Читать книгу Escape to Havana - Nick Wilkshire - Страница 8

Charlie stood over the coffee maker, waiting for the last of the water to run through. It had been after midnight before he had sprinkled his things among the existing furniture at the house, but his excitement at getting into his new place, combined with this morning’s invigorating dip in the pool, had overcome any fatigue. Even his office was looking better today, with the sun streaming through the opened shutters and falling on the two potted plants his assistant had presented him with that morning. Charlie didn’t usually go for office foliage, but he had to admit they brightened up his neatly arranged credenza, and it was a nice gesture from his assistant, Alena.

Returning to his office with a fresh cup of coffee, Charlie scanned his email, then turned his attention to the file on his desk. His second consular case involved another Canadian tourist who’d had a little too much fun in Havana. The auto-parts salesman from Edmonton had spent the night in custody after what the police report described as an “altercation” with a prostitute. Not surprisingly, his story was different, but regardless of what had actually happened, the passport had been misplaced somewhere along the way. Charlie was trying to guess which parts of which version of the story were closest to the truth when his phone rang.

“Señor Hillier.”

He sat upright as he recognized the voice. “Señor Ruiz?”

“I hope I am not interrupting something important.”

“No, not at all. I was just catching up on my email.”

“I was thinking about our discussion the other night, about your embassy’s needs,” Ruiz said. “I may have a site that is suitable for you.”

Charlie was leaning forward in his chair now. “Well, I’d certainly be interested in hearing more.”

“I propose that we meet as soon as possible. Are you available this week?”

“Of course,” Charlie replied, unaware of his schedule, but certain that it could be rearranged to accommodate any meeting to discuss a new embassy site.

“I’ll have my assistant contact you with the details of the meeting.”

Before he had a chance to get any more information, Charlie found himself listening to a dial tone. Just as he set the phone down, it rang again, but instead of Ruiz’s assistant calling with a firm meeting time, he recognized the voice of the ambassador’s executive assistant, reminding him about a staffing report that Stewart needed before the end of the day.

“He’ll have it,” Charlie said, hanging up with a sigh. He had hoped Stewart’s absence next week to attend a conference would have gotten him a reprieve from what looked like a time-consuming, not to mention boring, exercise. Still, his day was relatively free, and perhaps by the time he finished, he would have news about the meeting with Ruiz. Fortifying himself with a sip of the potent coffee, Charlie pulled out the staffing folder and set to work.

“Is that you, Charlie?” Stewart’s words boomed from the recesses of his spacious office. Charlie stiffened at the voice. With no sign of the ambassador’s assistant by four o’clock, he’d had no choice but to deliver the staffing report himself. He didn’t relish the prospect of a cross-examination on the contents of his work.

“Yes, sir. It’s me,” he replied, poking his head around the door. Stewart was seated at his desk, a broad smile on his face.

“Come in, have a seat.”

“Thanks.”

“Any word on the meeting?” Stewart put down his fountain pen and leaned back as Charlie settled in one of the two chairs facing the ambassador’s expansive desk. He had mentioned the call from Ruiz at an early afternoon briefing, and had instantly regretted doing so before a meeting was confirmed.

“I’m sure they’ll call tomorrow.”

“Excellent. We have to get them, and keep them, engaged. We don’t want to lose this one, Charlie.”

“Absolutely.” He noticed the collective we, though he had a hard time imagining Stewart would be doing much from his week-long Americas Summit in Panama City. “I’ll make sure you’re copied on any important correspondence while you’re away.”

“That reminds me,” Stewart said, snapping his fingers. “Katherine’s decided to join me for the week, and I really hate leaving Teddy with the housekeeper.” Stewart was silent for a moment as Charlie sat there wondering whether he was expected to say something. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to look after him for a few days? It would mean so much … to Katherine.”

“Um, sure,” Charlie heard himself saying.

“It’s just that yours is the only other house with a big yard, and it’s in the neighbourhood, so it would be just like home for Teddy. He can be such a big baby.” Stewart grinned. “We’re going to meet some friends in Costa Rica after the conference. Just for a few days.”

“I, uh, don’t know much about dogs,” Charlie said, realizing that the term of his dog-sitting assignment had just been subtly extended.

“Oh, not to worry.” Stewart waved a hand. “He’s a piece of cake.”

“Should I pick him up in the morning?” Charlie asked. At least he would enjoy one more night of peace before being stuck with the official mutt.

“Best you come by tonight. Around seven would be good.” Stewart shuffled some papers into a file folder. “I’d have him dropped off, but it will be so much less upsetting for him to have you appear on his turf, so to speak.”

“Right.”

“My goodness, is that the time?” Stewart looked at his watch. “I’m never going to get everything done at this rate.”

Charlie realized he had been dismissed, and started for the door.

“So, seven sharp then?” Stewart looked up from his papers and smiled. “We’ve got to be at a reception by eight, you’ll understand.”

“See you at seven.”

“Thanks again, Charlie.”

“My pleasure, sir.”

“It’s Michael.”

Charlie pulled into the driveway of the official residence and gave a friendly wave to the security guard, remembering that a little hut would soon be installed outside his own place, and that from then on, he, too, would officially be under diplomatic guard. It would feel strange, he thought, to have his very own guard. The guy outside the ambassador’s residence emerged from his hut looking decidedly drowsy, and Charlie wondered whether his arrival had interrupted an early-evening nap.

“He’s here for the dog,” came a woman’s voice from the direction of the house. Charlie turned to see Katherine Stewart standing by the open door as the guard gave a lethargic wave and returned to his post.

“This is so good of you, Charlie,” she said, as he arrived at the door. She tilted her head to the side and narrowed her eyes before adding: “I certainly hope Michael didn’t pressure you to do this, because that just wouldn’t be …”

“Of course not,” Charlie lied. “I love dogs.”

As if on cue, Stewart stepped aside and Charlie heard the sound of barking and claws skittering across tile. He stood there frozen in place, with a grin pasted to his face and his guts clenched in fear as the big lab careened toward him.

“There’s my big baby!” Stewart said, grabbing the dog by the collar at the last second, intercepting its lunge at the doorstep.

“Hi, Teddy,” Charlie said, trying very hard to keep the wobble out of his voice as he removed his hands from over his crotch, where they had instinctively wandered, and extended one toward the dog, as though over a vat of bubbling nuclear waste. “Good boy.”

Letting the dog go, Stewart looked on with a smile as Teddy lurched forward, sniffing Charlie and wagging his tail furiously as he emitted a series of grunts and barks.

“Look, he adores you,” she said, just as the dog’s sniffing zeroed in on Charlie’s groin.

“Ah, there you are.” Michael Stewart arrived at the door just as Teddy was completing his inspection of Charlie’s privates. “José’s bringing his things around,” he added, looking at his watch.

“So, Charlie,” Mrs. Stewart said, “I take it Michael’s told you everything?”

Charlie looked to the ambassador, who was ready to jump in.

“Yeah, so he gets one of the big scoops a day of the dry food, and a half can of the other stuff, and he goes through a couple of bowls of water a day.”

“And whatever you do,” Mrs. Stewart added as the gardener appeared with a wheelbarrow laden with an enormous bag, a case of dog food, some bowls, and a blue rubber bone, “don’t let him outside.”

Charlie nodded, then realized the implications of this information. “You mean if I take him for a walk?”

“I mean, at all,” Mrs. Stewart said, the smile gone from her delicate features. “There’s a long lead that you can stake down in your backyard for when he does his business, but other than that, he’ll be inside.”

I have to keep this thing inside my house for the next two weeks?

“Don’t worry,” the ambassador added quickly. “He’s house-trained.”

Charlie stepped out into the driveway to open the trunk of his car and, while the gardener loaded the food and para­phernalia, Stewart clipped the leash onto the dog’s collar.

“Thanks again, Charlie. We’d really better hurry, Katherine.”

“No problem,” Charlie mumbled, opening the back door and watching the dog leap in. It occurred to him that the tan fabric inside his recently arrived car might not be the best choice for chauffeuring animals.

“And don’t forget to take him out at least three times a day,” Katherine Stewart said, standing by the car as Charlie got in.

“But he’s house-trained, right?”

“Oh, yes. It’s just … better that way.”

Is the fucking dog house-trained or not?

“Bye, Teddy,” she said with a wave, as Charlie pulled away. The dog had jumped into the front seat before he had left the driveway.

“Down, boy,” Charlie said, looking around the mass of fur for oncoming traffic and trying to ignore the smell of putrefying meat coming from Teddy’s panting mouth.