“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