by Betty Burton
He raised his eyebrows and blew out his cheeks. ‘The Duchess told you this?’
‘Yes. I know it sounds implausible, but she said that she needed to tell somebody quite unconnected with her own circle. Maybe she thinks they really are going to be kidnapped. Maybe she wanted some unbiased person to know, if she suddenly disappeared – I may be wrong.’
‘Did she mention Schellenberg?’
Eve shook her head.
‘Schellenberg owns the hunting lodge where the Windsors spent some time.’
‘I know about that, von Mentz gave me the impression that it belonged to her husband.’
‘Rudolph von Mentz has use of it, but it’s Schellenberg’s.’
‘A bullet was fired into the lodge.’
Van Gogh raised his eyebrows. ‘Go on.’
‘She hates the idea of being put out to grass… the Bahamas, she said. Is that right, do you know?’
He shrugged noncommittally. ‘What about de Silvo – Dr Ricardo de Espirito Santo de Silvo?’
Eve smiled, shaking her head. ‘I’d have remembered that one, who is he?’
‘A wealthy, outspoken Nazi supporter, and he owns, among others, a well-placed villa on the coast of Portugal that he has made available to the Windsors.’
‘Will they go there?’
‘It would be useful if they do.’
‘How?’
‘The resort is Cascais, not far from Lisbon. If the king and the government can put enough pressure on him to do the decent thing and clear off to the Bahamas, we could have him out of there and away pretty damned quick.’
‘Things are coming to a head, aren’t they?’
‘They have to, it can’t go on like this. We need all our energy to fight the war at home. All this is piddling around… I’m sorry.’
‘It’s OK. I feel the same.’
‘I guess what you got from the Duchess this evening will prove invaluable. Lets the ministry know how she’s thinking, and what she thinks, he thinks too. I’d say they aren’t thinking of going over to the Germans?’
‘I got the impression it wasn’t even a consideration. Her problem was with not having her own kind around her. Make him King of America and everyone would be OK.’
‘Was I wrong to get you to meet me? It appears you know everything already.’
‘No, no. We knew nothing about these notes. They’re important. All the rest falls into place. Now it’s just a question of watching and waiting. If you need to pass on anything new, I’ll give you a number to ring here rather than go through that rigmarole with the Irish connection.’
At last, Eve thought, she was doing something useful.
* * *
On the surface Nati was her old useful self, but Eve was cautious, not certain that she had convinced Nati that she knew nothing about the English tearoom. Also, Eve was watchful. Nati said things she must now wish unsaid. Both women were in insecure situations.
Yet another invitation. A musical evening for the Duchess, who was known to be a lover of blues music and jazz bands. After all the cocktails and soirees in a variety of places, Eve really looked forward to something different.
It was as the sun went down. Chairs were set out on a stone terrace, lanterns hung in trees and were strung on lines from the house. The scent of lemon oil helped to keep at bay the evening insects, but the women still covered their heads and shoulders with light shawls against the pests. The party was quite informal, and a buffet would be served later.
The programme started with traditional music of southern Spain. Eve loved the plaintive guitar, and she sat propped against a stone balustrade, absorbed and feeling the pain expressed through the instrument. Tietze, the Austrian, came to stand beside her.
‘It is moving, is it not, Señorita Anders?’
Eve nodded, cross at his intrusion, but smiling. At the end of the recital she turned and answered him. ‘Very moving. Neither your country nor mine could make music like that.’
‘I agree, one must be born with the compatible emotion. My emotion is stirred by Wagner as I am sure that your own is by the compositions of Ketelbey, both touching the hearts of their people. Would you agree that Ketelbey could never have written Das Rheingold?’
‘Probably not.’ Who the hell was Ketelbey?
‘Can you think of two such contrary styles?’
Eve sensed that he wasn’t interested in her opinion, but wanted to show off his knowledge – and probably to score a point or two.
‘Wagner is so strong, I think he could never conceive of Ketelbey’s sombre music In a Monastery Garden.’ He looked pleased with himself, as though he had primed himself with a little gem of superiority. ‘Yours is a gentler heritage.’
‘No, no, my heritage isn’t gentle. Irish music is all fast drums.’
He laughed. ‘I think that I am teasing, but if you speak English, then you are English. It is very ill-mannered of us, but I expect to you Austrians and Germans are the same.’
‘Point to you, Herr Tietze.’
‘Please, Frederich.’
‘Shh, listen, Frederich.’ She held a finger to her lips.
‘Ah.’
Eve sat as she had been, on plump cushions, propped up beside Tietze with her back to the stone balustrade of a terrace surfaced with beautiful old terracotta tiles.
The voice was deep for a woman’s – blues sung with sex and wantonness.
Her ears pricked up like an animal’s. A suppressed thrill kicked her in the solar plexus.
That amazing voice.
Since she had last heard it flowing out into the spring air of the English countryside at The House by the Sea, it had gained power.
Her heart bounced.
DB.
Something was about to happen.
What happened was that the aide who had invited Eve to take pictures of the Franco garden pushed his way through the crowded terrace looking so pleased with himself. Whispering in Spanish he said, ‘Here she is, the lady I mentioned… someone to speak to in your own language.’ Then in English, ‘Miss Anders, I thought that you would care to meet Señor Paul Smyth, who is… what, Mr Smyth? Manager?’
‘Jack of all trades, señor. The agent who plans her appearances, and stops her when she would go on all night. I’m glad to meet you, Miss Anders.’
‘And I you, Mr Smyth.’
‘I will leave you to get acquainted.’
Tietze, who was still hanging about Eve, offered his hand to Paul. ‘Tietze.’
‘Pleased to meet you.’
Eve whispered in Tietze’s ear, ‘I am going to take our visitor into the garden where we won’t interfere with the Duchess’s pleasure.’
She rose and sauntered away, Paul in tow, until they were well away from anyone else.
‘Oh, Paul. If there weren’t people up there I’d give you a big hug and a kiss.’
‘You look amazing. How’s it been? Not exactly my idea of a worthwhile job. So far I haven’t done anything except have quite a good time with DB.’
‘Sit down here, there’s nobody within thirty feet of this bench. Keep your polite distance. How about you and DB?’
‘Don’t you think she’s come on in a few weeks?’
‘Oh yes. What’s she been doing to get that voluptuousness into her singing?’
‘Nightclubs and bars and whatever Lisbon could offer that was full of cigarette smoke and drinks in small glasses. There have been times when she could have set the curtains alight she was so hot.’
‘Come on, applause. Sounds like an interval.’ DB was surrounded by people wanting to congratulate her. Señora Franco’s aide led DB to where the General’s lady was seated with the Duke and Duchess.
‘Who is that fellow running everything?’ Paul asked.
‘“Señor Fixit”, he’s one of General Franco’s own; looks after Señora Franco’s affairs. This is his place. It’s a coup for him to have the General’s lady and the Duchess on his terrace. How did you manage to be here?’
‘Where are you staying?’
‘Nowhere grand like you, but it’s not for long.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Mendoza. I think it’s all fixed for the Windsors to move on.’
‘It is, but they’re moving on into Portugal.’
‘Does the left hand know what the right one is doing?’
‘Who cares for tonight?’
The evening broke up.
Eve made no attempt to speak to DB, but as she was about to go to her car, the aide touched her shoulder.
‘Señorita Anders, Her Royal Highness has asked Miss de Beers to sing for her at a private party in her suite at the Ritz. She asks if you would care to join her.’
‘Of course. Will you please say that I shall be delighted?’
‘In about one hour.’
Well, Eve thought, if they’re on the move, I’ll be in at the kill.
It was a small gathering in the Windsors’ suite. The Duchess greeted everyone with poise and graciousness, and Eve thought, not for the first time, that she had everything the Queen of England did not have. ‘Please excuse my husband. He would join us if I asked him, but he would only fidget if he were forced to sit through my kind of music. Miss Anders, I’m real pleased to see you again. Everybody here speaks English, isn’t that just great? Have you met our entertainer? Come on over, Miss de Beers. Meet the only person who knows my plans for the future.’
DB shook hands with Eve and said all the right things. The Duchess gave a delighted laugh when people looked concerned. ‘It’s to do with a sewing machine.’
Eve, playing up to her, said, ‘Oh, Duchess, don’t give it away. When people start to talk about your venture, I want to be able to say, “I knew all about that, the Duchess told me.” Of course, no one will believe me, but I will know.’
‘Y’know what, Miss Anders, I do believe you’ve given me the confidence to do it.’
DB sang for about an hour, after which Eve invited the two newcomers to visit her suite for a nightcap.
It was as well that Nati had pulled the heavy curtains, for as soon as the three of them were safely in the sitting room, they clung together and danced a jig.
‘Oh my God, Eve,’ DB said, ‘this bit’s as fun as can be.’ She roamed around, opening drawers and cupboards, smelling bottles and soaps, trying on scarves and earrings. Paul poured drinks, lighted their cigarettes and sank into one of the overstuffed armchairs, looking hugely satisfied. ‘All we need for perfect pleasure is Fran.’
DB, who was fascinated by the luxurious bathroom, whooped and came out holding up two condom packets left behind by Duke. ‘Oh, you bad girl. You’ve been doing things with men.’ Eve felt her colour rising. ‘If I had been, they wouldn’t be unused, would they?’
‘Hey, come on, that’s a poor excuse for an excuse. Who’s been sleeping in Eve’s bed?’
Paul just shook his head. ‘Have you any idea at all what it’s like to be with this woman twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week?’
‘You wouldn’t need any of these, that’s for sure.’ Unrolling one, DB blew it up like a balloon, patting it about until it landed on her burning cigarette.
‘Come on, mad woman. Let’s find our hotel.’
Eve said, ‘It’s late. Stay here.’
DB put her arms around Eve’s neck and kissed her hair. ‘You making us both an offer we can’t refuse?’
‘This place is half empty. I’ll ring down and get you rooms. The Bureau can afford it.’
‘You’re not kidding. The Bureau should have made a nice little profit out of us,’ Paul said. ‘I really think I’d make a good agent – of the other sort.’
‘A double agent.’
There were rooms available for Miss Anders’ guests. Her own felt empty once they had gone. These days she never seemed quite to be free of anxiety.
Had she been too spontaneous in arranging rooms for two people who were supposed to be strangers?
But then, they were English, so it would be natural for her to want to have their company.
One of the things Janet had said was that stress kept you on your toes. Anxiety made you careful.
Before Eve went down to breakfast next morning, DB and Paul had gone, leaving a formal ‘thank you’ note for Miss Anders’ generosity.
Then there was a phone call. ‘Ladybird’s gone to London. She wouldn’t say what’s up, but I don’t care. It means that you can come down and stay at my place. If you don’t come, I’ll fetch you.’
‘I’ll try. Ring you back later.’
Then came a note on crested paper saying the Duchess and her husband were going to stay with friends, and how she hoped that she and Eve might meet up again some day.
Then came a phone call from van Gogh. ‘I hear that you are planning a trip south, Miss Anders. Would you mind giving some friends a lift?’
‘Who?’
‘A Miss de Beers and Mr Smyth.’
* * *
Eve told Quixote that she planned to spend a little time with some friends in Seville.
He was sad that she would be leaving. Maybe he could arrange a little farewell cocktail party?
She was touched by his sweet thought. She hated goodbyes… they made her melancholy.
* * *
Eve was anxious enough without Nati being agitated, fumbling with the packing, dropping things, jumping when porters brought in trays or the telephone rang.
‘For goodness’ sake, Nati, take ten minutes and sit down. Here, have a glass of tea.’
‘Thank you, no, señorita. I must get the packing finished.’
‘There isn’t that much left to do.’
Suddenly, Nati was standing before her, hands knotted tightly and her face a picture of apprehension. ‘Excuse me, Señorita Anders, now that you are going, I have to tell you this. I think we have met before.’
‘I don’t think so, Nati.’
‘When you came here I wondered how I could have seen you before. It seemed impossible; you had not been to this country. I ask Señor Quixote if you are famous, I might have seen you in a magazine, and he says not famous but very rich.’
Eve looked up and saw that Nati was almost rigid with anxiety. Deep breath… relax. Deep breath… relax.
‘Come on, Nati, spit it out. Sit down, do as I say. Here.’ She poured another glass of iced tea.
Nati sat, perched on the edge of an armless chair. ‘Barcelona, señorita, you know that I was in Barcelona?’
Eve drew on her subconscious to achieve a relaxed state but to appear a bit irritated and impatient.
‘Yes, you told me that. You were a teacher. And your father brought you here for the sake of the children.’
‘Yes, that is true. Please be patient.’
‘Of course.’
‘Julio was workers’ party.’ Nati looked directly at Eve, not expecting an answer. ‘There was always trouble between POUM and others. Each accuse the other of betraying. When the end was near in Barcelona, old adversaries settled old arguments with the gun. My husband went out to deal with anarchist but tables were turned. I have not seen him since then. I am sorry, but I and my children are never out of danger because of Julio.’
Eve felt herself at risk now, but all that she could do was to sit still and say nothing and let Nati talk.
‘After that time, it was very dangerous. Perhaps they would come looking for me and the children. What I did, señorita, I change my appearance from teacher to very poor person. Ha, that was not difficult. I went to my uncle, who lives in the old streets. He did not recognise who was this ragged lady. He is my mother’s brother. He was simple fisherman, never in the world of revolution and politics; he lives and works only for the family, you understand? He was family and he took us in
and did not ask why.’
Eve shrugged noncommittally.
‘At first I was no good, because I did not know the different fishes, but my cousins were good teachers and in one or two days I was sorting and helping with the catch. Meat was scarce, polios, pavos, all plucked and stewed weeks before. There was a joke which maybe you have heard: ‘We have eaten the last cerdo, but we saved for you the grunt’ – the pig, you see. Which was true – the only meat was fish. The sea was dangerous to be in. But my uncle went out every day. He was not a man for churches, but he was good in the way of bringing back as much fish as he could.’
She paused, perhaps waiting for Eve to say something, but she still did not comment.
‘Every day the same woman would come. She would not push but wait till the good fish was gone and ask for small things that were left. Cheap. My uncle said I must always put one good fish at the bottom of her bag and she must pay only for the bits and pieces.’
‘Why?’
‘Señorita, I am still feeling guilty. My uncle did not say why she was his favourite. I took the wrong reason. You can guess what I thought of him… and of the woman. No one would have blamed her. I too might have gone with a man to keep my children fed. But I did not think that my uncle would be a man like that.’ She looked down at her hands as she twisted a dusting cloth.
‘I am so sorry, Señorita Anders. When I discovered the truth, it was too late. My uncle asked, “Where is the English girl? She has not come here maybe for three days.” He sent one of the little boys to find what has happened. I did not know that she was English, because she spoke our language well. When the boy returned, he said that the house was empty, and people said that the English woman had gone with the refugees. My uncle crossed himself and asked the Good Lord to protect her.’
Eve felt boxed into a corner. Blackmail? To gain time, she walked across the room, took out a new pack of cigarettes, fumbled the opening and the lighter and perched on the edge of the bureau. ‘I expect there are many such stories. You should write them down for when your children are grown up.’