Mary Dear - Redux Page 16

  Elliott sat down but no sooner had Peter disappeared than he went straight up to the reception desk where he asked to speak with Miss Natalia. The receptionist said he had just missed her. Elliott looked flustered and told her he had arrived late for a first meeting and was so sorry he’d missed her. He asked if there was any way he could contact her and gave the receptionist his best imploring look. The receptionist thought, one more poor sap but said that, since he already had an appointment, she supposed it would be all right if she gave him Miss Dzhabrailova’s mobile number. Elliott had struck lucky and went back to the waiting room, picked up a catalogue and leafed through it waiting for his friend to return.

  The next morning, and after a few phone calls to the right people had given him some background information on Natalia, Elliott decided to make the all important call. He fully expected to get blown out of the water but...what is it they say? Faint heart never won fair maiden; so he thought, well. here goes nothing...

  ‘Natalia Dzhabrailova, who’s speaking?’ The voice had a faint Slavic overtone.

  ‘Elliott Shepherd, I’ve been recommended to you by a business acquaintance,’ and Elliott mentioned a name he knew she’d know because Tom, his favourite Sotheby’s commissionaire, had told him he was a regular client of hers.

  ‘How is Sir James Shelton?’

  ‘He’s well, I think....I don’t know him as a friend, really—more business you know...’ and she knew what he meant all right, Natalia could tell a scam a mile off and this one was not even a good one.

  ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘Well, it’s complicated. Could we meet? I’d feel better speaking face to face.’ After a moment’s hesitation and curious to see where this might lead she said, ‘All right, we could meet at Sotheby’s tomorrow. I am there in the morning.’

  ‘Sorry to be so mysterious but I’d prefer somewhere a little more private. Do you know the Polo Bar at the Westbury? It’s just across the road in....’

  ‘Sure, shall we say eleven?’

  ‘That’s perfect, thank you.’ She hung up. When Elliott clicked off his mobile he had a smile on his face like the proverbial Cheshire cat.

  Natalia put her Nokia back in her handbag. She was amused and intrigued. Who was this Elliott Shepherd? She was used to men hitting on her and wondered if that’s what this was. Curiosity got the better of her and she turned up for her meeting at the Westbury seven minutes late, just long enough to make him wonder if he’d been stood up. She looked around the bar and noticed Elliott at a table by the window just as he saw her and stood up to go greet her. From the relatively short distance that separated them, Elliott could see that his initial attraction had not been misplaced.

  Natalia was 5’8’ tall, with shoulder length black hair, fair complexion, a heart-shaped face with startlingly black eyebrows rising in thick arcs above slanting eyes of the palest blue; a slightly upturned nose and a faint, tiny scar above her top lip, a remnant from a childhood accident, that contrived to make her mouth all the more desirable. She smiled a friendly smile that animated her whole face and Elliott got the impression that, for a few seconds, the Polo Bar had actually got brighter.

  ‘Mr Shepherd, I presume?’

  ‘Miss Dzhabrailova,’ Elliott said smiling, ‘it’s a great pleasure to meet you and thank you for agreeing to see me at such short notice.’

  Natalia was wearing ballet pumps, a black leather jacket over a white silk blouse open at the neck showing a glimpse of white silk-lace bra covering her firm breasts. She wore blue skinny jeans that accentuated her long sexy legs.

  ‘Mr Shepherd, I must congratulate you on your pronunciation of my name. Have you been practicing?’ She seemed to be teasing.

  ‘Since we spoke on the phone,’ he said smiling, ‘but please, call me Elliott.’

  He led her to his table and could not help noticing that every male in the Polo Bar was trying his best not to look at her.

  The waiter came over and Natalia ordered a Vodka Martini, Elliott ordered the same and the waiter left leaving them a few moments to study each other waiting to see who would be first to break the silence. Then all at once they spoke together and the ice was broken amidst smiles and laughter.

  They had become firm friends who saw each other often and now, on a frosty November morning, Elliott found himself at the same Polo Bar waiting for Natalia to arrive which she did, right on time. Elliott went over to her and kissed her.

  ‘Natasha,’ he greeted her using the Russian informal version of her name, ‘you are more gorgeous every time I see you. How do you manage that?’

  ‘Flattery will get you nowhere,’ she said smiling her lovely bright smile as she sat down in the chair that Elliott held back for her.

  The Vodka Martinis arrived and Elliott told her what he had in mind for her special private collectors. When he finished she looked at him seriously.

  ‘There are one or two buyers worth considering for your Gold Lady and to them price will not be an issue. Just tell me when you’re ready and leave the rest to me.’

  Natalia left the Westbury and caught a cab to her London flat in Pont Street. She needed to be alone and think through what she had heard from Elliott. The moment he’d told her, an idea had leapt into her mind about a way to solve a very persistent problem. A problem that started early in 2006 when she was approached by a gentleman from Scotland Yard. He had been monitoring Natalia’s activities in pursuit of her sideline and told her that he was interested in some of her connections and one person in particular. He explained to her that her life could be made considerably harder if she chose not to cooperate or, as he put it, do her civic duty, so she cut a deal whereby the fraud squad agreed to leave her pretty much alone in exchange for her assistance in the matter of Esteban Blanco. Getting the bloodhounds at Scotland Yard off her back, however, would mean an act of serious disloyalty to her friend that she knew Elliott would not forgive her for. Disloyalty was not one of her failings. There had to be a way out. She just needed more time to think.

  Chapter Twelve

  Esteban Blanco loved women. He met them, wined them, dined them, bought them expensive presents and, of course, he fucked them. He’d fucked more women than he could count but he’d never made love to a single one. Come to that, he’d never been in love.

  He was driving back to La Cañada in his Grand Cherokee when he spotted her by the side of the road, a redhead back-packer in shorts and hiking boots, she looked like an American. He pulled over by her side, wound down the window and gave her a big smile.

  ‘Where you going?’

  ‘Armenia,’ she said, setting her rucksack down for a moment.

  ‘I can give you a ride as far as Manizales if you like?’

  She thought about it for a moment, she’d accepted lifts in the country before and everyone had been kind and friendly. He looked respectable so she said thanks, put her bag in the back seat and got in.

  ‘Have you been visiting friends in Medellin?’

  ‘No,’ she replied, ‘I don’t know anyone there. I’m just visiting your lovely country for a year and travelling around South America. I came with two friends of mine from Ireland who spent Christmas with me but they’ve gone back home.’

  ‘Travelling alone can be a bit dangerous,’ he said.

  ‘So some people say but everyone’s been very kind.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. So, why are you going to Armenia?’

  ‘I’ve heard there are some really beautiful places to see there, big ranches and coffee plantations.’

  ‘You interested in farming?’

  ‘I was raised on a small farm on the outskirts of Dublin, a place called Brittas Bay in County Wicklow.’

  ‘I have never been to your country but it must be very beautiful.’

  ‘What makes you say that, if you’ve never been?’ she said smiling.

  ‘Well, for a start, they have very beautiful women there.’

  ‘Are all Latin men like you?’ she said. ‘Alway
s paying compliments?’ She felt herself blushing and, to cover up her embarrassment added, ‘I’m Cathleen by the way’.

  ‘Hola Cathleen, it’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m Esteban, and no, we’re not all the same.’

  She was pretty and self-assured. Esteban had never met anyone from Ireland, man or woman, come to that, and never encountered anyone quite like her before.

  Cathleen was a BAgrSc graduate from The Faculty of Agriculture at University College Dublin on her gap year before going home to work in the family farm. She was interested in South America and had chosen Colombia as the place to start her tour.

  ‘Why don’t you let me be your guide for today? I could show you around my farm. I grow coffee and have some cattle too. You might find our farming methods interesting.’

  ‘I’m sure of that but you must have more important things to do.’

  ‘On a Sunday?’

  ‘I’d forgotten what day it is. I’ve completely lost track of time,’ she said laughing.

  From the moment he’d stopped and spoken to her, Cathleen decided she liked Esteban. She was like that. She trusted her instincts and they had not let her down...so far. So she accepted his kind offer and they chatted on while he drove. The sun was up and the whirr of the air conditioning and the movement of the car were making her sleepy. She must have dozed off because when she awoke she found Esteban staring at her. The jeep wasn’t moving and had pulled into a clearing by a large, leafy tree.

  Cathleen felt a bit embarrassed for having dropped off and the way Esteban was looking at her wasn’t helping, ‘We there?’ She asked and stretched her arms to wake up.

  ‘No. I was getting a bit tired too and stopped for a rest. Want a cold beer?’

  Cathleen straightened her hair and sat up straight. She noticed Esteban eyeing her legs and felt a strange sensation. Esteban must have noticed it too because he smiled and pulled a beer from the fridge in the jeep and handed it to her.

  The cold liquid went down well as she drank from the bottle. She looked at Esteban and held his eyes. He slid towards her and pulled her face to him kissing her hard. Before she knew what was happening he was on her side and before either realized it they were kissing and making love. When it was over they looked at each other and before Esteban could say anything Cathleen said:

  ‘Well I guess that means we’re proper friends now,’ and she started laughing and giggling.

  ‘I guess we are at that!’ he said and he too laughed in a way he did not think he was capable of.

  A chance meeting with a total stranger and not a situation that had not arisen before, hell no, but not like this. Somehow, this felt different.

  ‘Look Cathleen, as I said, I live not far from here and if you haven’t got any special plans, how about I show you around?’

  ‘I’d love you to show me around,’ she said, and from the look on her face, she really meant it.

  When they arrived at La Cañada, Cathleen could not believe what she saw. They’d been on his land for a while. Just miles and miles of fertile land, grazing cattle and men on horseback—men and cattle—everywhere cattle, cattle and still more cattle. Then they drove through fields planted with row upon row of coffee trees that seemed to stretch on forever. Eventually they came to a large gatehouse. An armed guard greeted his boss respectfully while casting a furtive glance in her direction. Esteban said, ‘Buenos dias Pablo. Todo bien?’ The guard replied that all was well. Esteban exchanged a few more words with him in Spanish, said adios and drove on through. The road to the house was about a mile long and wound itself around large trees and colourful bushes. The air held the fragrant smell of ripe mangoes mixed with the smell of orchids growing wild by the edge of the road.

  ‘Esteban, this place, it’s enormous and so...so beautiful. Is it all yours?’

  ‘Yes. All mine, and my sisters too.’

  ‘And your wife’s...?’

  ‘No wife,’ he laughed, ‘just two sisters; you’ll meet them soon.’

  Cathleen moved into La Cañada in January 2001 and became great friends with Flor and Irene. She practised her Spanish and they their English—somehow they managed to understand each other. Cathleen loved to entertain them with stories about Ireland, the beautiful countryside, the shops, boys and, in short, everything that young women love to talk about. Esteban loved what was happening and began to experience a change in him. He smiled a lot and found less and less reasons to be angry and more and more reasons to be happy. He did not know what was happening. Of course, he had never been in love before.

  Cathleen waited until June before telling her parents about Esteban. Naturally they were concerned, what parent wouldn’t be? Cathleen was sensible and down-to-earth but she was in a strange country with strange customs and she could easily be hurt. She had kept in constant contact with them but had managed to avoid telling her parents about any romantic entanglement, preferring to keep to safe subjects like the friends she’d made and the places she’d visited. Six months on and still at La Cañada, she felt the need to be straight with her parents and when, on the anniversary of their meeting, Esteban proposed, she accepted gladly. He had taken her on his private jet to Peru. He wanted to show her Machu Picchu, and chose the Pre-Colombian Inca site as the place he would ask Cathleen to be his wife. He joked that he felt he’d died and gone to heaven and that this place, over 2000 metres above sea-level was the closest place to heaven that he knew. It was the perfect setting for an incurable romantic and Cathleen was swept off her feet.

  Esteban arranged a spectacular wedding. The 9/11 attacks had made headlines around the world and Cathleen’s mum, who was particularly scared of flying, wasn’t happy getting on a commercial flight. Esteban told Cathleen not to worry and sent his jet to Dublin airport to collect her parents, her sister Claire and two of her closest friends to bring them back to Colombia for the wedding.

  Saturday, 22nd December 2001 was the date Cathleen and Esteban chose for their romantic wedding. The guest list was amazing—there were Colombian politicians and American businessmen with their wives and even one or two famous faces from Hollywood who had made the trip to be with the happy bride and groom. The O’Hara’s were mightily impressed and thought the whole event had been grand. They could not wait to see the photographs and to show them to their friends in Ireland.

  Nine months later Esteban and Cathleen’s daughter, Esperanza, was born.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Since he learned that the treasure of the Gold Train could be lying at the bottom of the sea, Elliot had been vexed by the problem of how to rescue it from its watery grave. He had to admit that he was out of his depth in more ways than one. What he needed was specialist advice. He’d considered asking Natalia for her help more than once. She was well connected and she was a friend. On an impulse he dialled her number.

  ‘Natasha, I’ve got something I’d like to discuss with you,’ he said when she picked up his call, ‘Would it be possible for us to meet?’

  ‘Now that’s a coincidence, I’ve been meaning to call you. As it happens, I too have something I need to talk over with you. When were you thinking of meeting?’

  ‘Soon as possible,’ he replied, and asked, ‘Where are you now?’

  ‘I’m driving, just coming out of Richmond Park on my way to London.’

  ‘Well, there’s no time like the present. Why don’t you wait for me in Richmond Green, just opposite the theatre, I can be there in forty minutes or so—we can have a drink and a chat. How’s that sound?’

  She said fine and he left Oriel’s where he’d just finished lunch. Elliott headed off to catch the tube from Sloane Square. He got to platform 1 in time to catch a Richmond, District Line train and jumped on board just as the loud Jamaican voice coming over on the PA was saying: ‘Mind the closing doors.’

  Natalia parked her car on a meter and sat on a park bench opposite Richmond Theatre. She was reading a programme she’d found on the bench that was advertising Tim Supple’s Indian production of A
Midsummer Night’s Dream, she thought it would be worth seeing. She looked at her watch, and she’d been there half an hour; Elliott should not be long. When she looked up, she saw him making his way over to her from the direction of the station.

  ‘Hi Natasha; been waiting long?’

  ‘Not really, about half an hour,’ she said, ‘you were quick.’

  ‘I was lucky. Got a tube straight away. Let me buy you a drink,’ he said, ‘I know a pub on the square that’s quite nice.’

  They got to The Princes Head overlooking the green and Natalia went to get a seat outside while Elliott got the drinks. He came out holding two beers and joined her.

  ‘Cheers!’ he said touching his glass to hers’.

  ‘Cheers, she replied, ‘so what’s so important you need to talk to me today?’

  Elliott explained that he was involved in a marine salvage operation and the fact that the sort of equipment he needed was more specialized than what was readily available in normal scuba diving shops.

  ‘I need some specialist equipment. Really bespoke I mean and I thought you might know someone...discreet, that you could recommend.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll see what I can do,’ she said, ‘but why someone...discreet?’

  ‘Fair question,’ he said, ‘remember the Gold Virgin I told you about? I’ve located her and, well...I don’t want to have to give answers to awkward questions. Fair enough?’

  ‘Fair enough. What makes you think I can help?’

  ‘Don’t be modest. You’re well connected. Better than me for sure. Even if you can’t help, you probably know someone who can. Besides we’re friends and I thought I’d start with you, okay?’

  Natalia considered this, it was a situation she was familiar with and one she had often had to deal with. ‘Okay. I think know just the man. I’ll set up a meeting soon, I promise.’

  ‘Fine. Thank you,’ he said, ‘I really appreciate it. Now, what did you want to talk to me about?’