Let Life Intervene

By Ralph G Hellman

After quite some time and a bit of wobbling, John had made a crucial decision: he was going to leave Madrid after more than 20 years abroad and go back to Stockholm. There were plenty of reasons for this monumental step: a divorce, no real job, and a daughter in New York; nothing kept him there anymore.
A fascinating rollercoaster voyage begins when he is hired as a private eye, searching for money launderers and tricksters, unravelling mysteries of gambling on the internet, travelling like a rover between Madrid, Hong Kong, Stockholm, London, and Paris, bumping into women, while discovering his father was a former spy at MI6.
As any man, John is a distilled version of many things: a sportsman, a father, an optimist, a man of reading who perhaps seems more intelligent than he actually is, but nonetheless a good asset, when there are new frontiers to explore, with a potential future in politics.
Amazed by life’s uncertainty, he believes if he had the guts to leave his country, he must have the courage to come back, let the wind take him and let life intervene. He is navigating the Asian, Swedish, and Spanish cultures first-hand.
A feel-good read. The hero whirls into a tour de force of travel and business intrigue peppered with worldwide romantic adventures.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Mar 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9781035827145

Ralph G Hellman

A few years ago, I wanted to tell my story, my version of things so I wrote my memoirs, which gave rise to the idea of writing a novel. This ambition is now accomplished with this book and surprisingly a sequel is now in its finishing brushes. The intention is to write a trilogy. The struggle of writing is a fascinatingly spooky business, as Norman Mailer said, there are frustrating days without sparkling ideas in your head but you force yourself, you sit down in front of the computer and suddenly it appears and you think you have put together a splendid combination of words nobody had ever said so well or thought of and that that is happiness. Like whooshing down a cross-court forehand, wrong-footing your opponent or gliding down a snowy slope in splendid isolation and silence. As a reader, I dabble between deep intellectual stuff to the frivolous, books about history or contemporary novels. I was born in Stockholm, went to Madrid at the age of twenty-five to study Spanish a few months. One thing led to another and I found a job, got married, lived seven in years in Barcelona, found another job and went back to Madrid where I still live. My line of work was always in trading and commercialising different products, which has taken me hectically travelling all over Europe and China. A life of sports including official honorary posts, in particular tennis, ski and football, lately I have taken up golf. I love to go and visit Stockholm, feel the air, meet friends, taste the food and just be there and maybe, I’ll be back.

Book preview

1

John opened the door and got the willies when he saw two policemen.

There had been a decisive knock on John’s door and now, these representatives of the authority wondered if he was John Sherman.

You are John Sherman no?

Absolutely yes.

We have an order from the local court number fifteen in Madrid to embargo a car, a Volvo S 80 with the registration number GFK 4380.

My ex-wife, John mumbled.

It’s yours then? asked one of them.

Seems there is a court decision according to a legal complaint for not having paid the maintenance two months as of last year and some miscellaneous of legal fees.

This is absurd, it’s already paid, long ago.

Maybe so but we have the order from the judge to collect the car.

I have the receipts and it’s paid as I just said. I can show it.

Seems it hasn’t reached the court and therefore we are going to proceed to take your car.

I have to talk to my lawyer.

Okay, but I’m sorry we must embargo your car.

Sorry? He is sorry he says, wow.

That woman never stops, this is one more of her many denouncements she could have stopped by informing her lawyer that it’s already paid and by that, stopping the legal process.

If you need to take your personal stuff you come down with us.

Once in the street a man with a tow-truck was indeed finishing his job to take John’s car away.

Brought up with a Swedish temperament, to have the police evicting your car was unsettling and troublesome business and his ex knew it. Her troubled mind had an unusual habit of timing her legal attacks and succeeding in freaking him out and sometimes, scare the hell out of him, not to a complete break-down but with a wish to leave the whole thing, to escape and go where you could make a case to a court, who would listen to you, not a biased judge.

The few hearings with the judge, she had appeared weeping in a desolate state which tilted the scenery in her favour so when John had tried to explain himself, he had been advised by the judge: Make it short. Which made him stammer out arguments which never were received as accurate, only as evasive proofs of not paying the poor woman, which she definitely wasn’t. She had good money stacked in bank-accounts and elsewhere. Being a lawyer, she knew the tricks and made him look like a trickster in front of the court.

That the police had taken his car was only one of many actions taken by his ex-wife in her pursuit to destroy him mentally as by keeping their daughter from him, and constantly denouncing him for not paying the agreed maintenance. She had crafted a cunning scheme by paying fees of the private school, for trips and stuff where their daughter was inscribed without previous information. Then she proceeded in denouncing John for not paying those invoices that he was never even aware of actually existed. And as the judicial system was stagnant, it could take a year for John to be informed, therefore when it reached the court, it already smelled bad.

Her actions will weigh heavily against her in the final reckoning, he thought.

When the tow-truck had finished the job, taking away his car the, policemen said good-bye and left.

John called his lawyer, who as usual wasn’t available, and sent a text message about what had just happened.

If he still had any doubts about leaving Madrid and go back to Stockholm, this was it, this latest affront was the last straw. It only made things easier.

2

After having wobbled, John finally made his decision: he would go back to Stockholm after more than twenty years abroad.

There were many reasons for this determination; first of all, his longing for Sweden, then the divorce which had been a bad business and importantly, he didn’t have a real job, having been sacked a year ago. He was now his own entrepreneur, importing different products. As a matter of fact, nothing kept him in Madrid anymore.

It had come to what Forrest Gump said after running around: I’m going home.

He believed he should go back, be a full blood Swede from top to bottom, be part of the furniture, an insider, not an outsider.

Although there was nothing solid to go back to: he didn’t have any family there. His father died when he was nine. His mother died when he was nine-teen. After that last tragedy, he decided to try Madrid, and had stayed almost a life-time. These years abroad had taken its tool and reduced his Swedishness, transformed him through a cultural distillation, towards a new entity, to what exactly, wasn’t clear. Yet there was a yearning in him, to settle down in his home-country. In his belief, the network of friends was a good enough base for a sound beginning. His daughter Jessica could hopefully accompany him after her studies in New York at Columbia University.

3

There were things to do before leaving, like seeing his buddies and informing his ex-wife of his plans. Furthermore, he had to attend a reception at the embassy plus see his very good friend M.A. and play a last match at the tennis-club.

As the police had taken his car he took a taxi to the club. The club was situated in an affluent residential area just outside Madrid with imposing houses not scattered around by accident but all drawn by a social desire to live among the high-enders. The walls surrounding the houses were as high as the ambition to live there, with security-cameras, a reminder that if you had vile intentions you would be seen and in serious trouble, surely caught by a guardian or a mad dog or both. The vigilance gave a certain status to the houses and its owners. Hot shots in banking, hot singers and artists, Real Madrid footballers, and an occasional arms-dealer or the like, who had deserted South-America, vanishing from something, all hiding behind towering walls.

If you judge a club by the kind of cars in the parking-lot you become instantly aware of what kind of club we are talking about this wasn’t the average club.

It’s like when you get a wine-list into your hands in a restaurant and your eyes move to the prices, you know which kind of place you are in and wonder if you have the financial capacity to be there in the first place.

Entering this club for the first time, what catches your attention is that you are to digest a Bentley and its owner with the Bentley-look, or the ultra-new-perfectly-clean-top-range-Mercedes. By then, you begin to think stuff as your brain starts to make calculations of economical character.

Inside this resort there was a familiar atmosphere among members as between members and waiters, gardeners and whatever, with good vibes, at least on the face of it. One talked and chatted between master and servant, knew about each other’s families, eventual health-problems of a son who had gone or not gone to the University and so on. One didn’t touch money-issues whatsoever, a forbidden subject, not to be discussed between master and servant. It was not a distant apartheid but one knew its place—intimacy with limits. The waiters had become waiters by accident, not that they ever had wished to be, it had just happened, that was it, period. They interacted with members who spent their money at the club creating a job and income; capitalism at works, in harmony was the underlying thinking.

The club once had great ambitions, which had ultimately strayed and gone to sleep, languishing like sleeping beauty for the last thirty years. The director, when being told to re-furbish, or when an initiative to improve the image of the club, or upgrade the food, by so doing, getting more members, always had an excuse for not doing anything. It was a conservative club through and through. The members were people on the make, dynamic movers and shakers, not clearly defined but occupying complacent positions in business.

Anyway, here he was, in this huge garden-resort, sitting in what was called the Yellow Terrace with a splendid swimming-pool in full view, once considered the biggest of them all in Madrid. In another part, he saw the reddish clay tennis-courts, surrounded by pine-trees with heavy branches full of leaves.

There were gym-facilities, three bars, two restaurants designed in classical English style, all in all a perfect place for spending the day.

Strangely enough in this paradise-like resort, the average tennis-level was exactly that: average, some good players and some not so good. It was more of a social club, tennis came second.

After many years as a member John had concluded about the peculiar feature to the Spanish character was that you could play with a guy for twenty years, once a week and not really know what he was doing for a living. You only knew he worked in the bank, no precise data was given, only so if he was a real top-notch power-broker. In any case no one asked you and you didn’t tell yourself of your own doings. You only knew he or she was in insurance or had an agency of some sort.

4

It would be his last match in the Club’s internal competition, he was ranked number 12 and if he would win he would climb to the top-ten, which shouldn’t matter, as he was leaving but, being a fierce competitor, it did matter.

His opponent was a tricky player with a good first serve and strong backhand. After battling for almost two hours, the result looked good for John: he had won the first set 6-2 and now it was 5-4 in his favour.

He had the serve for what could be the last game.

John lost the first point by hitting an easy ball way out.

0-15.

First serve too long, second not good, got back a sliced short backhand and was wrong-footed.

0-30.

Nothing has changed, John thought, it’s still four points to take the game and the match, just focus. He was having the inner dialogue of a tennis-player.

Ace.

15-30.

Now, kick it.

His rival netted the ball.

30-30.

Two more points to go, serve on his forehand, bounce five times, focus, here we go.

The return was a failed drop-shot in the net.

Match-point, take it easy now, bounce the fucking ball, six times.

John kicked-served again, the ball bounced high on the guy’s backhand making the return too high, John rushed to the net and volleyed a winner.

After fighting it out on the courts, both players sat down in the shade at the terrace and chatted away about the ups and downs of the match with a beer in their hands, refilling exhausted and spent magnesium in their system while endorphins were being produced. As often happens, if you were the winner that day, you were graceful and generous in whatever there was to comment of this or that point. This day, the terrace was half-empty with only a few members enjoying the moment.

A waiter appeared.

Another beer Señor John? Looks we won today, didn’t we?

Yes, please.

Nothing else?

No thanks, just charge me when you can.

When you can was the nice way of saying give me the bill, without being perceived as harsh.

It’s possible a man of rational thinking and sound judgment wouldn’t consider what John was considering. The sun was shining, the birds were singing placidly, well not exactly but still, so why on earth leave all this? Why did he want to say cheerio to all this?

He wanted to go home, it was simple as that.

After a quick shower and a few good-byes, he left the club with a sad look.

Before this change-and big wheels-could be put into motion to settle down in Stockholm, he would go to Hong Kong for a possible job.

What looked too good to be true had randomly come about some weeks ago.

A newly created company with holdings in Europe and the Far-East was interested in his person and therefore he would go to discuss the finer points of a contract with the stock-holders in Hong Kong.

Whatever, the assignment looked good and it was understood he could be stationed, according to his choice, anywhere in Europe.

For John it was a win-win. Lately he had been doing business with China and Hong Kong and had a few pending orders to overlook plus a proposal of his to do towards his supplier, which could be coordinated the same time as the new job-offer.

After that visit, not exactly a stop-over, he planned to visit his daughter and they could exchange views about his re-immigration. Whether this would please his daughter was another question.

Taking decisions alleviates the mind, he had read somewhere as he noticed a current new excitement while mentally preparing his trip back to Stockholm.

If he had the courage to leave at the time, he ought to have the bravery to go back were his thoughts every now and then.

5

At first glance he seemed to be more intelligent than he actually was. Not that he was stupid, in fact he was bright and even quite knowledgeable. He carried an inborn enthusiastic optimism, which made him generally well-liked and attractive. Those features were good assets, especially when there were new frontiers to explore in his professional life. It had saved the day in many occasions. The flaw was that this optimism made him hasty at times and could cause problems, as he threw himself into things without being fully prepared when planning was required and ought to be on the menu.

Born an optimist and not searching for glitches in a scheme, he would push forward, which often had good results making progress out of nothing. Making preparations, research and following up was irksome and tedious for him, not because he was lazy, it disrupted his disposition.

If there was any truth in astrology, he was a perfect Aries with a combative rashness and haste in his work-style. At times he lacked solid knowledge and the results wouldn’t turn up as good as expected. Not reckless, but without detailed and careful planning, these quirks of his could make the hills very steep to climb.

However, thanks to this personality he was often considered the perfect commercial sales-man. As a result, he was sent away on missions to places or countries like Poland, Italy or France when the company he happened to work for needed to inject optimism and improve sales. A front-man raising morale when head-office didn’t feel comfortable why not send someone who was crazy enough to fight against the wind? Due to this makeup of his, he wasn’t approached about strategy or offered a place to a board of weight, it was representative positions that came to him and those he did well. The enthusiasm he brought to the table would impress as his demeanour of rugged charm suggested someone to trust.

The decision of leaving Madrid wasn’t quixotic, or an impulse of the day by a panic-stricken soul, who worried too much about eventual disasters, no he had been at crossroads, like Cesar at the Rubicon. No algorithms through predictive suggestions were involved, it was a sentiment, or maybe it was determined beforehand, he was wired to return.

He knew the flow of the rivers wouldn’t change or the clocks wouldn’t stop whatever way he took, but as a figure of speech, there had been a grill—paraphrasing Shakespeare; shall I or shall I not go home to Sweden? That had been the question. An ongoing query now settled as the world is a stage, therefore play as you like it.

6

He called his ex-wife, after all they had a child together and she ought to be informed about his plans.

I’m leaving for Sweden.

Long silence.

You are not serious.

John perceived this was pronounced with loathing, as if once again had annoyed her, given her something to be angry about.

Yes very much so, I am.

Does Jessica know this?

Not yet, I will go and see her soon.

Well good-luck then, no need to see each other.

They took my car yesterday, you should stop what you are doing, you know it’s paid.

She hung up.

Nothing would mellow that woman. What a bizarre conversation between two persons who had a daughter together and once upon a time had been a couple.

She had gone quite mad when he wanted out and had pursued him at every possible stage, until two things had happened; one was their daughter told her firmly to stop and threatened to cut their relation forever if she continued her rampage. The car-issue must have been in the queue of slow justice administration. John hadn’t visualised that she could run wild when he had first met his ex-wife, or that she had an inner rage which would consume her, this bipolarity of hers. Her biggest mistake was that it was never really clear if her family was more important to her than their marriage, not cutting a piece of the emotional umbilical cord. Too frequently her siblings were present during their marriage, creating a gulf between them.

The second thing was extra-ordinary, she, his ex-wife had met a guy who was from the right family, right background and a bank-account that didn’t leave any doubt of the size; it was XXL.

She had married this man, who in John’s mind, after having met him briefly didn’t seem to be the lightning rod in the dark: he was simply a provider of financial stock, bringing home the bacon, without effort and no sweat. The guy apparently withdrawn and lacking any feasible social talents.

According to his daughter, this led to his ex-wife’s attentions were re-concentrated from John to diversions like traveling, instead of fighting him, spending her new husband’s money recklessly.

7

Two days before leaving for Hong Kong there was an event at the Embassy. At these gatherings, a half-celebrity that no one knew about or heard of, was invited by the Embassy to play the piano, sing something from the old country, to justify the whole thing. To be invited was a proof and recognition of your presence in the upper echelons of the colony’s society, which caused an unspoken rivalry among the Swedes in Madrid, consisting of a mix of seekers of fortune, general adventurers, entrepreneurs of different qualities, and sent-out emissaries from big corporations. Are you not going to the embassy on Thursday? If you hadn’t the slightest idea what it was all about, you were out, at least temporarily for that evening. John wasn’t as excited as he had been when he first came to Madrid but he, as any, wanted to be a member of the flock, so there he went.

He had made it his habit to have a glass in a scrubby bar nearby before entering the embassy. The owner of the bar didn’t seem to care whether you were there or not. You couldn’t say he was fond of your presence, he just served what you asked for and that was that.

The embassy was a quite big, rather impressive mansion in the midst of Madrid, built over a hundred years ago. Well inside he took the stairs and saw many familiar faces. All the habitués were there added with some exceptions. He was welcomed by the ambassador who stood there as a chief-butler, like a Jeeves-figure, not really comfortable with his role as the Master of the Evening. He was neither smiling nor showing the social talent you would expect of an ambassador. His welcome was rather mechanical. He didn’t make you feel terribly welcomed by his bearing. Same as the owner of the bar he had just visited, you were just there, as a mere confirmation of a physical reality. After that short juncture with the ambassador, John went mingling.

Due to John’s aspect, he had a commanding presence according to some—not everybody approached him with ease, aside of the social animal Fredrik of course.

Fredrik approached all humans in the same manner, may it be Kings or any other living beings: he stumbled into people without hesitance and ambushed them with questions like:

How did the stock-market go today? And then added to rub in his dominance as of superior thinking: I saw Dow Jones got scary this afternoon. His forceful attack did impress people and took them aback. Or he could say, I heard your handicap was up again, pronounced with a wry grin of his. Not an easy come-back after such initials. As a consequence he got immediate and full attention thanks to a mixture of an assertive and aggressive approach to anyone who had the misfortune to come across his path. By now, John was used to this behaviour, so he knew how to handle it with ease. Of similar spirits when celebrating a good moment, they boisterously and boomingly shared a joke. Taller than the rest, standing together, they gave an air of satisfaction, as if they controlled the universe, no clouds where they happened to put their feet. And if something was going on in this world of theirs, they had it contained, which alienated people of less arresting makeup.

Fredrik was well liked but maybe not cherished, as he made people feel insecure by making it clear that their little lives were minor-league compared to his. Even the ambassador seemed to be impressed when he saw those two tall statues talking away about the matters of the day.

How is it going, any new orders?

Of course, every day. John gave him his best smile.

No unpaid invoices, as in the old days when we shared office?

Not today, but that was today of course, cracking as the salesman he was.

At that moment Hans approached them. Hans was an extraordinarily impeccable fellow, shrewd and judicious, who knew ‘everybody’ and was astonishingly knowledgeable. It was never clear if he was or had been a spy or whatever. He had been living all over the world, always in the thick of things. He had even had a stint in a prison one night in East-Berlin, who has done that? He had lived many years in New York and worked for the UN.

What are you two talking about?

Bottoms. Have you seen that ass over there? Not much to hang in the Christmas-tree, is it?

They both looked and saw what Fredrik was referring to. Yes, it sure was a bottom of big dimensions.

This was standard Fredrik. He could blend and fuse any kind of conversation in a flash of a second, from the political situation to basic matters of steamy sex supplemented with a joke. John was a good audience laughing like crazy at his jokes.

Fredrik was industrious in his output of jokes. He could talk without stopping or pauses of many differentiated matters. Furthermore, he was probably the best speaker at dinner-parties John had ever met. At every gathering, he would hit his glass decisively with a fork and there was immediate silence as all eyes set on him. He knew how to tell a story and make people laugh like no one else. His demeanour was of complete control in any situation. Through the years John thought he would eventually relax and mellow, but no, he did continue as an unbeatable spirit at all moments and places.

Must move on, he said after their chitchat and burst away to another victim of his rashness. He only left when he spotted someone else to raid.

You come tomorrow?

Of course, somebody has to tell the jokes, and he was off.

After a while John was approached by the Ambassador, who took him aside.

Can I have a chat with you for a few minutes?

After some generalities of this and that he came to the point.

Any free time at your disposal?

Well yes, being a kind of consultant isn’t a fulltime occupation.

That I take as a yes?

At this moment, I’m on my own, so yes, I mean I do import and distribute packaging products.

From somewhere in particular?

From Italy and China.

And it gives you a good living?

Not as before in the sense that I have no fixed income, I depend on my own capacity and cunning to find out where the good suppliers are but fortunately I’ve a good chunk of clients who seem to appreciate my existence.

I was thinking about you, you are a member of the Spanish Tennis Federation and Tennis Europe? You might be interested in a matter of some delicacy, therefore, please keep it secretly what I’m going to talk to you about, as we both might know the persons involved.

Strange introduction for an Ambassador, but okay thought John, and didn’t say anything while staring at the ambassador’s left eye he had learned gave the impression that you were paying full attention.

"There are strong rumours that Swedes living in Marbella are involved in a gambling-scheme and operating in Spain and elsewhere, a digital betting-thing which I don’t really understand much about. It seems that someone postpones the result at a given moment and if you let someone know, who actually won that point, someone has maybe 30 seconds or a minute to bet on a point, as someone now knows what actually happened. That somebody has the information on a specific point makes his bets safe," he said.

Many someone’s and somebody’s he thought.

I’ve heard about a trip where a friend’s friend entertained themselves well. One of those Swedish gambling companies invited him to Åland and with hotshots from Atlético de Madrid, as a result a few months later there were suddenly advertisements about gambling all over the place. That kind of trips where there are lots of women around the clock and everything is free if you follow me, but that wasn’t tennis, it was gambling on football results.

"Sounds interesting, the thing is I’ve been asked in Sweden if I could offer them some food for thought about this. Not that it’s a standard inquiry for me but as I worked in the secret world before I became an ambassador and it looks there are Swedes living in Spain that are involved, they have consulted me about it."

I might ask around a bit if it helps you.

They seem to work on global scale.

No wonder, these digital devises are capable of anything.

Are you going to Sweden in the near future?

Actually I am, first I have pending business in Hong Kong and then Stockholm in about ten days.

Why don’t we meet there then? I mean in Stockholm.

Okay, do you have my number?

After they had traded numbers, John said goodbye to the ambassador and left a la Francesa or as an Irish goodbye, which is not saying adieu to anyone in particular, in order to avoid having to explain his departure and left the embassy, wondering what on earth he could do with regards to gambling-thugs or whatever they were.

This life of his in Madrid will cease to exist soon, he thought with sadness as he went down the stairs. His monumental decision of leaving Madrid was weighing on him. He hadn’t been foresighted enough to understand that you can’t have it both ways and this made him anxious.

8

Before leaving, he had to see his good friend M.A. A friendship that had begun through tennis and had eventually evolved into a profound union; they had gone through thick and thin. What they didn’t have in common physically they had when inner or abstract thoughts were on the plate, despite coming from very different origins. Basic values travelled on similar tracks and converged. If a crisis of any kind would surface, complete loyalty was expected, like brothers-in-arms. Their paths didn’t collide, they went in parallel and together in need.

M.A. was the prototype of a pure Latin, darkish with traits like a southern Italian, whereas John had features of clear Nordic provenance. Their tennis encounters weren’t only about playing tennis; it included lunch and sharing stuff. After many years of hitting balls together, they had come to the conclusion, there was no need to play a match for the sake of winning. It was to a greater extent the pleasure of playing with a friend. Therefore they ended up only playing some tie-breaks without too much fuss, always gentlemanlike conceding points in case of doubts.

This time they played for an hour, looking forward to the upcoming lunch. A quick shower, and off they went to a restaurant with too many tables for the existing space, generating a hurried rashness. It was organised disorder functioning splendidly. They could barely get a table in the bar. The design was not by purpose—there simply was no design. What was there was out of necessity, it had just happened. There was the typical bar, with the beer-dispenser in the middle, a coffee-machine, plenty bottles of alcohol close to the wall and the inevitable Spanish ham.

Do you want a beer?

No, I’ll take a glass of Alvariño, the beer takes away my hunger.

I start with beer.

The waiter behind the bar was too short or the bar was too high, you couldn’t see him almost. He served them quickly while their table was arranged and M.A. gulped down his caña.

M.A. was a man with a great personality that made him known wherever he went. He never came through as a nobody. He had a magnetic presence due to an animalistic manner mixed with charm.

Every time they went together to a bar or restaurant, there was an initial debate: where to sit, could it be over here or over there. After entering, waiters sighted him immediately and approached him with respect, listening to whatever he had to say about some minor detail they hadn’t thought of upon his arrival.

We need a table.

Yes of course.

For two.

This was pronounced loud and clear as if the waiter didn’t hear well. The