The Episode at Toledo

by Ann Bridge

  Anyone who has ever seen a cold sucking pig in aspic will remember that it bears a quite horrifying resemblance to a dead baby, its small legs, tucked in under it, hiding the little pink hoofs. As her host cut neatly through the tiny carcase and brought out a slice, stuffed with forcemeat and truffles, Hetta almost shuddered—this completed her malaise. She managed to thank her host, and took up her fork; but when he had gone on to display this culinary masterpiece to Mrs. Luxworthy at the other side of the room, she got up and slipped quietly out. She knew that there was a passage leading from the house directly into the chapel, and took it, but she must get into the air; she hurried through the old building, where the scent of incense still hung, and with a hasty genuflexion towards the altar pushed aside the heavy leather curtain, and passed out into the open space before the doorway. There she stood for a moment, breathing deeply; this was better. But she felt that she really was going to be sick, and stepped over to the parapet above the river and knelt there, her elbows on the cold stone; if she was sick into the bushes on the cliff it would not matter. All the same she struggled with her body, swallowing down the hot saliva which constantly welled up in her mouth, and trying to master the impulses of her stomach—and after a few minutes she was successful. She continued to kneel there, deeply relieved, and thankful for the sweet air, coming up fresh from the flowing water below; soon she must go back, but she had better wait till she was quite sure of herself.

  Presently she thought she heard voices below her, but she paid little attention; she had been so often to the cigarral that she knew all about the river path and the steps down to it, and its use by the peasants on Sundays—only wasn’t it rather late for them to be going back? Then, suddenly, she was all attention—surely the unseen speakers were talking Hungarian? Now she strained her ears to listen, but it was hard to catch the words above the sound of the river; they were just too far off. Noiselessly, crouching down under the parapet, she crept along a few yards in the direction of the sounds, and then knelt and listened again. And now she could catch some of the words.

  ‘It will be at 17 hours?’

  ‘About that. You have plenty of time.’ Then some words she could not catch, and the second voice again. ‘How do I know in which car? But all must slow down for that bend by the bridge; and near the ruined building where there are the obras cars can only go singly.’ More inaudible words, and again the second voice. ‘But you have seen him at the Cathedral just now—you cannot mistake his grey hair. Now you had better go—soon I must get out the car.’

  The last words sent Hetta hastening noiselessly back to the chapel. There she sank into a seat, greatly agitated. One of the speakers must be Luis. All this could only mean that something was being plotted against ‘him’; and ‘him’ could hardly be anyone but the Admiral. She must get hold of Walter or Richard quickly, and tell them—but would Richard, anyhow, believe her? He was so fond of teasing her about seeing spies everywhere, and telling her that she must grow out of it.

  Her agitation brought on the feeling of nausea again, but she dared not go out now. She heard what sounded like a motorcycle start up and go off, and then cars being driven round to the front door. Distracted by the immediate fear of being sick in the chapel, she ran into the house, up the back stairs, and made her way into one of those lavatory cells just in time.

  Being thoroughly sick brings a certain relief, but it also leaves one panting, perspiring, flushed, and with streaming eyes; also it takes some time. When Hetta had stopped retching she managed to find a servants’ bathroom; there she washed her face in the basin, rinsed out her mouth, combed her hair, and put on some powder; as she went through into the front of the house she heard Pilar calling her—‘Hetta, where are you?’

  ‘Here—I am coming,’ she called, as she hurried downstairs.

  ‘We thought you lost!’ Pilar said.

  ‘I felt a little unwell—I went into the air. I am sorry if you had to look for me. But where is Richard? I want to see him.’

  ‘Out here—the Admiral says he must get back early. Such a pity!’ The Marquesa studied Hetta’s face as she led her out to the front door. ‘You are all right now?’ she asked. Hetta said Yes.

  At the door everyone was grouped about the cars, preparing to depart; Richard was already seated in his, with Joy beside him, and Ellington and Luzia in the back; Mrs. Luxworthy and Nell Parrott, who had made their farewells, were getting into the Embassy car allocated to the Admiral, who stood waiting with Walter Parrott beside the latter’s car; at the wheel sat Luis.

  ‘We’ve done a little regrouping, as you see,’ Walter said. ‘The Admiral wants you to ride with him and tell him about everything.’ He held open the door of the car for her.

  Hetta looked about desperately; Richard, seeing her, started his engine.

  ‘There you are at last!’ he called to her—not unamiably. ‘Good—now we can go.’ He drove out of the arched gateway.

  Hetta’s heart failed her. Must she make a scene now, in front of all the others, and with Luis within earshot? She felt unequal to it. She must try to get Walter to take a different road home as they went along. She kissed Pilar Goodbye, apologising again as she thanked her and Pepe, and got into the car.

  ‘Oh, but my bag!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘I will fetch it—is it in the dining-room?’ Pepe asked, and started indoors without waiting for an answer.

  ‘No, I left it upstairs,’ Hetta said to Pilar. ‘I will find it’—and she began to get out.

  ‘Tell me, and I will get it,’ her hostess said. ‘You should not run about.’ She knew all about Hetta’s pregnancy, and thought she looked far from well, and disturbed about something into the bargain.

  ‘It was in the bathroom—but in one of the servants’ bathrooms,’ Hetta said, ready to cry with vexation at her folly. ‘Let me find it, please.’

  ‘No, I find it,’ Pilar said, and went off, wondering why on earth Hetta should have used a servants’ bathroom? Something very peculiar must have been happening.

  The Embassy car drove off; the Admiral looked furtively at his watch; Walter waited. Pepe came out, waving empty hands, and saying that he had looked everywhere, but everywhere!—Hetta apologised afresh. After what seemed to her an age Pilar returned, calm and unhurried, bringing the bag and a flask of smelling-salts. ‘Take these with you,’ she said; ‘I have plenty.’ And with a final warm embrace to Hetta she let the party go.

  Admiral Luxworthy did not find that delightful Mrs. Atherley such a lively and informative companion as she had been in the morning—once or twice she hardly seemed to hear what he said, and replied briefly, almost at random, when he repeated his questions. Hetta was of course trying frantically to remember exactly where on the way out they had passed the obras (roadworks) where there was single-line traffic; and when she thought she had placed the danger-spot, about half-way to Madrid, she cracked her brains trying to think of some church or village which would serve as an excuse for a detour—it would have to be a good excuse, with the Admiral in a hurry; and she could think of nothing. She prayed, desperately, for help:—for clearer wits; for resolution, if the worst came to the worst, to stop the car and get out and tell Walter the position; that she might not faint, which she felt very near to doing. She sniffed at Pilar’s smelling-salts, answered another question of the Admiral’s and prayed again. There must be some village to see, some form of help.

  Her prayers were answered—but as so frequently happens, the answer took a form quite different from anything she had either thought of, or asked for. Once clear of Toledo Luis began to drive very fast indeed; with the delay over the missing handbag it was nearly twenty to five when they left the cigarral. Good driver as he was, he took one bend too fast; the car encountered a pot-hole at the edge of the tarmac, burst a front tyre, and went completely out of control; it hurtled off the road, over the low verge, and somersaulted into the dusty yellowish field beyond—ending up, as cars, curiously, so often do, right side up. All the occup
ants were flung about pell-mell; Hetta, light and small, was catapulted over from the back seat into the front. In the shock she cried out, in Hungarian—when the car finally came to rest she found herself looking up at Luis, the chauffeur, and saw, only a few inches away, the expression of mingled rage, astonishment, and fright which came over his face at her words. It was gone in a flash—but at that instant she knew, now with absolute certainty, that he was the former A.V.O. man whom she had seen in Budapest.

  Astonishingly none of them were seriously hurt except Hetta, who had fractured her left wrist; the men merely had bruises, and cuts from the broken windows. One set of doors would still open, and they scrambled clear and lifted Hetta out after them, laying her on the ground; in the open air she fainted clean away.

  * * *

  She came to the next morning in a pretty room in one of Madrid’s nicest clinics, full of sunshine and flowers; Luzia was sitting by her bed.

  ‘So—now you are awake! How do you feel?’

  ‘Oh, my head aches!’ she said as she tried to sit up; a Spanish nurse made her lie down again. ‘Where am I?’ she asked, dazedly. ‘And what is the matter with my hand?’ She noticed that her left hand and arm were in plaster.

  ‘In the Isabella Clinic—you broke your wrist in the accident, and they gave you morphine.’

  ‘Is the Admiral safe?’ Hetta asked, suddenly alert.

  ‘Yes, perfectly. He sent you these this morning,’ Luzia replied, a little surprised, as she brought an enormous vase of pink carnations over to the bed.

  ‘Oh, that is good! How did he get home?’ Hetta asked eagerly, ignoring the flowers.

  ‘In the ambulance with you—so did Captain Parrott!’ Luzia said, laughing a little.

  And the baby? It did not miscarry?’

  ‘No, thank God.’

  Hetta looked more relaxed.

  ‘I should like some coffee,’ she said, ‘and to sit up more—just a little.’ The nurse put another pillow under her head, and went to fetch some tisane—not coffee just yet, she said; meanwhile Luzia told Hetta what had happened.

  ‘Captain Parrott stopped a car on the road—the Admiral would not leave you!—and got the people to drive him back to the cigarral; there they telephoned to Toledo for the ambulance, the doctor and a machine to tow the Parrotts’ car home, and then rang up the Embassy. Oh the concern!—we heard almost as soon as we got in. Richard was terribly upset, and this poor Nell quite lost her head! But the de la Torres were so good—they drove out themselves to the place, with the doctor, and saw you safely into the ambulance, and then rang up again to say you were all on your way. So Richard arranged this room, and had the surgeon waiting for you, to set your wrist.’

  The tisane came, and while Hetta sipped at it thoughts chased one another through her aching head; she had an enormous bruise on her forehead, which she fingered gingerly. Thankfulness that the child was still safe, deep thankfulness that the Admiral had not left her alone with Luis—which would certainly have meant the end of everything for both of them!—and though much was still blurred, between the shock and the morphia, she kept a clear recollection of the expression on the chauffeur’s face, so close to her own, and her complete certainty about him at last, after these months of disquiet.

  The doctor came in while she was finishing her tisane, and prescribed more sedatives, and complete quiet. ‘I except the Condesa; she is as good as a nurse!’

  ‘My husband too, I hope?’ Hetta said, smiling faintly.

  ‘Naturally—but few visitors. Calm, repose, quiet! Remember the infant—he too has had a shock.’

  ‘You are sure he will be all right?’ Hetta asked, pleased at the pronoun ‘he’.

  ‘So far as we can tell; when you are stronger we will have an X-ray. For the moment, repose and calm.’

  Then Richard came in, full of affection and concern; Luzia slipped out. Presently—‘The Admiral wants to look in later on to say Goodbye,’ he said. ‘I suppose you could see him for a couple of minutes? He’s terribly upset about you; he somehow feels responsible.’

  ‘Yes—but only he, please, Richard! Make my adieux to those ladies; the doctor says I should see very few people, except you and Luzia—to keep the child calm.’

  ‘I’ll arrange that—they’ll understand. Now you rest, darling. I’ll be in this evening.’

  Hetta was dozing when a nurse came and said that ‘this American Admiral’ wished to see her; the woman propped Hetta up a little, combed her hair, and held the compact while she put on powder with her one hand; then she brought Luxworthy in. He asked anxiously how she was feeling, and whether her wrist hurt her?

  ‘No, not much, thank you. They give me sedatives.’

  ‘I feel awfully about it,’ the Admiral said. ‘If I hadn’t been so selfish about wanting your company, you’d have been safe in one of the other cars. Anyway, I’ll call the Countess up the moment I get back, and tell her you’re all right. She’ll be glad I’ve seen you.’

  Hetta thanked him, and sent her love to her Mother; now that she was safely married, free and independent, and half the world away, she was able to feel more affection for her rather difficult and ultra-social parent.

  ‘I’ll surely do that. And I’ll never forget all you did for my wife and Joy; you’ve been kindness itself to them. You gave me a marvellous time, too, yesterday—something else I shan’t forget, young lady!’ The greying head bent down as in a most un-American fit of gallantry he kissed Hetta’s undamaged hand—a hovering nurse shooed him out. It was only when the kind man had gone off to Barajas airport that Hetta remembered that she had never thanked him for his flowers.

  Richard had arranged that Luzia should go in Hetta’s place to see the two ladies off at the airport; Nell and Walter Parrott of course were also there, and poor Mr. Packer—‘Just out of quarantine in time to say Goodbye, Admiral!’ There were troops of Spanish officials, too; during the more formal leavetakings Lieutenant Ellington managed to snatch a word with Luzia.

  ‘Well, Condesa, I suppose it’s over. I wish it wasn’t, but it was good while it lasted.’ Then he surprised her. ‘Maybe you were wise to tell me to keep that chauffeur out of the Rota trip. If I’d been smarter, I might have had him left behind yesterday as well.’

  ‘You should have him dismissed, now,’ the girls said. ‘He is not a safe person for Embassy personnel.’

  ‘You still won’t tell me why?’

  ‘Can it be necessary, after this?’ Luzia had not yet been told of what Hetta had overheard at the cigarral, but had jumped to the same conclusion as Ellington, that the accident to the Chrysler was perhaps not an accident.

  There was a stir; people were moving towards the plane.

  ‘I must go. Maybe I’ll get myself posted to Lisbon!’ Ellington said; he wrung her hand and rejoined his party. After the plane had taken off Luzia drove back with Nell and Walter in one of the Embassy cars; to her great satisfaction Captain Parrott told her that he was afraid the Chrysler would be out of action for several weeks. She asked to be dropped at the clinic, but Hetta was sleeping; she took a taxi back to the Atherleys’ flat and had some sleep herself; she had not left Hetta all night.

  When Richard went in to see his wife later that afternoon he found her much more wide-awake. On rousing up she had demanded tea and sandwiches, and hidden her sedative tablet under her pillow instead of taking it; now at last she was determined to tell Richard everything, and she must be completely clear-headed to do it. He gave her a kiss, asked if her wrist hurt her, and frowned at the huge bump on her forehead.

  ‘Anyhow it’s better than a cut would have been,’ he said; ‘It won’t leave a scar.’

  ‘No—but now, Richard, never mind about me—sit down and listen. There is something you must know.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with the child, is there?’ he asked anxiously. ‘Santana said it was all right.’

  ‘So he told me. No, it is this chauffeur of the Parrotts’. I ought to have told you sooner, but I want
ed to be quite sure before I spoke, so that you should pay attention.’

  ‘Can’t think why he did such an idiotic thing yesterday,’ Richard said, lighting a cigarette. ‘He’s usually a frightfully good driver.’

  ‘So he may be. But as he is also a Communist agent, he is not a very good person to drive important Americans about,’ Hetta said crisply.

  ‘What on earth do you mean? Do you think he drove off the road on purpose?’ Richard asked, the dreaded look of incredulity appearing in his expression.

  ‘That I am sure he did not! He was driving too fast because he was afraid of being late for an ambush which he had concerted with other Hungarians, further up the road, where there are the roadworks, and cars must go slowly. It was to be at five o’clock, and our car was late in starting, because I was unwell—and then I mislaid my bag.’

  ‘But are you sure of this? How can you know?’

  ‘Because I heard them planning it all—in Hungarian!—at the cigarral. I went out to be sick—this awful baby pig!—and then I hear people speaking on the path below me, and when I caught Hungarian words I crept nearer, and listened. They settled the time—seventeen hours—and the place, near that bridge where cars can only go singly, and they asked in which car, and he—it must have been Luis—said how could he tell, but they had seen him at the Cathedral, and would know him by his grey hair, whichever car he was in.’