‘Don’t cry, my darling,’ Amyas crooned. ‘You’ve been brilliant.’
‘Yes, you have,’ Charlie grunted. Over Amyas’s shoulder I could see him standing, uncertainly, shuffling his feet and gazing at me. I knew that if Amyas hadn’t been here he would have been the one to have taken me in his arms and comforted me. He was such a brick. That brought me up fast and I stepped away from Amyas.
‘I’m all right now,’ I sniffed, and dragged a hankie out of my pocket to wipe my eyes. ‘Sorry. I don’t know what came over me.’ I went back to sorting out the bags, transferring the cotton squares and the couple of spare baby vests into my rucksack.
‘Hey,’ Amyas said. ‘What’s that?’ He was looking at the open neck of my rucksack and the pistol which Paul had given me. I quickly explained, and he frowned. ‘Is it loaded?’
‘I don’t know,’ I answered, feeling slightly foolish. It turned out that it was.
‘I’ll take it.’ Amyas stuffed it in his belt. ‘You have the baby to carry.’
With a last look at the blanket-wrapped shape that was Elena, we set out. Charlie was much better today, stronger and able to walk the half-mile down the sheep track to the village.
People stopped what they were doing and watched us with narrowed eyes as we walked through the small main street. They saw the baby in my arms and then looked at me. They knew I wasn’t the woman whom they’d seen pregnant only a couple of days ago.
‘The car is at the end there.’ Amyas pointed to a small copse of trees which surrounded a wooden barn. I couldn’t see it. ‘It’s behind the barn,’ he said. ‘It was still there this morning.’
‘Where did you get it from?’
He laughed, the old Amyas laugh. ‘I acquired it,’ he said. ‘Get in while I go back to the church and have a word with the priest.’
‘What will he say?’ I was suddenly scared.
‘Nothing. He’ll do what I tell him to do.’ I looked at Amyas in his bloodied white shirt and khaki trousers. How could he possibly persuade a man of God to do what he told him? Then I remembered. This was Amyas. People always did what he wanted, even me . . . especially me. Besides, I thought, as he walked towards the church, he has a gun stuffed in his belt.
The car was there, safe and sound, a big cream and black German car, which I think was called a Wanderer. It looked pretty new, with shiny, unmarked paintwork and pristine leather seats; so smart that it wouldn’t exactly be lost in a crowd. But I didn’t care, and I didn’t care where Amyas had ‘acquired’ it. I was just relieved to get in the back and settle down. Charlie was glad too. Although he’d managed the walk, I don’t think he could have gone much further.
‘Where are we going?’ I asked Amyas when he returned.
‘Sort, first,’ he said, starting the engine. ‘We can get some supplies.’ He looked at Marisol, peacefully asleep in my arms. ‘You’ll need stuff for her.’ I didn’t baulk at the suggestion that I was responsible for this tiny piece of humanity. I had known it from the instant I took her in my arms. ‘And then,’ he continued, ‘I think we should head for the sea. We can probably get a fishing boat to take us around the coast to France.’
Charlie nodded. ‘Good idea,’ he said. ‘I’m for that.’
‘Amyas,’ I said quietly. ‘Can we go back to Ribera first and see about Paul. I need to know.’
‘Do you?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s madness,’ Charlie grumbled from the passenger seat. ‘We should get away as soon as we can.’ But when we set off Amyas turned back on to the road to Ribera and within ten minutes we were outside the church.
‘Hold the baby,’ I said to Charlie, putting Marisol into his arms, and got out of the car. I walked around the old stone building until I was at the vestry door. The door swung heavily on its iron hinges as I opened it, and I stepped into an empty room. Paul had gone.
‘Is this where he was?’ asked Amyas, who had followed me.
‘Yes,’ I nodded. ‘He was on that mattress.’ We stared down at the mattress which gave no sign of its ever having been occupied and my heart sank. I could only assume that Paul had died and that the priest had buried him. ‘He must have . . .’ I didn’t finish the sentence and turned abruptly to walk outside.
‘Ah.’ It was the old priest, strolling around the church. I grabbed his hand.
‘Father. My friend. What happened. Is he . . .’
‘No, my child. The blessed Mary watched over him and he was still alive when Professor Gonzalez came. He took him in his car to the hospital at Sort. You will find him there.’
‘Oh, thank God,’ I said.
Amyas grinned. ‘Happy? Can we go now?’
I nodded. ‘Yes.’ As we turned to leave the priest said, ‘Another of Señor Durban’s friends came looking for him.’
A chill turned my stomach to ice. ‘Who came looking for him?’ I asked.
‘It was a man. A thin man. He came here early. About an hour ago.’
‘Did he have brown and white shoes?’ I didn’t really need to ask.
‘He did.’ The priest laughed. ‘Most unusual. I told him where to find Señor Durban, just as I told you.’
We returned to the car and Amyas drove back along the road. ‘What happened?’ said Charlie, handing the baby over. When I told him he gave a low whistle. ‘Damn!’
It took us no time to get to Sort, where Amyas parked the car in a backstreet and I went into a couple of shops to find both food and clothes for Marisol. I also bought a shirt and a cotton jacket for Charlie. ‘Here you are,’ I said, when I got back to the car.
‘Thanks,’ he said, and I helped him put on the shirt. The weather was too warm for the jacket, but if we had a sea journey ahead of us, he’d need it. ‘Where’s Amyas?’ he asked.
‘Gone to find food, I think. He said we’d be too obvious if we went to a restaurant.’
‘And he thinks that us driving along in this swanky car is not obvious?’
I laughed. The baby started to cry and I looked at her with concern. ‘She probably wants feeding,’ said Charlie. He made a show of holding his nose. ‘And changing.’
Amyas returned while I was feeding the baby. He was wearing a clean shirt and had brought big rolls filled with sliced chorizo and salad, and some bottles of beer. ‘The army is in town,’ he said. ‘We’d better go.’ He drove through the hot backstreets, while Charlie and I watched through the open windows for soldiers. Several times I saw signposts announcing HOSPITAL, with an arrow pointing in the direction we were going. I half thought of asking Amyas to stop so I could go and find Paul, but I didn’t. It would have been foolish. In that uncanny way that Amyas seemed to know what I was thinking, he turned his head and said, ‘He’ll be all right.’
Just then I saw the thin man with the co-respondent shoes walking along the road towards the hospital. ‘That’s him,’ I squealed. ‘The man who’s after Paul. Oh my God!’ My squeal must have been loud in that empty backstreet because the man turned his head and looked at me. A sudden breeze lifted his jacket and I saw a gun in a holster at his waist and, what was worse, I saw the instant recognition in his eyes.
Amyas jammed his foot on the accelerator and the car burst into life – we were down the street in seconds. We rounded the corner, then drove on to the next corner and rounded that to come almost back to where we had been. Amyas drew the car into a small alleyway. ‘Wait here,’ he said. ‘Don’t leave the car.’ He jumped out. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’
Charlie and I waited, our eyes searching each other’s faces. Was co-respondent shoes on his way to kill Paul? He could have been a friend of Guisando determined to get revenge, which was what Paul thought, or even a policeman from Perpignan, here to follow a man suspected of committing a crime. But whoever he was I was scared for Paul, and horrified that the man had recognised me. I sat, cuddling the baby, until Charlie, who had turned to look out of the back window said, ‘He’s here,’ and the next instant, Amyas opened the driver’s door and slid in.
‘Now,’ he said, with a rather wolfish grin, ‘we get going. The sooner we’re out of this place, the better.’
Chapter Seventeen
WE DROVE THROUGH the Spanish countryside, which was hilly and steep at first as we came down from the mountains, with sheer drops at the side of the road and heart-stopping hairpin bends. I’d been scared that we would meet roadblocks, but to my relief we came across none. A few soldiers were about, lounging at cafés in the villages we passed through, drinking wine and ignoring the resentful glares of the locals. This part of Spain, Catalonia, had been Republican, but their defeated army had withdrawn to Madrid and left its supporters to the mercy of the Nationalist Fascists.
Several times the soldiers stood up to watch the Wanderer go by. It stood out as impossibly expensive and glamorous and I grumbled to Amyas that he should have ‘acquired’ a less obvious car. We were bound to be stopped.
‘No,’ he grinned. ‘Just look at them. They’re almost standing to attention. They think Charlie’s a general and I’m his driver.’
‘What am I, then?’
‘You’re the general’s doxy,’ he laughed. ‘They all have them.’
After a couple of hours we reached a crossroads. A signpost pointing north read FRANCA 10 KILÓMETRO.
‘Look,’ said Charlie. ‘France is only about six miles away, up that road.’
Amyas stopped the car. ‘Should we try it?’ he asked. ‘It would be a hell of a lot easier than getting to the coast and finding a boat.’
‘I’m for it,’ said Charlie. ‘The sooner we get to France, the better.’ He looked at me. ‘What d’you think, Seffy?’
I nodded eagerly. I’d had enough adventures in the Pyrenees and a simple car journey sounded good. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Hang on.’ Amyas was looking in the driving mirror and I turned my head. A truck was coming up the road behind us, and as it drew level I saw that the driver and his passenger were both in uniform. It stopped and the passenger jumped down. He was a Nationalist officer.
‘Christ!’ breathed Charlie. ‘He’s coming to talk to us.’
‘Don’t say anything,’ whispered Amyas, getting out of the car. ‘Leave him to me.’
We watched, frozen with horror, as Amyas, showing no signs of nerves, went over to the soldier. ‘What d’you think he’s saying?’ muttered Charlie, as Amyas shook hands with the officer and jerked his head back to the car. He seemed to be laughing and at ease with the man and I knew that we had to follow suit.
‘Look confident,’ I said to Charlie and leant over to him and pretended to examine his wound. ‘He’s probably telling them you are an injured general or something. Give him a Third Reich glare.’ Charlie straightened up and adjusted his glasses then stared imperiously through them at the inquisitive soldier.
The officer reached up to the cab of his truck and spoke to his driver. A map was produced. ‘Amyas is asking directions,’ I whispered, a nervous desire to laugh almost overwhelming me. The officer pointed to the map and then waved his arm in the general direction in which we’d been going and Amyas nodded and smiled. After another few moments of chat they shook hands again and Amyas came back to the car. He gave a sort of half-salute to Charlie and muttered, out of the corner of his mouth, ‘We have to go on. Tell you the rest in a minute.’
He started the car, and as we drove away, I looked over my shoulder. The soldier was also driving away, up the road to France, and I saw with alarm that the back of the truck was full of Nationalist troops. We rounded the bend and I could feel Amyas relax. ‘They’re going to man the border,’ he said. ‘Too many refugees are trying to get through, including Republican fighters whom they are very keen to arrest and put in prison camps. I told him that Charlie is a German colonel who is in Spain as an observer, and that he was injured by a fleeing sniper so we’re looking for the nearest hospital. Apparently it’s in Figueres, which is on our way.’
‘Wouldn’t it be easier for this German to go to France?’ I asked. ‘That officer seemed to accept the story – wouldn’t the border guards do the same?’
‘No, my darling. Think. Charlie would need a German passport, which we know he hasn’t got.’
Charlie shook his head. ‘I don’t even have a British passport now. It was taken from me at Albacete, along with all the money I had left.’
Amyas laughed rather sourly. ‘And if you’re his German nurse, Persephone, which I said you were, how would you explain your passport, not to mention the lack of papers for our other little passenger?’
‘All right,’ I said slowly. ‘But why Germans? I didn’t think they were involved, apart from their air force. They don’t have troops on the ground.’
‘Not officially,’ Charlie said. ‘But Amyas is right. They do have observers and provide help to Franco.’ He glanced over to Amyas, who was looking at the road ahead, efficiently negotiating the bends, his lips pursed, whistling a little tune. ‘Thank you,’ he smiled. ‘You’ve rescued me again.’
I was proud of him. Proud that this brave resourceful man had chosen me. I clutched Marisol close to me and kissed her little dark head. Being with him now and then was almost enough.
By that evening we’d passed through Figueres and arrived in Cadaqués as the sun was going down. I could smell the sea through the open windows of the Wanderer and immediately my spirits lifted.
‘D’you think we dare find a hotel?’ I asked, as we drove slowly along the narrow winding seafront road, past dreamy white cottages, rosy-hued in the evening sun. ‘I’d love a shower and Marisol needs a bath or a good wash.’ We had reached the little harbour. Fishing boats were bobbing further out in the water, tied up to buoys, but the fishermen were still ashore, preparing to sail on the evening tide. It was a tranquil scene.
‘I don’t know,’ Amyas said and nodded his head towards a group of soldiers who were gathered beside a truck. They were young, laughing and joking with each other, and didn’t look in the least threatening, but Amyas was cautious. ‘It might not be the safest option.’ It was out of character for him and I felt nervous again. All afternoon I’d been calm and cheerful, convinced that I’d soon be back in France and safe. But now that awful squirming feeling had returned and I stroked Marisol’s little hand, hoping that would settle me.
Amyas drove on to the far end of the bay and then turned away from the sea and found a track which led uphill. After a few minutes he stopped and parked the car. We were on a headland above the village and below us the ancient sea stretched away, lilac blue and gold where it caught the setting sun, boundless, beyond the horizon. Further on from where we had parked there must have been a lighthouse; I could see the beam glittering on the water and then the flash as it passed over us. I was reminded of Cornwall and the lighthouse there. Amyas and I had made love under its protective beam.
‘Wait here,’ he said. ‘I’ll go back and see if I can persuade one of the fishermen to take you. Have you got any money left, because I’m running short?’
Charlie, of course, had nothing, but I took most of the money from my wallet, leaving only enough for the barest essentials for the baby. ‘D’you think this will do? If we get to a bank in France, I can have more wired over.’
Amyas counted the notes: it was a few hundred francs and might seem a lot to a poor fisherman, but was it enough to persuade him to go against an occupying army? ‘Let’s see,’ said Amyas and made his way back along the track.
Charlie and I got out of the car. I walked up the hill a little, stretching my legs and letting the breeze blow through my hair and cool my face. I needed to take stock. I was carrying a baby in my arms who was less than twenty-four hours old. Already I thought of her as mine and felt blessed by her presence. The uncomfortable fact that she wasn’t really mine I put to one side. I could think about that another time. Now I looked at the lavender sky and a pinpoint of twinkling light which was the first star and marvelled at the turn my life had taken.
I glanced over my shou
lder at Charlie, who was sitting on the running board of the car. He was leaning back with his eyes closed and I realised that he didn’t look well again. His face was flushed and despite the warmth of this Spanish summer evening, he was shivering. I hurried back down the hill and sat beside him.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I feel a bit rough, but it doesn’t matter.’
‘Of course it does,’ I said, and got my canteen. He drank some water, letting it run over his dry lips and down his shirt. I felt his forehead, which was hot, and when I looked beneath his bandage I saw that his wound was suppurating and the area around it burning a hot red. ‘I’m pretty sure that your wound is infected,’ I sighed. ‘The sooner we get you to a hospital, the better.’
Charlie leant back again. ‘I’m a bloody nuisance, Blake, and I’m so sorry that I got you involved. This whole idea was mad.’
‘Don’t be sorry, Charlie,’ I said, sitting beside him. ‘In a way, I’ve rather enjoyed it. The excitement is like a drug, even though I’ve been scared a hell of a lot of the time. Besides,’ I grinned, ‘we’ll get great copy out of this.’
He gave a painful laugh. ‘I always knew you were a born journalist.’
We sat together as the sun went down. The three of us, Charlie, Marisol and me, who looked like a family and who weren’t, but were the closest of friends. How strange it was, but how very comforting.
I looked at my watch. Amyas had been away for more than an hour and I was beginning to worry. What if he didn’t come back? He had taken most of my money and even if we had the car, I couldn’t afford to fill it with petrol. And if we couldn’t drive and had no money to bribe a fisherman, how the hell were we going to get away? Charlie was in really poor condition and I had Marisol to look after, so walking over the mountains was definitely not an option.
What Tomorrow Brings Page 21