What Tomorrow Brings

by Mary Fitzgerald

  ‘This is Elena,’ said Amyas. ‘She is a deserter, like Charlie. I’ve brought them both out.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  SILENCE LAY LIKE a heavy blanket over the stone hut, and the four figures within could have been actors in a mimed tableau. Charlie, lying helplessly on the trestle bed; the girl, Elena, standing to the side, her dark brown eyes flashing with what seemed like suppressed anger; me, now slumped exhausted on the floor beside Charlie, and Amyas, looking as calm and as amused as ever, leaning against the frame of the open door.

  He was the first to speak. ‘Well, that’s another fine mess you’ve got me into.’ His Laurel and Hardy impersonation designed to lighten the atmosphere didn’t work with everyone. I was too tired to respond, but Elena snorted her disgust and spat ‘¡capullo!’, a word I didn’t know but assumed was an insult. Amyas laughed at this and from his bed Charlie gave a weak chuckle.

  I yawned. ‘What are we going to do?’

  ‘Nothing, tonight,’ Amyas said. ‘It’s too late, too dark and too dangerous. Tomorrow, we’ll get out of here.’

  I nodded and looked around the hut. My eyes had adjusted to the gloom and I could see a fireplace, empty save for a pile of grey wood ash and, apart from the trestle bed where Charlie lay, no other furniture. It was simply a hut, where a shepherd and possibly, judging by the smell, his sheep could spend a night; nothing more. I peered at the shadowy stone walls and at the bare rafters above. ‘Is there a lamp or something?’ I asked. The hut was very gloomy, the last ray of sunlight having dropped behind the mountain. I could see a section of sky through the open door; a triangle of exhausted pale blue, painted with ragged streaks of red and purple cloud. Soon this exquisite light would disappear too and then complete darkness would descend.

  ‘We could make a fire,’ Charlie murmured. ‘It would give both light and heat.’

  ‘Are you cold?’ I asked, concerned. Turning, I put out my hand to feel his.

  ‘No. Not really.’ He rumbled a cough and then gave an involuntary groan. I knew that his wound must hurt.

  ‘A fire would give us away,’ said Amyas. ‘But then, does it matter? I’m sure the locals know where we are, and I think that the soldiers have left by now. They won’t want to stay here overnight.’ He straightened up. ‘I’ll go down to the village to check and try and get us some food, too.’ He started to walk across the grass towards the sheep track, then stopped and called over his shoulder, ‘Persephone. Come with me.’

  Oh, I wanted to go. No matter how tired I was, I wanted to be alone with him, to hold his hand and perhaps to stop on the sheep track, hidden in the trees and slide into his arms and feel his body next to mine. He was like a drug that had been denied me and now he was here, emitting the same fascination and still utterly desirable. But I could hear Charlie breathing heavily behind me. ‘No,’ I said. ‘I’ll stay with Charlie and . . .’ I peered at Elena’s angry face, ‘this girl.’

  ‘All right.’ I felt a small pang of disappointment at the ease with which he accepted my refusal and frowned as I watched him through the open door, until he disappeared from sight.

  ‘You should have gone with him,’ said Charlie.

  ‘Should I?’

  ‘Of course. You know you wanted to.’

  ‘I’m working,’ I said. ‘I should be with my boss.’

  He smiled at that and made an effort to sit up. ‘Christ, I need to pee,’ he grunted. In the ten minutes I’d been with him I thought he’d started to look a bit better. More in control. Perhaps it was the responsibility of being a boss.

  I got up. ‘I’ll take you outside. Can you stand?’

  Elena moved from her place by the wall. ‘I help him, too,’ she said and between us we gently lifted Charlie upright and walked him outside.

  ‘Lean me against that tree,’ he muttered, ‘and have the grace to turn your back.’ I did, but Elena, not caring about the niceties, watched his every movement. She was a striking girl, young, still not twenty, I thought, and not as tall as me, but lithe and strong-looking. Even the bulge that was her unborn child seemed in proportion and she carried it easily, without a hint that it was a burden.

  ‘When is your baby expected?’ I asked. I spoke in French, sure that she would understand me. She did.

  She shook her head. ‘He comes today, tomorrow, I don’t know. I think, this month or next.’ Looking at her, I thought, that’s all we bloody need. But I was determined to be positive and I stuck out my hand. ‘I’m Seffy Blake, Charlie’s assistant. How do you do?’

  She looked surprised but took my hand. ‘Elena Beltrán. I am lead recruiter for Spanish Republicans in Paris. But now, I am fighter.’ She paused, her face angry and sad. ‘That is, I was fighter – now I am deserter.’

  ‘You can’t fight with a baby so close to being born,’ I offered, trying to be kind, but she snorted.

  ‘I can fight. It is men who will not let me. They say I must make food for people in the hospital. The priest says I am wicked for having baby without husband and must go home.’ She gave a dismissive laugh. ‘I do not care what the priest says. I have no home and my parents are dead. Besides, I am communist. I am for the people, not the Church.’

  I should have found her amusing, and if I had been Xanthe I would have given a tinkling laugh and disregarded her as common. Elena’s opinions were so fixed and so extreme and they did sound odd coming from the mouth of such a pretty young girl. Instead of being amused I found that I felt sorry for her. She was alone and expecting a child, but facing her future courageously.

  ‘Well, good luck,’ I said and smiled at her. She frowned. Perhaps she wasn’t used to people being nice to her, or perhaps she doubted that I would be.

  ‘I don’t believe in luck,’ she snapped.

  ‘I’m done,’ Charlie muttered. Glad to escape this impossible conversation, I turned and took his arm. Elena, still simmering with rage, grabbed his other one, but he winced in pain and she snatched her hand away. ‘I’m all right, thanks,’ he said. ‘Seffy can manage me.’

  She nodded and walked further into the trees as I helped Charlie back to the hut. ‘She’s a bit feisty,’ I said with a smile.

  ‘Christ, yes. She’s a holy terror. They picked the wrong person to upset and once she’s had that kid, she’ll go straight back to the fight . . . if there’s any fighting still to be done.’

  Back in the hut, with Charlie sitting on the bed, and me on the floor beside him, I asked about his experience with the Brigade.

  ‘Christ, it was hell,’ he started. ‘At first, when we got to Albacete, we were locked in the barracks while we had weapons training and political lectures.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘As far as I could see the lectures were as important to the leaders as the training. It was really tough, though, and the people who ran the camp were quite harsh. They were always looking for infiltrators and I was scared most of the time. I think they suspected me right from the start. But they drafted me into an English-speaking battalion and I was sent up north to fight. It took days, in the back of lorries and marching through back roads and we were short of food, too. We ended up here in Catalonia, I can’t remember the name of the place, but it will be in the records for when I come to write about it.’ He gave an involuntary shiver and with a shaking hand tentatively rubbed his injured shoulder. His eyes were wide with pinpoint pupils when he said, ‘And, Blake, guess what? I was shot on the first day of action. My terrible war was over in one day and d’you know? I was glad.’

  I put my hand over his. I had no words of comfort, but he held on to it as if he’d never let it go. The normal controlled person that I knew Charlie to be, the twinkly-eyed chief reporter, internationally regarded and respected, seemed lost and beset by his memories. I searched for something to say that would cheer him up, bring him back to the man I knew, but I couldn’t think of anything sensible. So I smiled at him and muttered, ‘I’m just happy to see you here.’

  There was a noise at the door as Elena came back inside and we wat
ched her as she sat again by the empty fireplace. Why did Amyas come into my head as I looked at her? I swallowed and asked quietly, ‘What happened next? How did Amyas rescue you?’

  Charlie gave an astonished laugh. ‘Now we come to the strange part. I was lying in a filthy field hospital and she,’ he nodded to Elena, ‘was there. Bringing water and bits of food to the patients. Then these political commissars turned up and started asking who I was, what did I do in civilian life and where I’d come from. I fobbed them off as best I could and thought I’d got away with it, but that night, out of the blue, Amyas appeared. “They’re on to you,” he said. “We’d better get you out.” And with that, he pulled me out of bed, slung me over his shoulder and walked out of the camp. He had a car outside and to add to my amazement, Elena was sitting in it, waiting for him.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I think that her being there was a surprise to him too, but you know how he is, he pretends it’s all a game.’ He took a deep breath, groaning with the effort, and it was a moment before he got over the pain.

  I sat quietly, taking it all in. Strange things do happen in war, but even so, Amyas? In a war zone? It was so unlikely because, with Mrs Cartwright’s money, he could have gone anywhere. Enjoyed himself at the casinos, latched on to a more attractive, wealthier, widow. Or come to me. He knew I’d have taken him back, any time. I’d have given the world to have him back and I closed my eyes, remembering those magical nights in Cornwall. I could almost smell the salt coming in on the wind and see the stars twinkling in a midnight-blue sky.

  I was brought down to earth when Charlie spoke again. ‘We drove to Sort and holed up there. It’s not very far from here. Amyas sent the telegram to Geoff for me, but while he was at the post office, Elena heard that the army was on its way, so we decided to move here – well, to this village. That’s when he sent the telegram for you to come and get me. I thought it would be easy for you to get through the border, no problem, hire a car or something.’ He looked at my exhausted face and at the scratches on my legs which I was examining. Some of them were turning septic. ‘Not so easy, eh?’

  I shook my head. ‘The border’s closed. I came over the mountain but I don’t think you will be able to go back that way. It took us two days and there was some climbing involved.’

  ‘Us?’

  I realised then that I hadn’t thought about Paul for hours and my stomach curdled, remembering how dreadful he’d looked when I left him. ‘Yes,’ I answered, hesitantly. ‘I came with Paul Durban. D’you remember him? He said he knew you.’

  ‘Yes, I remember him. He’s very young, very driven. Gets involved too easily but he’s a good reporter.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Where did you leave him?’

  I sighed. ‘He’s in the last village. Oh, Charlie, he fell yesterday when we were coming down the mountain. He seemed all right afterwards and then, suddenly, a few hours ago, he started going unconscious. I’ve left him in the care of the priest at Ribera de Cardós. They’ve sent for the doctor but . . . I don’t think he’s going to make it.’ I sighed, thinking of his young face and tear-filled eyes when he told me his terrible story, and then all at once I remembered the man with the co-respondent shoes. Where was he? Had he persuaded the hotel manager to reveal the contents of the telegram telling me to go to Llavorsí? I was sure that he had. And that meant he was here, somewhere, waiting for Paul.

  Charlie must have noticed the sudden stiffening in my back for he said, ‘What is it, Seffy? What’s up?’

  ‘Nothing.’ He didn’t need anything else to worry him. ‘Nothing,’ I repeated. ‘Goose walked over my grave, that’s all.’

  Elena got up and walked to the door. ‘He comes,’ she said and went outside.

  I got up too. ‘I suppose she wants to get to France, so that she can be with the baby’s father,’ I said.

  Charlie gave a sarcastic chuckle. ‘She doesn’t have to go that far. Sorry, Blake, but from what I gather, the father is right here.’

  It wasn’t such a shock, really. As soon as I’d heard her name I remembered Amyas talking about her when we were in bed in the Hotel Adlon. How she’d scared Percy, but not him because ‘he knew a way to tame her’. And this was the result. He’d spoilt her life.

  I should despise him, regard him as not worthy of my love, but the truth was, I didn’t feel any of those things. I just accepted it, as I did everything that was to do with Amyas. In my head, the high standards I had for myself and for everyone else I encountered simply didn’t apply to him. So when he walked in a few minutes later, with an orange box containing bread, cheese, grapes and a couple of bottles of wine, I smiled at him. Happy to see him, as always.

  ‘The soldiers have gone,’ he said. ‘The village knows we’re here, so yes, we can light a fire and I’ve brought a couple of candles.’

  It was a strange evening, sitting in that hut, with the greeny-yellow flames from the pinewood fire making shadows dance on the walls. Hungrily, we tore chunks from the bread and Amyas pulled out a flick knife from his pocket to cut up the cheese. He also had a folding corkscrew and opened the bottles of wine. It was one of the best meals I ever ate.

  I told them about coming over the mountains, how hard it had been, and that we’d stayed in a cave overnight. And as the wine and exhaustion took hold, I found myself blurting out to them about Paul and the village massacre. Then I told them what he’d done.

  Charlie frowned. ‘That’s not good,’ he said. ‘No matter what had been done, his action was indefensible.’

  I looked at Amyas for his opinion, but he was silent, his face relaxed and amused, as though everything I’d said was unimportant.

  ‘I think that man followed us all the way from Cerbère and I’m pretty sure that he knew we were coming to Llavorsí. You haven’t seen a stranger hanging about in the village, have you?’

  Amyas spread his hands. ‘They’re all strangers in the village. I’ve never been here before.’

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘But someone who looks out of place.’ He shook his head, reaching again for the bottle of wine, and we sat, now silent, staring at the fire. As night fell it had grown colder and I took off my jacket and gave it to Charlie, for he had neither a shirt nor a coat, having been snatched from his hospital bed.

  ‘Ah,’ said Amyas, watching me helping Charlie. ‘I forgot.’ And from the bottom of the orange box he produced a blanket.

  ‘Where the hell did you get this?’ I asked, as I draped the pink and yellow striped bedcover over Charlie’s shoulders. ‘And the food, for that matter.’

  ‘I think, my darling, it would be better if you didn’t ask.’ Amyas raised his eyebrows and I grinned back. I knew he was a thief and for once I was glad of it.

  We talked after Charlie had gone to sleep and Elena had walked outside. She seemed restless and fidgety and had barely eaten anything. I thought she was probably upset because I’d turned up and she had seen Amyas and me kissing at the edge of the clearing. Had she linked up with him again in the hope that he would marry her, or at least take care of her? It was not an unreasonable hope and I had to speak of it to Amyas. ‘That girl is having your child,’ I said, trying to make it a statement rather than an accusation.

  ‘Yes,’ he answered, looking at the fire. ‘She is. Is that difficult for you, Persephone?’

  I shrugged. ‘Not really. It isn’t as if we’re married or even, “a couple”.’

  He was quiet for a few seconds and then said, ‘No, I suppose not. But there is something between us. Something . . . magical. You put a spell on me in Cornwall which I’ve found impossible to escape.’

  ‘Do you want to escape?’

  He smiled and shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘Neither do I.’ And he took my hand and raised it to his lips.

  It was one of those moments one lives for. Sitting next to him on the floor of the hut, with the heady scent of pine resin as it oozed out of the burning wood, I felt as close to Amyas as I had ever done. I looked at his face, noticing for the first time that he ha
d a healing scar on his temple. ‘Amyas,’ I asked. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’

  ‘What?’ he said. ‘You mean what am I doing here in this hut, or what am I doing here in Spain?’

  ‘Both.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘What does anyone do when they come to Spain these days? You know I said I would, remember? But it had to be in my time. And after seeing you in Berlin, I knew it was the moment. So I flew to Madrid and joined up.’

  ‘And did you fight?’

  He nodded slowly. ‘I fought, Persephone. Just the one battle. I killed men and men tried to kill me, but I was lucky. I survived. Then I came to my senses and left.’

  ‘You’re a deserter then?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ he nodded.

  I almost laughed out loud. Here I was, illegally in the country, and I’d compounded my sin by sharing my illegality with three deserters. What a ridiculous situation. I thought back to the pub in Cornwall where Graham and Percy had discussed coming to Spain and Amyas had encouraged them. It had all sounded so romantic then, so noble. And now?

  ‘What about Graham?’ I asked. ‘What has happened to him? Did Percy find him?’

  Amyas shook his head. ‘Graham was killed six months ago, before Percy ever got to the front. We only found out from another Englishman who’d been with him. He was shot through the head and died instantly.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ I said. ‘Poor Percy. However will he get over that?’

  Amyas gave a brief laugh. ‘You’d be surprised. Percy has turned out to be a good soldier. He has nerves of ice and is a brilliant tactician. If he was upset about Graham, he kept it to himself. He’s been made an officer, you know.’

  ‘Does he know you’ve deserted?’