He would have to call Winston Gardiner and thank him again for the opportunity. He took a long pull on the cigar and focused on the unfamiliar sights and sounds brought to him on the warm Caribbean breeze. Ottawa, and the unpleasant memories it evoked, seemed distant indeed, and for the first time in months things were finally looking up.

He should have known better.