The Face of Eve

by Betty Burton

  ‘That’s wonderful, Señor Hernandez. Please say that I am honoured and will be delighted to see the new gardens.’

  ‘It will be the General’s pleasure to send a car for you. When is the best time – I mean for the favourable light?’

  ‘Morning is best. Some flowers fade in the sun.’

  ‘Would tomorrow be convenient to you?’

  ‘It would.’

  ‘Thank you, señorita. Tomorrow at seven?’

  ‘Seven would be fine.’

  Soon after the emissary left, Eve received a telephone message that her driver had brought her car up and was awaiting her. Mendoza had instituted this himself, so she went quickly down, festooned as usual with her photographic equipment. Mendoza sped away, taking a road to the south where they had not yet been, and, at a suitable place, parked.

  ‘You apparently heard about my invitation.’

  ‘No, what is that?’

  ‘To photograph in the General’s garden.’

  ‘When did this happen?’

  ‘Just before I learned that you were waiting. I thought that’s why you arranged this drive.’

  ‘That is excellent. I think you will not need me any longer. Bureau contact is working. I have orders to return to Lisbon.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know, probably because I have given you a good report. I would not expect to know. The English do sometimes tend to treat their non-British agents with less understanding than they might.’

  ‘How about the way I’m being treated? I didn’t know a thing about them moving you. What are they doing, chucking me in at the deep end?’

  ‘You may not have experience in the field, but you have been well trained. Your performance is excellent. I do not know anything about your true identity but Miss Anders is everything that she is supposed to be. You are not in at the deep end, as you say; you have been swimming very strong, and will continue to do so when I am gone.’

  ‘Why do you think they’re pulling you out?’

  ‘It is possibly to do with the lady in the sports car. She mixes in the new high society. She has been forgiven her old ways. She is reformed and a friend of the new State. And she’s one of the Bureau’s trophies, I would think. It is probable that Miss Povey is a sleeper. You know what this is?’

  ‘An agent who does nothing until they are awakened for some special work?’

  ‘It is possible that London thinks that I am superfluous because they have awakened her – so I am recalled to Lisbon.’

  ‘OK, but I’ve been glad to have you as a guardian angel. Out of curiosity, Mendoza, how have you been receiving your orders here?’

  ‘You have an aunt in Ireland, I have a grandfather in Portugal. He is old and sick. I telephone him at night to make sure that he is no worse, and there is a mail delivery.’ He gave her a flicker of a smile.

  ‘What do you do when you are not being a Bureau person?’

  ‘I am always a Bureau person. At home, we have a family business, taxi and car-hire. It excuses me when necessary. Also a bar – quite nice, respectable, an excellent place for exchange of information.’

  ‘Why do you do it?’

  ‘For God and my people. Fascists are anti-Christ. We, my family, believe in an old-fashioned ideal that Jesus of Nazareth preached: one world, one people, equality. He was the first Communist. I believe that. I live by that. What else is worth anything?’

  ‘Should you be letting me know so much about yourself?’

  ‘No. But there are times when one must put down a marker and let one other person know: this is me, this is where I stand, this is what I would die for.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘And now, Miss Anders, you must dismiss me for some misdemeanour. I am to leave the car for you. Will you be able to drive it?’

  ‘I could drive a tank given the chance.’

  ‘Good. I think that you should drive yourself back to the hotel, make a show of anger, leave the car for the porter to take to the garages and stomp off in great indignation to change your clothes, because you will – or I will – have spilled coffee over them. You will not want to talk about what happened, only that I am dismissed. As far as you are concerned, I shall disappear, and you will not know or care.’

  ‘OK.’ And without warning she jumped out of her seat and into the road, sending the flask flying out of his hand with the coffee spilling over both of them.

  He jumped back and saved the flask from falling. ‘Well done, Miss Anders – without spilling a drop on the Buick’s upholstery.’

  ‘That would have been desecration.’

  She drove back into the city and did not see Mendoza again.

  * * *

  The expedition to the General’s gardens was a start to something Eve could never have instigated herself. Having spent a couple of hours being taken around the lovely grounds of the house, and photographed so many exotic climbing plants that she could have based a book on them alone, she was invited to join the aide to the General’s lady, who was taking coffee on a beautiful veranda shaded with lush vegetation.

  Here she was, in the lion’s den. Supping with the devil.

  That morning she had looked at herself in the mirror and wondered how she could do this. She hated everything the General and his regime stood for – their self-importance and arrogance in believing that they had an absolute right to rule. When Spain had gained democracy, the generals, bishops, judges and aristocrats had taken their wealth and abandoned Spain. The war had been about them – about their wanting to put an end to Spain’s young democracy. And, with the aid of the fascists, it had happened.

  Eve apologised for not having learned enough Spanish to converse, but the aide said that he did not mind because he liked to practise his English. When Eve was asked why she had chosen to stay at the Ritz and not the Hotel Royale she replied that she’d had no preference, other than that she had stayed in the Ritz in London.

  ‘But the Ritz is out of fashion, not a very jolly place for such a pretty young woman, Miss Anders,’ insisted the aide.

  ‘Actually, I’m supposed to be working.’

  ‘You must have parties. Too much work will give you lines before you are old. Maybe you British are too sober?’

  Eve laughed. ‘Señor, I’m not British, but Irish.’

  ‘No? But as far as I can judge, your English is very good.’

  ‘We speak English in Ireland, and I was brought up in England.’

  ‘Ah, is Ireland then not part of Britain? I am quite an ignoramus beyond my own country. Only Portugal I know.’

  Of course. Portugal was where many of the old families fled when Spain became a republic.

  ‘No, señor, it is not. The part I come from is not.’ Here Eve’s subconscious helped her to steer clear of the word ‘republic’. ‘Irish people love parties. We call them ceilidhs and we hold ceilidhs at the drop of a hat.’ The setting up of a tripod camera to photograph the veranda was the most useful prop to hide behind. ‘“At the drop of a hat” means that we will take any excuse to enjoy a party.’

  ‘Then you would like the Royale. There are always parties there.’ Eve almost heard an invitation coming, which is what she had been hoping for since her arrival. It was obvious now that the Ritz was intent on keeping its dignity, whilst the Royale provided for a less stodgy clientele. ‘I often hear the band playing.’ Eve laughed to show how much she enjoyed the music.

  Janet McKenzie had said Eve was a good actress because she could get inside the character. I am, she thought. I’m living this part. Loving it. If he starts talking politics, I will agree with him.

  ‘Germans too will have parties “at the drop of a hat”. This evening I shall be hosting a small cocktail party for the various visiting internationals. I think you would like it, if you care to come. Just cocktails, but we do like to… What shall I say? Men love their uniforms and the ladies their fine dresses. In recent times Madrid has seen no such occasions.’

  ‘I love to dr
ess up. Thank you, señor, I should really like to attend.’

  ‘Then you shall receive an invitation. Probably the first of many.’

  And so it was that at six o’clock, Eve, dressed to kill by Nati, and accompanied by her, walked the short distance between the two hotels. Almost the first person she saw on entering the lounge where the chatter was only outdone by the laughter, was Alex Povey. She looked stunning, wearing a shade of blue that offset her glittering necklace and drop earrings – sapphires, every one. Nor were Alex’s jewels alone in the room; they were in the good company of diamonds, emeralds and rubies. Eve’s rented fiery opal drops, as with her plain cream-coloured, short, flimsy chiffon frock, were all the more noticeable in comparison to the gaiety of the dresses worn by other women. She stood out as very modern.

  Alex was the only person there who could have seen the slightest resemblance between the Eve of Barcelona and this one. In any case, it wasn’t likely that any of this company had even been in the country at that time. These were people who had fled with their wealth, or been kicked out of the Republic. This was the new, same old gang of the right-wing.

  McKenzie’s voice in Eve’s head turned her detestation to delight. A party… a party. A challenge… a challenge.

  As the smart equerry who had called upon her at the Ritz came forward to welcome her, she took in the entire room. Her training came into its own: she fixed all the main points in her mind, especially the German military in resplendent uniforms.

  This cocktail hour was not going to be easy, but it would be exciting, even fun.

  ‘Miss Anders.’

  ‘Señor Hernandez, good evening.’ Then the aide who had escorted her on the tour of the Franco gardens approached, and a waiter appeared with a tray of drinks. Eve chose an ungarnished pink gin, sipped it and nodded her appreciation of the flavour. London gin. The best. David Hatton had been the one to teach her about the many and varied gins, long ago and far away, when she’d been living another fantasy quite as bizarre as this, and entirely carefree.

  ‘Let me introduce you to a few people. We Spaniards are very sociable people, we want visitors to enjoy our country. A young lady such as yourself must have a social life whilst you grace our city.’

  Grace our city? It was all so Ruritanian and musty.

  ‘To be working in Madrid, as I am, should be enough. It is so beautiful.’

  Conducting her through the glittering gathering, the aide stopped at a group who were obviously dressed to go on to some grand occasion. ‘Miss Anders, may I introduce Baron von Pfitzer.’ The baron took her fingers as Eve had seen actors do in films set in old Austria, and barely brushed them with his lips. Von Pfitzer was as handsome as hell. Contempt for his politics was no protection against sexual response. She saw his eyes lower to her breasts.

  The baron undertook to introduce Señorita Anders to some of his many acquaintances. Eve having apologised for understanding neither Spanish nor German, he said that they would start with only those with whom she could exchange gossip.

  ‘Baron, I have no gossip.’ She smiled prettily. ‘I am a hardworking woman. I have a deadline to keep.’ This he translated into German for a grand and mature lady as, ‘Frau von Mentz, may I introduce Miss Anders, from Ireland. She says that she is a working lady who does not speak any language but her own.’

  Observing that this was someone special, Eve gave a tiny bob of a curtsy, inches short of what a duchess or princess would expect but sufficient to acknowledge that this woman had status.

  ‘I speak some English, Miss Anders.’ Frau von Mentz had a very clear and beautiful voice; perhaps she had been or was a singer. ‘I vass in England many times when I vass a girl.’

  ‘Did you like England?’ Eve put two fingers over her lips in an innocent or apologetic gesture. ‘Or maybe I shouldn’t ask such a question now that we are at war with them.’ That ‘we’ had come as inspiration. If Eire was not at war with Britain, it was not supporting it.

  Frau von Mentz raised her eyebrows and pointed conspiratorially at Eve, leading her away from the group she had been with, taking en route another aperitif and indicating that Eve should do likewise. ‘You don’t tell no one. In the old days I loved it. When I vass young. You guess what my profession was?’

  ‘Frau von Mentz, what do you mean, when you were young? If you don’t mind me saying so, your complexion is wonderful and your figure very lithe.’

  It was true. Only the confident way she held herself and took command gave her that air of maturity Eve had responded to.

  ‘My dear working lady, how sweet of you to pay such compliments – you who have the face of an angel and the figure of Venus – well, a Venus that a woman might have painted or chiselled. Have you noticed how so many of these marble women have the thick, heavy body of the male with a delicate head and pudding breasts as an afterthought?’

  ‘Oh yes, I’ve always wondered whether Greek sculptors preferred male bodies or had never studied a woman’s body.’

  Frau von Mentz’s laugh was so hearty that it drew glances. ‘My dear Miss Anders, I can see that you and I will get along famously.’

  You and I, von Mentz, most probably will. You, Frau von Mentz, will be a safer entree into Madrid society than Alex Povey, Eve thought. As far as Eve could judge, Alex had not once glanced in her direction. She was in a circulating group who, by the amount of banter that seemed to be going on between them, looked on pretty friendly terms.

  ‘I am told by the General’s lady that you are interested in flowering trees?’

  ‘Flowering climbing plants, actually, but really anything that is exotic and unknown back home.’

  ‘Perhaps you would care to see my collection. Not climbing, but mountain and desert flowers grown in pottery.’

  ‘I should like that, thank you.’

  ‘Not that such plants would have much success in your country – so damp and green.’

  ‘Gardeners like to look at what they cannot have, and they try. Many Victorian ferneries have been turned into cold houses for growing alpine plants. I can see those same people wanting to adapt with heat and light.’

  ‘I will tell my husband that you are to be sent for at your convenience. I rise very early, if you would like to be out in the cool air of morning?’

  ‘It has always been a time of day I like, even though mornings back home can be black and wet and cold. There is something about being up before the world starts turning.’

  ‘I have never thought of it in those terms, but that is how I feel also. Perhaps you would like to join me very early one morning, and we could watch the sun rise?’

  Hell! I could really like this woman, Eve thought. The liking appeared to be mutual. Useful to have a foot in the enemy camp. What could she do with it? She had, at present, not much idea.

  Frau von Mentz looked around. ‘The General’s lady is not here.’

  ‘I thought that it was her party.’

  ‘It is, but not always is she able to leave the house. A pity.’

  Why not always able to leave the house? Eve was keen to gather more information about the circle of high society she was infiltrating. If the Windsors did flee to Madrid, then this was the very society for them, and with the friendship of Frau von Mentz she could be well established by then.

  ‘Have you worked out what I was doing in England all those times?’

  ‘Are you a singer?’

  ‘You are almost correct. I was a Shakespearean actress from when I was sixteen. Ophelia at almost her true age.’

  ‘You gave it up?’

  ‘I thought that I should before I was being offered the part of one of the witches.’ It was a joke. Eve smiled. ‘In fact I married the man who financed many of the productions. It was true love. I was soon widowed and I miss him.’

  ‘How dreadful for you, and you so young.’

  ‘He, alas, was not. A marriage of spring and winter, people said. We were very happy… and I have my present husband, who I would not miss quite
as much. Come, my dear, let us join this noisy little crowd.’

  The group was of mixed nationalities – two of them Italians, apparently adherents to Mussolini’s cause – same brand of fascism, different coloured shirts.

  This little group bewildered Eve, as only one of them spoke anything that she could understand, so she wandered out of that circle but away from Alex.

  Frau von Mentz came up behind her and said, ‘I know who would like to meet you. She does not live in the city, but she is an English woman. Come.’ She took Eve’s hand.

  ‘Miss Povey, I have brought you this intelligent and delightful speaker of English, I have taken a great liking to her, and so, I am certain, will you. Miss Eve Anders. I will not tell you about her – you must discover that for yourself – but I tell you, she knows a good statue when she sees one.’

  Alex, who was standing with a group of fair and dark men, threw up her hands, one holding a cigarette, and kissed Eve on both cheeks. ‘Ah, we meet again. Frau von Mentz, this young lady I knew when she was a titchy little thing learning to ski. Two days ago, she wanders into the English tearoom, a grown woman. I recognised her at once.’ To Eve: ‘I thought you would have moved on by now.’

  ‘No, no. Look at this place – why would I want to move on? And, Frau von Mentz has invited me to watch the sun rise.’

  ‘So, Miss grown-up Anders, tell us all. How did you come to impress Frida von Mentz with your knowledge of art?’

  ‘Neither of us care for Venuses with the shoulders of discus throwers.’

  ‘You hear that, Mikos?’ She glanced at the short dark man beside her. ‘Mikos is Greek. I could tell you the names of the rest of them, but you won’t remember them – sauerkrauts and spaghetti.’ She poked one or two of the men clustering around her in the chest.

  They liked it, responding to her outrageous stereotyping. One, pointing back at her, said, ‘And what are you then, Miss roast biff of England?’