What Tomorrow Brings

by Mary Fitzgerald

  I felt sick and for a moment the room whirled around. The shock almost made my knees buckle and I struggled to stay outwardly calm. I stared at Xanthe, who was now looking in the hall mirror and flicking at the ends of her hair. Could what she said be true? Had Amyas betrayed me in the worst way possible, and were all his declarations of love merely a front in order to get information out of me? I thought of the odd times he’d turned up, the unexplained friendships he had. Of how he shook hands with Goering and was able to travel all over Europe without any hindrance.

  He’d been lying all the time. Even that story he told me about his childhood hadn’t been true and Charlie had been right to doubt him. Amyas was working for the Germans, and the people he’d been scared of were following us yesterday were our agents, possibly sent by Charlie to help me.

  A lump of ice settled in my stomach and in my heart. I would never trust him again. I would never even think about him.

  ‘Well?’ asked Xanthe, looking at me through the mirror.

  ‘Yes,’ I replied coldly. ‘I do have Jewish friends and they are very dear to me. And if you don’t like it . . . too bad. Now, d’you want to go out or not?’

  I turned to the door and she followed me, but I stopped with my hand on the knob. ‘You’ve forgotten the baby.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The baby. Pick him up.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ she wailed. ‘He’ll be a nuisance. Let’s leave him here.’ She pushed past me and opened the door. Sighing, I bent and picked up Max, before hurrying after her.

  I spotted Karl, on the street where Xanthe bought a dress, shoes and new underwear. He was there again, standing in the shadow of a large building when we came out of the hairdresser’s, where Xanthe had insisted on going to have her thin tresses cut and styled. For a spy, I thought, he was pretty useless, but then how would I know, and, of course, there could be others around whom I hadn’t seen.

  I left her for a minute, looking at hats, while I went into the baby shop next door. The assistant spoke no English or French, but, with much pointing and smiling, I managed to buy a rattle and a teething ring and a small, soft teddy bear. I waggled the bear in front of the little boy and he gave a gurgle of delight, which made me laugh. How could I hate this child? My laughter, however, turned to dismay when I went outside into the street and saw Xanthe chatting animatedly to Karl.

  ‘Oh no,’ she was saying, grinning inanely. ‘You’ve got it wrong. He’s my baby. My sister is helping me with him because I’ve been . . . a little unwell. And d’you know, we gave him a name yesterday. He’s Maximilian von Klausen. His father is a count, so his son has to have an important name, don’t you think?’

  He offered her a cigarette and then bent to light it. ‘So what are you doing in Lisbon, Miss Blake?’

  ‘Frau von Klausen,’ Xanthe corrected. ‘Well, we’re –’

  I stepped in. ‘That’s enough, Xanthe. I think you’ve been out too long and you do need to rest. Remember, you haven’t been well.’

  Karl shuffled backward and doffed his hat. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Blake,’ he said and I wondered how he knew our names. Almost at once I realised it must have been the hotel receptionist. Just as it had been in Spain.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ I said. ‘Will you excuse us.’ I took Xanthe’s arm and hustled her along the pavement. Karl kept in step with us.

  ‘Why don’t you let me carry the baby,’ he said. ‘He must be heavy for you.’

  ‘No!’ I said rather too quickly and too loudly and Xanthe gave me an angry stare.

  ‘There’s no need to be rude, Seffy. Karl’s only trying to be helpful.’

  I stopped walking. ‘Shut up, Xanthe,’ I growled, ‘and you,’ I glared at the fat American. ‘If you don’t stop annoying us I’ll call the police. Look,’ I pointed across the road to where two members of the public security police, smartly dressed in their navy blue uniforms, were strolling along. ‘All I have to do is yell.’

  ‘Goodness!’ Xanthe said, plainly astonished, but Karl shot a look across the road and without another word turned and walked away. I watched him until he disappeared in the crowd of shoppers and then took Xanthe’s arm.

  ‘Come on,’ I demanded. ‘Let’s get back to the hotel.’

  When we were in our room Xanthe asked, ‘What was all that about?’

  ‘I don’t trust that man and you shouldn’t either.’ I was changing Max’s nappy and showing him his new toys.

  ‘Why?’ She was bewildered and I had to make up an excuse quickly.

  ‘Think,’ I said. ‘We’re both well off. He could be a kidnapper wanting to take Max for ransom. Like that Lindbergh baby. Imagine what Wolf would say if you’d allowed this strange man to get at his son.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ She looked shocked. ‘I never thought of that. How frightful.’ She looked down at Max as he pushed the teething ring into his mouth. ‘He’s quite sweet, isn’t he?’

  ‘Hold him,’ I said, ‘while I make his bottle.’

  She shook her head. ‘No. I don’t think so. You’re better with him. I want a drink.’

  I waited all evening for Charlie to turn up and then decided that he hadn’t been able to make it. Earlier, I’d sent for room service and got food and more wine for Xanthe and managed to persuade her to eat a few mouthfuls of bacalhau, dried salt cod stew, and some crunchy fried potatoes. ‘Not bad,’ she said and even made an attempt at the sweet pancake pudding. But what she really wanted was the wine and she sat nursing a glass and smoking countless cigarettes, until finally she went to bed.

  It was raining and I went out on to the balcony to feel the cooling drops on my face. So much had happened in the last few days that my mind was buzzing and I felt anxious and restless. I came back into the room and sat in front of my typewriter and, disciplining myself to do some work, I wrote an article for the paper about this strange and beautiful city. Although removed from the actuality of war, I wrote, it was full of people affected by it. You could see them in the streets and in the bars. They were watchful and anxious and eager to tell you their tale. Of course, I hadn’t had actual experience of them. I would have loved to go into the cafés and bars and talk to them, get their stories and record their desperate hopes and dreams. But the need to watch over Xanthe had prevented that and stopped me from doing what could have been a truly great final piece for my paper.

  At midnight I went to bed, and was lying down, desperately trying not to think of Amyas, when a quiet knock came at my door. It will be him, I thought, he’s discovered that our plane didn’t take off and has come back. My heart sank. How can I speak to him, knowing what he is, but when I reluctantly opened the door, it wasn’t Amyas leaning against the door jamb. Charlie stood there, in a crumpled beige suit, and I fell into his arms.

  ‘Well, Blake,’ he said, after we’d held each other tightly and I’d drawn strength from his calming presence. ‘Another fine mess, eh?’

  ‘God, yes,’ I sighed. ‘It’s just . . .’ I cast about for a suitable word but nothing would come. ‘It’s just a mess.’

  ‘Tell me,’ Charlie said and grinned, ‘but first, is that a bottle of wine I see?’

  ‘You’re lucky,’ I smiled. ‘Xanthe fell asleep before she’d finished it.’ And while he sat at the table beside me I told him all that had happened since I’d arrived in Lisbon.

  ‘Xanthe’s ill,’ I said. ‘You’d barely recognise her. She’s so thin and won’t eat unless she’s persuaded. All she wants to do is drink and chain-smoke.’

  ‘Not good.’ Charlie took a swig of wine. ‘And Amyas? What of him?’

  I gazed at him, my mouth working but no sounds coming out, and then, stupidly, found myself crying. ‘He’s a traitor,’ I sobbed, finally finding my voice, although my words came out in choking gulps. ‘He told von Klausen . . . about my taking a message to Jacob’s sister . . . Xanthe heard him. She told me . . . this morning.’

  Charlie’s eyes narrowed and he took my hand. ‘You know, I always suspected him,’ he said
after a short pause. ‘There was always something wrong about him. Too many . . . anomalies.’

  I wiped my eyes and took a breath. Too many anomalies; it was true. Everything Amyas said had a catch. But only when you thought about it later. ‘I loved him,’ I said quietly.

  ‘Is that the past tense I hear?’ I think Charlie was holding his breath.

  ‘D’you know, even before I learned about him betraying me, I think I’d moved on. It was what you said. One morning I’ll wake up and not be in love with him any more. That morning must have come weeks ago and I hadn’t realised it.’

  ‘But he was here, the other night?’

  ‘Yes, he was.’

  God bless him, Charlie didn’t ask any more and I went on to explain everything that Amyas had said, about how he got Xanthe out of Bavaria and that he’d kept her in Switzerland and then in France for months, before bringing her to Portugal. That he’d got her a forged passport and how he’d been scared that we were being followed.

  ‘And we are being followed,’ I said. ‘There’s a man, an American possibly, who turns up everywhere we go. On the surface he seems harmless, but . . . there’s something about him, I don’t know, I don’t trust.’

  ‘Describe him,’ said Charlie, and when I did, he nodded. ‘I know who he is. He is a German who lived in the States for years. He’s low level but will be working for someone else.’

  ‘How d’you know?’ I asked, remembering what Xanthe had said about Charlie being a spy.

  He grinned. ‘Don’t ask.’

  Baby Max woke up and I went to get him out of the open drawer which I’d made into his bed.

  ‘No mistaking whose child this is,’ said Charlie, looking at him as I changed his nappy. He took him while I made up a bottle and then watched me cuddling him, while the little boy eagerly sucked on the teat.

  ‘Isn’t that Xanthe’s job?’ he asked.

  I raised my eyebrows. There was no need for further explanation.

  ‘So,’ I asked, when Max was wrapped again in his shawl and back in his temporary bed, ‘do we get the plane tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes. We need to get you back to London as soon as possible, and Xanthe too. She has to be questioned, because, having been with von Klausen, who is close to Heydrich, she might have some bits of information we can use.’

  ‘She won’t know anything,’ I shrugged. ‘You know how stupid she is.’

  ‘Just let me have a go at her. It’s surprising how much you’d think has passed her by, but is stored somewhere in that silly little head.’

  ‘You won’t hurt her?’ I surprised myself by suddenly being concerned for her. God knows, Xanthe had never been anything less than trouble, but I felt a protective urge to keep her safe.

  ‘Of course I won’t hurt her,’ Charlie smiled.

  I looked at my watch: it was close to one in the morning and I was weary. I gave a great yawn and Charlie said, ‘Time for bed, Blake. Busy day tomorrow.’

  ‘Are you staying?’ I asked. I wanted him to.

  ‘No.’ He shook his head and stood up. ‘I’ve got things still to do, but I’ll be here in the morning.’

  ‘All right.’ I knew that the thought of Amyas sharing this hotel bed with me so recently was too raw for him to get over immediately and so I kissed him on the cheek as he turned to go to the door. ‘Thank you, Charlie, for coming to help me.’

  ‘You knew I would . . . if I could.’

  I nodded. ‘I did. I’ve always trusted you.’

  ‘Even though you haven’t always loved me?’ He shut the door behind him while I was still thinking.

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong, Charlie,’ I murmured to the empty room. ‘I think I always have loved you. I just didn’t realise it.’

  I was woken early by the sound of Xanthe coughing. I got out of bed and walked through the interconnecting door to her room. She was sitting up, trying to get her breath, and, to my alarm, I saw a spray of blood on the sheet. ‘What is it?’ I asked, looking at the spots. ‘Where’s this come from?’

  ‘I coughed it up,’ she gasped. ‘It’s your fault, Seffy. You shouldn’t have made me eat all that fish last night. I must have got a bone stuck in my throat.’

  I put a hand on her forehead; it was hot and clammy and her cheeks were quite pink. Oh my God, I thought. She’s running a temperature and it isn’t caused by a fish bone.

  ‘I’ll get you an aspirin.’

  I went through to my room and looked in my bag. I only had a couple of pills left in the bottle and I knew I was going to need more. ‘Take these,’ I said and gave her the pills and a drink of water.

  ‘I need a doctor,’ Xanthe whispered. ‘I feel awful.’

  ‘I know. But I think it will be better if you can wait till you get home. After all, neither of us can speak Portuguese and it would be difficult to try and talk to a doctor here don’t you think?’

  ‘I suppose,’ she muttered and closed her eyes.

  I piled up the pillows behind her so that she could sleep sitting up and then went to get dressed. Max had woken and was lying peacefully in his drawer, watching the shafts of light coming in through the balcony windows. I was sitting on the bed dressing him when Charlie knocked at the door.

  ‘You’re up early,’ he smiled, brushing rain off his hair. ‘I was hoping to catch you in your nightie.’

  ‘Idiot,’ I smiled back, then I grimaced and said, ‘It’s Xanthe. She’s sick this morning.’

  ‘What? Hungover?’

  I shook my head. ‘Worse than that.’ I got up and led him through to where Xanthe lay against the pillows, her eyes closed.

  ‘Christ!’ he said. ‘What’s all that blood?’

  ‘She coughed it up.’ I looked at the drying flecks on the sheet and suddenly felt scared. How on earth were we going to get her on the plane. ‘She says it’s a fish bone stuck in her throat, but I don’t think it’s that. She’s been ill since before I got here.’

  Xanthe opened her eyes and squinted at Charlie, trying to work out who he was. ‘Oh,’ she said flatly after a while. ‘It’s Mr Bradford. I thought it was the doctor.’ She looked at me. ‘Tell him to go away. Wolf says I mustn’t talk to him.’

  ‘That’s just silly,’ I said. ‘He’s here to help us.’

  ‘Good morning, Xanthe.’ Charlie sounded all businesslike. ‘We’re getting on the plane in a couple of hours, so I would be grateful if you would get dressed.’

  She stared at him and then at me. ‘Does he mean it?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Oh good,’ she said. ‘Home to Berlin,’ and then started coughing again.

  I rushed to the bathroom and, wetting a towel, held it to her face, mopping away the fresh blood and trying to cool her off.

  ‘This is going to be so bloody difficult,’ Charlie groaned. When Xanthe had stopped coughing, he grabbed my arm. ‘Get her dressed.’

  We made a strange group going through the glass and marble lobby of the hotel an hour later. Charlie almost carrying Xanthe, followed by me with baby Max on one arm and our bags held in the other hand. I’d paid the bill earlier and Charlie had arranged a car. I had a fleeting memory of the flashy car Amyas had arranged and was glad that the one waiting for us was a discreet black Rover.

  ‘Get in,’ he said, looking round. I looked too. It was early, before eight o’clock, but the Lisboetas were already on the streets, going to work or school and some, despite the rain, under the awnings, at the pavement cafés, having their breakfast. I knew Charlie was looking for watchers, and I examined the faces of the men and women who were walking by the hotel. I didn’t know what I was looking for, so I got in the car beside Charlie, with the baby on my knee.

  Just as we pulled away I saw Karl and I said his name urgently.

  ‘Where?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘Across the road. He’s running towards the phone box.’

  Charlie was looking in the driving mirror. ‘Right, I’ve got him,’ he said. ‘We’ll be away before he gets anyone to f
ollow us. That is,’ he had another quick squint in the mirror, ‘unless he’s got pals on the job.’

  ‘Are we going to Sintra now?’ I asked as we drove out of the city.

  ‘No. We aren’t going to Sintra at all. I’m taking us to another airfield. A private one. It’s about fifty miles north of here, so settle down.’

  Xanthe and Max slept throughout the entire journey, which was a relief, because we would have had to stop if Xanthe had had another coughing spell. ‘We’re nearly there,’ said Charlie. ‘Just another few miles.’ We drove through a narrow valley, where chestnut trees leant over the road and craggy outcrops cut into the stormy, morning sky. Then the terrain flattened out and we followed a curving river and I thought I could smell the sea through the open window.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ I said. ‘I’d like to come here when the world isn’t at war.’

  ‘Mm,’ Charlie muttered, but he wasn’t really listening. His eyes kept flicking to the driving mirror and I twisted around in my seat to see that a car was following us, and getting closer.

  Chapter Thirty

  ‘WE’RE BEING followed,’ I gasped, twisting around again to get another look at the big green Mercedes. I could see two men, a driver and a passenger, neither of whom I recognised.

  ‘I know.’ Charlie pressed down on the accelerator and the car sped up, so that after we’d rounded a bend and I looked back, the car wasn’t in sight. ‘The airfield is only a few miles from here,’ he grunted, ‘we’ll be there in ten minutes.’

  Suddenly Xanthe gave a cry and started coughing again. I looked over my shoulder. She had gone very white and tiny spots of blood splattered on to the window beside her. She was gasping for air and could hardly hold herself upright.

  ‘We’ll have to stop,’ I cried. ‘She’s going to choke to death if I don’t help her. Now!’

  ‘Christ,’ Charlie groaned, then, ‘Hold on to the baby, I’m turning in here.’ And he swung the car to the right, on to a grassy path which led through a copse. At the end of the track was a long, low, white farmhouse surrounded by chestnut trees. It was abandoned, I thought, for no one came out when we stopped.