The Episode at Toledo

by Ann Bridge

  ‘Who was that?’ he asked. ‘Not that wretched Nell?’

  ‘No—someone else. How nice your Mr. Ainsworth is!’ she exclaimed, and embarked immediately on a flowing account of his kindness towards la Viuda Elizondo; before it was ended Luzia had come in, and they went to lunch—Atherley forgot about the telephone call. Quite casually and normally, over coffee, Hetta extracted from him what his movements were to be that afternoon, and learned that, as she had expected, he would be in the Chancery from five till half-past six or later—‘Then I shall try to get in a game of squash with Marchant.’ This would allow her plenty of time with the American, if he was punctual; she must just hope that he would be.

  He was.

  ‘Well, Mrs. Atherley, this is very good of you,’ he began. ‘I’m so glad to meet you at last. I suppose Ainsworth let you know how badly I wanted to see you?’

  ‘He just mentioned that you had wished to—but I wanted to see you. That is why I telephoned; I made him give me your number.’

  Day looked a little startled at this announcement.

  ‘He didn’t tell you why I wanted us to meet?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, may I get my part over with first?’ he asked, very nicely.

  ‘Of course—but do let me give you some tea. Cream and sugar?’ She poured out for them both with her right hand; her left arm was in a sling. ‘Now, what is your “part”?’ she said, sitting back.

  Major Day proceeded to make her a little speech. His “bosses” in Washington, he said, had asked him to seek an opportunity to thank her formally on their behalf for all the information she had produced in matters vital to their security arrangements for two visits of major political importance, and to express how greatly they regretted that this information should have been obtained at so much risk and cost to herself; also how earnestly they hoped that she would suffer no permanent ill-effects. He was obviously speaking from a prepared text, and it all sounded a little pompous and heavy-footed—Hetta was rather taken aback.

  ‘But this is quite unnecessary!’ she exclaimed when he had finished. ‘What else could I have done, once I knew what they planned? In fact I was not very efficient—I ought to have spoken before we left the cigarral, so that the Admiral would not have been in that car at all.’

  ‘Well I don’t know about that—what I do know, and what they know at home, is that but for your information that chauffeur would still have been driving our Naval Attaché around!’ Major Day said with some warmth; he too was slightly taken aback by this reception of his little complimentary address. ‘And that something would have been fixed for the Secretary of State, but for the way you handled things in Portugal, getting a Spanish-speaker to that dying man. They’re grateful, that’s all—and I don’t know since when gratitude has become unnecessary. Anyway, that’s not the way they feel in Washington!’

  Hetta saw that he was hurt, and apologised at once.

  ‘I am so sorry—do forgive me. It is just that I was taken so by surprise! It is very kind of those people in Washington; and of you too, to come and tell me. Please thank them very much for me. It is only that I really did not do very much myself; and for my hand and my head, they were things that just happened.’

  ‘That’s quite all right, Mrs. Atherley. I see how modest you are—only you mustn’t expect other folks to take you at your own valuation!’ the American said pleasantly. ‘Now, what was it that you wanted to see me about?—for I realise you hadn’t an idea of why I had to see you.’

  Hetta began her questions. The Hungarians who were to have carried out the ambush—had they been sent away, or were they in prison here in Spain? The latter, he told her; Spain had no diplomatic relations with Hungary. And how long for? Well, probably fifteen to twenty years—‘You couldn’t expect them to be released all that soon; after all, they were planning a cold-blooded murder.’

  And the ones from Portugal? Much the same, or maybe life sentences. ‘Was this what you wanted to see me for, to ask about these men?’ Day enquired, studying her dismayed face, with the strapping across the left eyebrow.

  ‘Yes. Ainsworth said you would know, since the Spanish Police were dealing directly with you.’

  He continued to look at her. ‘Would you like to tell me why you want so much to know about them?’ he asked at last.

  Rather haltingly, Hetta tried to explain her private worry; she did not do it very well, and ended rather desperately—‘You see, in a way it is through me that they are shut up, maybe for all their lives; and if they had wives and children, or old parents who will not see them again! I wish it had not been through me.’

  Major Day looked at her very benevolently.

  ‘I guess I understand,’ he said, when she stopped speaking. ‘But I think maybe you’re getting a little mixed up over this, through being too tenderhearted. Look here—you said yourself just now that there was no need to thank you over that Toledo business, because once you knew that the Admiral was to be ambushed, and about that chauffeur, you had no option but to report it. Isn’t that so?’

  ‘Yes—it is true that I could not help it.’

  ‘And these men in Portugal—well, say you did tell that young Portuguese, and had the PIDE put on the alert, don’t you suppose that if they went loosing off rifles at you or anyone else, the old Duke’s people would have caught them anyway, and handed them over to the police?’

  ‘Yes—yes, I suppose so.’

  ‘Of course so! It was what they did, or tried to do, that landed them in trouble; not what you did.’

  ‘But all these others, the ones here; about this I did do something, when I sent for that Spanish-speaking priest—it was he who learned about El Lobo, and was it not through him that they were found, and caught?’

  ‘Yes, Mrs. Atherley, it was, and it was God’s Mercy that they were,’ he said, now very gravely. ‘Some of El Lobo’s gang told the truth, and so the Spanish Security Police learned the details of the whole fresh plot. Would you like to know what they were? Maybe you’d better. There are traffic lights in a place that our Secretary of State has to pass through, quite close to Rota—they were to be tampered with, and while they were stuck at red, and the cars held up, plastic bombs were to finish off him, and our Ambassador, and Walter Parrott, and any innocent Spanish police and by-standers who happened to be around! The bombs were found. Wasn’t that nice? Parrott and our Ambassador have wives too, you know! But there’s almost no defence against plastiqueurs, which is about the dirtiest form of murder going.’

  ‘This is horrible,’ Hetta said, looking shocked.

  ‘Yes it is—and are you going to get all upset, and stay upset, because some action of yours prevented it? Anyway, was it your own idea, sending for the priest who spoke Spanish?’

  ‘No. A—a friend suggested it.’

  ‘The old Monsignore, eh?’

  ‘Yes, it was he. Why, do you know him?’

  ‘Yeah—he came on here from that Convent where you spoke to him.’

  ‘But he was to be in retreat!’ Hetta exclaimed, startled.

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t know about that; anyhow he came over to see the Spanish Intelligence people, and I met him. A character, if ever there was one!’ the Major said, looking amusedly appreciative. ‘But now look here, Mrs. Atherley—he’s a priest, and on balance I would say a good man; do you think he told you to call up for that young priest simply so the murderer could be confessed, or whatever they call it, in his own language?’ He looked keenly at her as he spoke, with such a quizzical expression that she almost laughed.

  ‘No. I am sure he would have wished that, but he probably had a second motive,’ she admitted.

  ‘I’ll say he had! And I should have thought that as a diplomat’s wife you would have had a fair idea of what that motive was—to uncover enough facts to forestall any attempt on Mr. Everitt’s life, here in Spain. Well, that is precisely what happened—but do you mean to tell me, young lady, that you really don’t realise how much harm it woul
d have done if the Secretary of State had been blown up while he was in this country?’

  ‘I had not thought much of that aspect of it,’ she said slowly.

  ‘Well, you should. Think about that pretty hard; don’t just go indulging your private feelings about your personal responsibility. These people left you no option—you have to make up your mind whether you want the free world to stay free—in which case our relations with Spain have to be good enough for us to go on using Rota as a base—or you don’t.’ He was silent, and looked rather sternly at her; Hetta too sat silent for some moments, looking in front of her.

  ‘Yes, I see,’ she said at last, in rather a small voice.

  ‘Well if you do see, couldn’t you stop worrying so much? This is quite a big thing—don’t you think that the security of the free half of the world is more important than the freedom of a few perverted individuals? Freedom they’d use primarily to go on blowing innocent people up?’

  Hetta was silenced; she was also three-parts convinced. ‘Well?’ Day asked, as she did not speak.

  ‘Yes. Yes, I believe you are right,’ she said. ‘Thank you very much for explaining it all to me.’

  He looked rather ruefully at her subdued expression.

  ‘I’m glad you feel that way at last.’ Then he grinned a little. ‘I wouldn’t make much of a diplomatist!’ he said. ‘I came here to thank you—officially—and I seem just to have given you a regular scolding. Will you pardon me for that?’

  ‘No—I shall thank you!’ Hetta said. ‘You have helped me to see this affair differently—I think more in proportion.’

  ‘Yes—in proportion is the word. So now maybe you’ll let me say again what a big service you’ve done us, and assure you that we appreciate it.’ He wrung her hand and went away.

  A few minutes later Richard came in.

  ‘Hullo, darling—you all right? I’m just going to change. Is that tea?’

  ‘It’s cold and horrible—I’ll get some more.’

  ‘Not to worry! It’s wet—I’ll have it with lemon.’ He poured himself out a weak cup, and stood drinking it. ‘I thought I saw Day driving down the Avenida,’ he said. ‘He didn’t come here, did he?’

  ‘Yes, he did.’

  ‘Damn Ainsworth! I told him I didn’t want you to be bothered with seeing him. This is pretty cool, I must say,’ he fumed.

  ‘I sent for him,’ Hetta said calmly.

  ‘Sent for him? How do you mean?’

  ‘I telephoned and asked him to come. It is not poor Mr. Ainsworth’s fault; he told me you did not wish me to see him. But I did wish it, so I rang him up.’

  ‘What on earth did you want to see him for?’

  ‘To ask him some questions. And I am very glad that I did, for the things he told me have made me much less unhappy.’

  Richard Atherley put down his cup and stared long and earnestly at his wife. What could she have wished to ask Major Day so much that she had deliberately gone against his own known wishes? And what could the American have said that had made her ‘much less unhappy’? Not for the first time, he realised that Hetta had a life of her own into which he did not always and automatically penetrate; he had often been strongly aware of this in the early days of their marriage, but latterly the occasions had been fewer. Or had they only seemed fewer? Almost timidly, he said—‘I should like to know about this, if I might?’

  ‘Yes indeed—I will tell you everything. But not now,’ she said, with a glance at the clock, ‘or you will keep Colonel Marchant waiting. Give me a kiss.’

  As he stooped and kissed her—‘Did Day say anything about his people being grateful for all the dope you produced?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh yes—he made me such a speech!’ she replied, laughing. ‘You shall hear all about that also, later on. And do not be cross with Ainsworth—to get Major Day’s number from him was like pulling teeth!’

  ‘Wretched Ainsworth! I expect he was like putty in your hands,’ Richard said, laughing too, and gave her another kiss.

  Soon after he had gone off for his game of squash the telephone rang; Hetta was hardly surprised to hear Commander Mansfield’s voice, asking if he might come round and see her? —‘Right away, if I might.’ She said yes, rang and had the tea cleared away, and drinks brought in.

  ‘I’m sorry to see that your wrist hasn’t mended yet,’ the Commander said as soon as he arrived.

  ‘No; it is being rather slow, and troublesome,’ Mrs. Atherley replied.

  ‘And what have you done to your head?’

  Hetta gave the pre-arranged reply.

  ‘That’s too bad, on top of the other injury—I am very sorry.’ He paused. ‘Are you up to going out at all?’

  ‘I have not tried yet—we are only just returned,’ she answered smiling. ‘Why?—does Mrs. Parrott want something?’

  He laughed out. ‘There’s no fooling you, Mrs. Atherley! Yes, she does; she very much hopes that you and your husband will come to her luncheon for Mr. Everitt. And I personally shall be very thankful if you can make it.’

  ‘When is it?’

  ‘On the 25th—at the Castellana-Hilton.’

  Hetta took out her little diary, and turned the pages; the 25th was the day on which their ship sailed from Vigo.

  ‘Oh no—I am so sorry, but I shall not be here.’

  ‘You’re going away again?’ He sounded surprised.

  ‘Yes. I am going to England to get treatment for my wrist. It seems there are wonderful places there for such things.’ She had decided that no one was better suited to receive, and to spread these tidings, than the Commander.

  ‘Shall you be away long?’ he asked.

  ‘For some months, I expect. It seems the trouble is worse than they thought at first—and I do not want to be one-handed for the rest of my life,’ she said, with a little smile.

  He was greatly concerned. ‘That is terribly bad news, Mrs. Atherley. I’m more sorry than I can say. That wretched Luis!’ he exclaimed, striking his hand on the arm of his chair. ‘And our people at Camp Kilmer!—I don’t find it at all easy to forgive them for being so inadequate. If they had done their job properly he would never have gotten a post with the Peabodys, and none of this would have happened.’

  Hetta had forgotten about Camp Kilmer, and asked; Mansfield explained that that was where the Hungarian refugees had been kept till they were screened. But the mention of the chauffeur’s name sent her thoughts off on another tack.

  ‘Commander Mansfield, do you not think it would be better, now, to tell Mrs. Parrott part of the truth about Luis? It seems she is still hoping that her husband will get him back, and is vexed that he doesn’t; this must be rather tiresome for him.’

  ‘Poor Walter! I’ll say it’s tiresome—and a good deal more! Only it isn’t a thing one wants talked about, and—well, you know Nell.’

  Hetta did know Nell. ‘Nevertheless, she speaks too much about him, and indiscreetly; to anyone who knows the facts, it makes her look foolish. If she were told, she could perhaps be got to keep quiet.’

  ‘I’m afraid you’re rather too optimistic, Mrs. Atherley,’ he said grimly. ‘And she isn’t the only person who’s made to look foolish. But there are the Spanish Security people to consider—they wouldn’t like it a bit if she went talking about his having been deported. I’ll think about it, and talk to Day and Walter—but I’m pretty sure it had better stay the way it is till this visit is over.’ He paused. ‘I’m beginning to wish Rota was at the bottom of the sea!’ he said.

  ‘Like its Polaris submarines!’ Hetta responded merrily. Mansfield laughed, and took his departure.

  Chapter 16

  Hetta worked her way through her essential farewell calls, at Richard’s insistence cutting them down as much as possible; in between she got on with her packing, helped by Luzia and Speranza. She had decided to take practically everything in the way of clothes; she preferred not to let any of these be dealt with except under her own supervision, she explained to Luzia—‘
And it is so tiresome to be without something, and have to write and bother Richard for it. Also as we go by sea, there will be no trouble about excess luggage.’

  ‘What about your jewellery?’ Luzia asked. She knew that most of this was kept in a small wall-safe behind a picture in Richard’s study, in which he always put any files he might have brought home to work on after dinner; on her earlier visit she had seen Hetta getting out some valuable but rather tasteless pieces, diamonds in ultra-modern settings, gifts from her Mother, for particular occasions.

  ‘Yes, of course I must take that; it would be a bore for Richard to have to look after it. Luzia, could you get me out that little crocodile jewel-case?—in the bottom left-hand drawer of the dressing-table, it should be.’

  Luzia obediently went and looked—the case was not there.

  ‘How odd! That is where I always keep it. Try the drawer above.’

  But the case was not there either.

  ‘Shall I ask Speranza?’ Luzia suggested.

  ‘Yes, do. This is what happens when one leaves home—everything is put out of its place!’ Hetta exclaimed, a little irritably; her farewells and the business of packing were beginning to tire her, and quite small things made her edgy. ‘Richard gave it to me for my last birthday—surely it cannot be lost?’ she added unhappily.

  Speranza, when summoned, reminded her mistress that this Señora Americana had asked to borrow the little case, oh, but a considerable time ago; and that the Señora, contrary to her, Speranza’s advice, had allowed it to go out of the house.

  ‘So she did!—Nell Parrott borrowed it when she and Walter had to go to San Sebastian for some party in August,’ Hetta said, relieved. ‘She wanted it because the lock was so good, she said—I think really she wished to be seen carrying it! It is pale crocodile, and most elegant,’ she added a little cattily.