by Ann Bridge
‘Let’s hope you don’t—not in all respects,’ Ainsworth said ironically—Parrott gave a rueful grin.
‘Well that’s settled—you’ll say nothing to your wife or anyone else, and we’ll get the Hispanos to see to him,’ Major Day said firmly. ‘Let’s go,’ he added to Ainsworth.
‘Hey, they won’t frighten my wife, will they?’ the Captain asked anxiously.
‘No—some very polite Señores in plain clothes will ask to see him, and just invite him to go along with them.’ Day and Ainsworth took their leave and went out.
‘If you’re not busy maybe you’d come along, in case they ask any surprise questions,’ Day said in the corridor.
‘Right.’
But the Spanish Security Police made no difficulties whatever. When Day had explained the facts to a very senior officer this gentleman made a few notes, and then said, with a perfectly impassive face—‘Do you wish him to be killed?’
‘No—just put on a plane that goes non-stop to New York,’ Day replied, grinning a little.
‘The plane will probably have to re-fuel at Bermuda or the Azores. But I will let one of our people travel with him—I assure you that there will be no trouble,’ the Spaniard said. ‘I will let you know which flight—I assume you will wish to inform your colleagues at home of his return.’ Day said Yes, and with ceremonious courtesy the Spanish official bowed his visitors out.
‘Very co-operative people, the Spaniards,’ Major Day said blandly as they drove away—Ainsworth agreed, with a brief laugh.
‘I’m rather surprised they didn’t want to find out more about his colleagues, the actual ambushers,’ he said.
‘Don’t worry—you can bet 100 dollars they’ll find out what they need to know before they put him on that plane,’ Day replied easily.
‘Even though he’s got American papers?’
‘Yes. Communism knows no nationalities, for them.’
‘Nor for the Communists themselves, come to that,’ Ainsworth said. ‘Well, if you’ll drop me off at the Embassy I’ll tell Atherley—he’ll be relieved to know that it’s all settled.
‘I’ll do that. I’ll let the Captain know—he won’t be all that relieved!’
‘Yes, it’s bad luck on him.’
After lunch Ainsworth duly reported to Atherley, mentioning the Spanish offer to have Luis liquidated, and Major Day’s comment; Atherley too laughed, and presently passed the story on to the Ambassador.
‘It’s extremely convenient that they are so co-operative, as Day calls it,’ Sir Noël said. ‘And very lucky for them that your wife should have uncovered this business for them just now.’
‘Oh really? Why just now, H.E.?’
‘With this second American visit coming off—I believe in about a month.’
‘Who is coming?’
‘Someone very high up in the State Department; it may even be the Secretary of State himself, Packer thinks. Luxworthy dealt with the practical side—whoever comes now will tie in all the political ends, and I imagine sign the agreement, or a new agreement. Anyhow it’s out of our hands now,’ the Ambassador said. ‘Give my love to Hetta when you see her.’
‘I will.’ But Richard didn’t take the hint and go. ‘There is just one thing,’ he said. ‘As soon as Hetta is fit to travel I should like to get her off to Gralheira, to have a little peace—and forget about all this performance.’
‘Taking the family?’
‘If you mean the child and its nurse, yes indeed. Or did you count me as part of the family? Nothing would suit me better,’ Atherley said with a sly smile.
‘Oh, I know you’re due for some proper leave, Richard,’ Sir Noël said, ‘and that I cut you short last time. But you ought to be here when this American comes. How soon would you be able to go?’
‘That will depend on the X-ray,’ his Counsellor replied.
‘What X-ray?’
‘Hetta is expecting another child, and the Drs. have an idea that they’d better make sure that being somersaulted about in a car hasn’t done it a bit of no good.’
‘Good gracious me! I’d no idea of that. I am sorry, Richard. Yes, of course they must find out. There’s no sign of anything wrong so far, is there?’
‘No, thank Heaven—but Gralheira is at the back of beyond, so we must make absolutely sure before she leaves Madrid.’
‘Well, congratulations to you both. I don’t see why you shouldn’t at least take her there, if you are able to go fairly soon, and settle her in.’
‘Thank you very much.’
When Parrott went home to lunch next day his wife greeted him with a mixture of dismay and vexation.
‘Luis went off this morning, while I was out, and he hasn’t come back yet. He never asked leave, and he hasn’t finished the parquet, nor touched the silver. Did you tell him he could go out?’
‘No, I haven’t seen him today,’ Walter replied truthfully.
‘I can’t imagine what’s happened. He never does anything like that,’ Nell said fretfully. ‘Manuela says some men came and rang, and he went off with them—she was on her way to answer the bell, but he was right in the hall, and opened the door himself, and just went with them. He never even put the polish and the burnisher away.’
Walter hesitated. It was going to be almighty difficult to keep the truth from Nell, though he was relieved that the police had acted. Once the man was out of the country Nell would have to know, but the longer that could be put off the better.
‘You didn’t scold him about the accident, did you?’ his wife asked suspiciously, noticing his hesitátion.
‘No. Except asking him what happened I never said a thing to him—he told me he’d hit a pothole.’
‘Well don’t say anything to him when he turns up, either,’ Nell said. ‘But I wish I could understand it. He went out yesterday, too, without asking. Oh well, there must be some good reason. Let’s have lunch.’
Walter knew only too well how good the reason for the chauffeur’s sudden departure was, but wisely left it for the moment. He spoke Spanish tolerably well—Nell hardly knew any—and later took occasion to question Manuela himself about the men who had called. ‘Were they friends of his?’ Manuela thought not. ‘He seemed surprised, and showed no pleasure; one of them picked up his jacket, which was on a chair, and another took him by the arm. I could not hear what they were saying, and two or three more closed the door after them very quickly.’
‘Curious,’ Parrott said carefully.
‘So I thought also,’ the maid replied. ‘Since the Señora was out I went through into the small salon, and looked out of the window, and saw them taking him away in a car; there was a second car, with more men in it, and they all drove away together. In my opinion the Señor Comandante would do well to take another chauffeur,’ Manuela said, with an expressionless face.
Later, from his office, Parrott rang Major Day, and asked if he could come round? When the Intelligence man arrived Parrott repeated Manuela’s account.
‘Neat work!’ the Major said. ‘I hope this hasn’t worried Mrs. Parrott?’
‘Well, she’s fretting a bit. I haven’t told her yet.’
‘Much better not. I’ve made a signal to our folks at home, telling them just what I think of their screening arrangements at Camp Kilmer! It’s pretty embarrassing, the British uncovering all this—really on our behalf.’
‘Do you know yet when he goes?’ Poor Walter was longing to be free to tell Nell, and get the whole thing over with.
‘No. I’ll tell you right away when they let me know.’
It was after lunch the following day before the Spanish official asked Major Day to come and see him. The chauffeur was going on a night plane to New York—Day jotted down the flight number, and asked if the Special Police had traced any of the rest?
‘The two Hungarians, yes; but there must be Spanish agents involved too; for those we must wait till we have—examined—the two we hold.’
‘Well thanks a lot.’
‘We too are grateful—to this English diplomat’s wife in particular! We owe her much—as you do,’ the official said. ‘I trust she is making a good recovery?’
Back in his office Day sent off his cable giving the flight number; he had already had a disturbed and apologetic message from Washington. It had been agreed ‘at the highest levels’ that American Security over there would let Luis go free, but tail him closely in the hope of uncovering further contacts in the States.
‘Doubt if he’ll have many over there,’ Major Day said to Ainsworth, when reporting all this to him. ‘It was here he was intended to operate.’
‘Yes. I’m glad they’ve got those two other Hunks, but I hope they’ll manage to get a line on the Spanish chaps involved. Let me know when you hear any more. We don’t want them to try anything nasty on Mrs. Atherley.’
‘Would they do that? They don’t know her by sight, nor what part she played.’
‘Communists are good guessers, and they leave nothing to chance,’ Ainsworth said, as he left.
Major Day too decided to leave nothing to chance; he knew Mrs. Parrott’s recklessness and obstinacy, and refrained from ringing up her husband till after the plane had left. As he rang off—‘I’m almighty glad I’m not in his shoes right now,’ he muttered to himself with a gloomy grin.
Ainsworth had of course passed on the news of the prompt action by the Security Police to Richard Atherley, who was considerably relieved to know that Luis was under lock and key. But he still thought it advisable that Hetta should go to Gralheira as soon as possible, and Luzia strongly urged this course after she had heard in detail what had taken place at the cigarral, and still more at the time of the accident. “This is bad,’ she exclaimed. ‘Now he knows that Hetta speaks Hungarian, he and his associates will attribute anything that happens, to her. I wish they could catch these others, the actual murderers.’ She was not wholly pacified when Richard told her later that two other Hungarians had been caught. ‘They must have been in liaison with Spaniards too. We should go quickly. I telephone to Papa—I am sure it will be all right. Yes, of course the nurse and baby go also, and you as well, Richard. Thank goodness this deuil de famille ends next week!—so the Ambassador can come too and shoot partridges, since apparently he wants to so much!’ she added laughing. ‘I am sure he and Papa will get on famously.’ (She was thinking privately of someone else who could now be allowed to come: Nicholas Heriot, whose visit had been postponed because of the family mourning; she wanted to consult Hetta as to how this could best be managed. The larger the party in the house, the less the embarrassment for the suitor who was coming ‘on approval’.)
On the afternoon of the day when Luis was to be flown out she was sitting in the clinic discussing this knotty point. The Duke had extended the warmest possible welcome on the telephone to the whole Atherley family—‘and of course the British Ambassador too, if he cares to come. I will write to him.’ ‘But Hetta, Papa did not mention Nicholas,’ she said rather sadly. ‘He knew that he was coming, and wished him to come, before old Tia Ana died, and he had to be put off. And last night he did not speak of him at all.’
‘Perhaps he forgot.’
‘Possibly. I should like him to come while you are there; then you would see him. I am sure you will like him. But who should write?’
‘Who put him off?’
‘I did, as Papa does not know him. But this is a little different,’ the girl said, with a faint blush. ‘Should I ask Papa to write?’
Hetta considered.
‘No,’ she said at length. ‘I think you must write yourself. For your Father to write might seem—well, to emphasise the matter too much. It was all arranged, and then you had to ask him to postpone his visit; now you write and say that the deuil is over, and that we are all going there. It is quite natural.’
There was a knock on the door.
‘Come in,’ Hetta called in Spanish.
Round the door came a man in a neat uniform, such as messengers from the smartest shops wear, carrying a sheaf of roses done up in cellophane. ‘For the Señora Atherley,’ he said, going over towards the bed, and staring hard at Hetta. Luzia sprang up, took the flowers from him, and almost pushed him out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
‘Who are they from?’ Hetta asked. But when Luzia had undone the cellophane there was no card, nor any label to indicate from which shop they had come.
‘This is curious,’ Hetta observed. ‘You are sure there is no card?’
‘Quite sure.’ The girl frowned a little as she put some flowers which were rather over into the waste-paper-basket, rinsed out the vase which had held them, and arranged the roses in that—she stood it on a table in the window. Richard had told her of his arrangement with the clinic that no one was to enter Hetta’s room except her, himself and the Doctor without his authorisation—he had telephoned personally about the visits from Admiral Luxworthy and the Ambassador. She did not want to alarm Hetta, but it was not really with any change of subject that she asked, as she sat down again—‘Have they settled when the X-ray is to be?’
‘In two or three days, I think.’
‘How slow they are! Always mañana, in Spain! Does Dr. Santana not think you well enough yet?’
‘Yes, but the radiologist is busy.’
Richard Atherley was both disturbed and angry when Luzia told him about the mysterious flowers; she slipped down to the Embassy and caught him before he went to pay his usual evening visit to the clinic.
‘What fools!’ he said irritably. ‘I told the Matron most definitely that this was not to happen.’
‘I think, now, that she should have the X-ray tomorrow, and leave the day after—surely there must be a radiologist in Madrid who is not so busy?’
‘There had damn well better be!’ He reached for his telephone and arranged to go and see Dr. Santana at once. ‘Will it be all right at your end?’ he asked Luzia then. But he had no real doubts about that; he had stayed at Gralheira himself often enough to know the inexhaustible capacities of that household. ‘And can you get her packed?’
‘Oh yes—I have got Speranza with me. I warn Nannie tonight, so that she can be preparing also—and I telephone to Papa.’
‘Bless you,’ the young man said fervently. ‘I’m glad you’re here.’
Dr. Santana had rather a mauvais quart d’heure with the British Counsellor. The Isabella Clinic was where he sent all his richer patients, and was more or less under his control; Richard, in spite of his anger, was careful not to give the Doctor the real reason for it—he put it on the grounds of a promise made, and broken; instructions given and not observed. When he had pulverised Santana sufficiently he demanded an X-ray on the following day, and got his way—no Doctor wishes to upset his diplomatic clientèle, let alone lose them. Richard went on to the clinic where he remonstrated strongly with the Matron; but when he went in to see his wife, and she told him about the anonymous roses, he treated it lightly. ‘The Spaniards are frightfully casual,’ he said, and went on to tell her that the X-ray was settled for tomorrow. ‘And after that, darling, if the X-ray is all right I want to take you to Gralheira at once.’
‘You come too? Oh, how lovely!’
‘Yes, for a few days.’ He explained about the second American visitor, and how he would have to be back in Madrid for that—‘So the sooner we go, the better.’
* * *
The X-ray was perfectly satisfactory; it revealed no sign of any injury to either mother or child. All the same there was a delay of a further day or two. They were too large a party for one car; the Duke of Ericeira naturally sent one of his big Humbers to fetch Luzia and her maid—it was so vast that Richard thankfully arranged to let his baby and its nurse travel in that, along with Hetta’s own maid. But the drive from Portugal to Madrid took a whole day, so the man had to stay a night before starting the return journey. This pause allowed time for Richard to clear up his work, before even a short absence, to his satisfaction; the Swiss Nannie co
uld pack at leisure, and Luzia do some last-minute shopping for herself and Hetta. On the last afternoon the girl came in to Hetta’s room in the clinic with a radiant face.
‘I am sorry I am a little late,’ she said, putting down one or two small parcels. ‘I had to wait for a telephone call, and it was slow in coming through—not at the time they said.’
‘From your Father?’
‘No—from Nick! I wrote to him that day when you said I should, and he got the letter today—I had written on your paper, in my hurry, which gives the telephone number of the flat, so he put in a personal call. You were quite right; he did not think it strange in the least that I should have written—he comes next week!’
‘I am very glad,’ Hetta said warmly.
‘So am I—now you will see him. He is glad too!’ the girl said, with a slight blush.
Hetta didn’t doubt it—with the faint colour in her pale face Luzia, always beautiful, was enchanting.
‘Now here is your powder, and the Forêt Vierge, and the Worth Eau de Cologne. Can you think of anything else, before the shops shut? No?—then I think I should go and finish my packing. I come tomorrow morning early, early, to get you up and finish your nécessaire de toilette.’
‘How kind you are.’
‘De nada. Oh, there is something I nearly forgot. Would you have wished to see Mrs. Parrott? She telephoned, twice, but I said I thought you were not well enough—she sounded so cross!’
‘Poor Nell! Was she cross about Luis?’
‘Yes—and that everything will be so difficult for her without him. I am afraid this husband of hers must have let her know that you were in some way responsible for his being sent away.’
‘Poor Nell!’ Hetta said again. ‘It seems unkind not to see her, but—no, it is wiser that I do not.’
‘So I thought. Tomorrow will be a long day, and you should not be worried. And no one will ever make her understand what is of importance and what is not,’ Luzia said sagely.
In spite of her pity for Mrs. Parrott, Hetta had to laugh.