The Malady in Maderia

by Ann Bridge

  “Yes.”

  “You were going to ask about them. Well, I think it might be advisable to get on to our people in the metropolitan capital, and ask them to contact their chers collègues there—”

  “Hold on— what capital?”

  “Metropolitan; that régime has a number of overseas provinces” Colin said smartly.

  “Oh ah—I get you. Sorry—go on.”

  “Contact their chers collègues there and let them prepare to act promptly,” Colin continued. “It will probably be necessary for them to send some of their own people over to collect that other, also very valuable material, which can only be secured by official action. In fact they may well want to take action against certain individuals.”

  “The ‘worthies’ you spoke of just now?”

  “Yes.”

  “All necessary information to be supplied by you, on the spot, I take it?”

  “Yes, when they arrive. I shall stay at this same number, and will meet them when I’m told what time. But the point is, they ought to be ready to start the moment you tell them the sample is airborne, and none of the inhabitants of that part of the world are noticeably quick off the mark, in my experience!—they take a lot of persuasion and prodding. I think our people ought to get cracking tonight.”

  “Will it be easy to prod and persuade without any facts?”

  “They’ll have to get along with hints and insinuations!—you can provide them with material for plenty of those, so long as no inkling reaches anyone here that anything is happening, or going to happen.”

  “All right. I don’t envy Henry his job, but I’ll tell him to try.”

  “I’d like them here by eight A.M.” Colin said firmly. “Hold on a moment—now sir, do you want a word?”

  Julia couldn’t hear Sir Percy’s reply, but it was evidently a negative one. “No—that’s the lot” Colin said. “Thanks—’bye.”

  Julia hurried out into the corridor, not wishing to be caught in Sir Percy’s room; in a moment Colin came out.

  “Well, that’s all laid on” he said. “Where did you vanish to?”

  “His room—I wanted to hear what Hartley was saying.”

  “Well, you came off better than listeners are supposed to do, if you came in time” he said, grinning.

  “Why did you do all the talking?” she asked.

  “Oh, the old boy’s frighteningly bad on the telephone; you should have heard him this afternoon!—shooting out all sorts of facts without any attempt at disguise.”

  “That’s odd, because he’s not stupid.”

  “No, it’s just that he isn’t accustomed to our sort of work. After all, we’re not much good at science” Colin said tolerantly.

  “Did he ask the Major to have the trawler seized?” Julia asked, beginning to giggle.

  “Practically! And I almost had to clap my hand over his mouth to prevent him from using Polunsky’s name. He was a bit miffed altogether; I think that’s why he didn’t want to talk just now.”

  “Poor old thing! Well anyhow, there’s nothing much more we can do till his plane comes tomorrow morning” Julia said. “Only another twelve hours, thank goodness.”

  “There is one thing—I think you ought to shift from that hotel.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t like your being there with those two boys, and nor does he.”

  “Who, Hartley?” Julia asked in surprise.

  “No, Sir Percy. He said they must have seen him and Terence quite close enough to recognise when they were waiting for the car; and you and Terry were lunching together the day you saw their camera, so they might tie you in with him.”

  “They’d probably do that anyhow, because of the pigs” Julia said.

  “The pigs? What on earth do you mean?”

  She told him about her encounter on the road on her way to collect Terence and Sir Percy.

  “Yes, well there you are—you could only have been going to fetch them. And if they did see that thermometer thing, it would be bound to make them suspicious.”

  “I think they did see it, and were suspicious” Julia said thoughtfully—she reported how she had seen the two young men poring over some pieces from the bundle of stakes by the turn down to the Quinta, “checking for the screw-holes, I thought, though I couldn’t actually see.”

  “I bet that was it. Well then, darling, don’t you see? It really doesn’t make sense for you to stay there, alone” he said urgently. “They’ve seen the thermograph, and probably guessed why it was used up there; they’ve seen Terence, if not at it, on his way from fetching it; they’ve seen you with Terence, and on your way to fetch him. And presumably they know that the types from the trawler are short of one gas-cylinder. It’s madness! I shall ring up Reid’s for a room at once.”

  “No, wait a moment—let’s think.” As Colin stood waiting, holding the door-handle—“I could go back to the Serra” she said. “Oh no, perhaps they won’t have room.”

  “Why not? They had room before.”

  Julia regretted her thoughtless words; but Colin would have to be told sometime, and as more or less everything was settled, it might as well be now.

  “Come into your room,” she said—“we’ve got to talk.” They went in; there was no sign of Sir Percy; Julia went over and shut the French windows onto the balcony. “Did Terence send in that whisky? If so I could do with some,” she said, sitting down in an armchair.

  “I’ll fetch it—the cellar is outside!” he said. He returned in a moment with two brimming glasses, and gave one to her.

  “Oh good—thank you” she said, taking a long pull.

  “What have we got to talk about?” Colin asked, doing likewise, and seating himself on the bed.

  “Aglaia again, I’m afraid.”

  “What’s happened?” he asked, anxiously.

  “Nothing much—but she’s going up to the Serra; that’s why they may not have room for me.”

  “Has she had a row with Penel?”

  “She hadn’t when I was there. Look, just let me tell you quietly what happened. She came back from dropping you in Funchal in rather a bad state—I suppose she’d been stewing over everything all the way, alone in the car. Anyhow she wouldn’t have any lunch, and locked herself into her room; Terence could do nothing with her—he said she was quite wild. That’s why I couldn’t see her, even if I had more time.”

  “She gets like that, sometimes” Colin said worriedly, rubbing his hands through his black hair. “Go on.”

  “Well, when I told Terence about those Spanish boys snooping over the stakes by the turn, he got a bit worried; if they snoop there, they might come down and hang about the place and talk to anyone they could get hold of—he was going to warn all his staff not to talk to strangers. And he just didn’t think it very wise to have anyone who was un-warnable about the place. So he was going to ask Pauline Shergold to take her back with her.”

  “Why, was she there?”

  “Yes. Penelope had been out with her all day—wild-flowering, I suppose. I didn’t see them. But I thought Terence was right,” Julia said sadly.

  “Oh God yes, of course he is!” Colin groaned. For a moment he sank his head in his hands; then he raised it and looked steadily across at Julia.

  “What do you think I ought to do?” he asked. “Resign? You must see that it can’t go on like this.”

  “I shouldn’t do anything in a hurry” Julia said. “She’s very young still, and she has had this knock over losing the baby.” She paused. “When she gets into one of these bad fits, have you ever tried actually slapping her face?”

  “No.” He looked horrified.

  “It’s what they do when people have hysteria, and I get the impression that this—this indiscipline of hers is somehow related to hysteria. I should talk to Mrs. H. about it. She knows more than most people what is the wisest thing to do.”

  “Yes, but when?”

  “Oh, when all this is cleared up—it won’t be long now. Anyhow
if she’s up at the Serra she’s out of harm’s way for the moment.”

  “Let’s find out if she is there” he said, moving to the telephone. As he lifted the receiver—“Would you ask?” he said.

  “Yes of course—I’d better.” When he had asked for the number she took the receiver.

  It was Gerald who answered.

  “Hullo, Julia! I thought you’d forgotten us, or left the Island.”

  “Not a bit of it! Is Pauline back?”

  “Yes. D’ you want her? She’s upstairs.”

  “With Aglaia?” Julia asked.

  “Yes. She’s seedy or something. But I can yell for Pauline.”

  “No, don’t bother her. Is Mrs. H. about?”

  “Yes, I don’t think she’s gone up to dress yet. Hold on.”

  “Yes, she’s there all right—Pauline’s upstairs with her” Julia said to Colin, putting her hand over the mouthpiece. “I’m trying to get Mrs. H.”

  “Well, ask about a room for you” he said urgently.

  “My dearest child, I was hoping you might ring up.” Mrs. Hathaway’s voice, warm and happy, came down the line. “How are you? I rang up your hotel, but they said you were out.”

  “Yes, I’ve been out all day, or I would have rung. Have you seen Aglaia?”

  “Yes, just for a few minutes. Pauline is getting the doctor for her; she thinks she really needs treatment.”

  “Goodness!” Julia was startled. “Who’s she getting?” she asked then.

  “Oh, there’s a very nice old Scotch doctor, retired, who lives up here; he treats the casualties at the Golf Club!” Mrs. Hathaway said. “He’s been in once or twice to keep an eye on my chest. I should have much more confidence in him over a thing like this than any modern person, especially a foreigner; I’m sure he would never go in for any clap-trap about psychology!” Julia laughed. “And now, when do you come back, dear child?”

  “Well actually, Mrs. H., I was wondering if I could come up tonight. Do you suppose that would be all right, or is Aglaia in my room?”

  “No, Pauline has bundled the children up somehow, and put her along next to Nannie Mack, so that she can keep an eye on her tonight. I’m sure you can come back to your little room by me. Shall I ask? Madame Bonnecourt is here—she can run up.”

  “Yes, do, Mrs. H.—I’ll hold on.”

  “What was all that about Ag?” Colin asked, rather anxiously.

  “Only Pauline is getting a Scotch doctor they know up there to see her—I expect she thinks Aglaia would be the better of sedation” Julia said, in as comfortable a voice as she could.

  “Oh, I know—old Dr. Urquhart. Yes, he’s a splendid old boy; I’m very glad. I’d been wondering whether I ought to get de Carvalho to go up; but this is really better.”

  “Hullo” Julia said, as Mrs. Hathaway came back on the line. “She can have me?—oh good. Say I shan’t get up till after dinner; I haven’t packed yet. All right—see you tonight.” She rang off.

  “Well, that’s all right. Now I suppose I’d better go and get packed. I’ll just say goodnight to Sir Percy, if he’s about.”

  In fact Sir Percy was on the balcony pouring himself out a whisky and soda.

  “Have you got a room, Mrs. Jamieson?” he asked her at once.

  “Yes, thank you, Sir Percy; I’m going back to my friends up at the Serra. Oh, I shall be down tomorrow morning to drive you over to the airport” she said, seeing a slightly worried expression come over his face.

  “I’m very glad that you are leaving; that is much more prudent.”

  “Yes, I’m going round to pack now.”

  “But you ought not to go alone!” the scientist said.

  “Oh, surely that can’t matter! I shall only be half an hour.”

  “No—you ought not. Can your cousin not go with you?” He looked rather severely at Colin.

  “Oh Sir Percy, you must be crazy!” Julia exclaimed. “Those boys know him by sight far better than either you or Mr. Armitage—he and I were lunching at the next table to theirs only yesterday.”

  “Ah—I did not know this. All the same, someone should go with you” Sir Percy persisted.

  “Could we borrow a nurse or an orderly from here?” Colin suggested.

  “I don’t see how, without quite a bit of explaining to the doctor” Julia said.

  “This must be avoided” Sir Percy said with great emphasis. They stood in baffled silence for a few moments, looking at one another.

  Suddenly Julia looked at her watch. “I know!” she exclaimed.

  “Who?” both men asked.

  “Porfirio” she said. “Aunt Sally will be in bed by now; it’s half past seven. Porfirio is a wonderful old Portuguese servant of Mr. Armitage’s aunt; he’s as good as a division!” she said gaily to the scientist. “I’ll ring him up at once.” She went through into the bedroom, where presently they heard her talking away in Portuguese. “Pode ser, Porfirio? Muito bem. In tres minutos”

  “That’s all right” she said, coming back. I’ll be off. See you tomorrow.”

  When she let the car slide into the drive at the Quinta dos Arvores Porfirio, as before, was standing waiting for her; but this time he had closed the front door behind him, and had exchanged his rather grand livery for a plain dark suit. Julia made him get in beside her, much against his will, and as they drove off explained her errand. She had remembered by now that he spoke French, and told him what she thought fit—that she was going to her hotel to faire ses malles, in a hurry, and that she might want help with her luggage, as it was near the hour of dinner.

  At which hotel was Madame staying? Porfirio enquired politely—the Montefiore, she told him. The old man was delighted. “An excellent establishment!” he exclaimed. “One of my nieces is femme de chambre there, since six years; the Senhor da Silva is an admirable employer; his staff remain with him.”

  This piece of information gave Julia a new idea—it was only a chance, but it was just a chance. “I shall require you to remain with me all the time, to help me” she told him; “but I hope you may have the opportunity of seeing your niece.” At the Montefiore she went straight to the reception desk and asked for her key; but instead of going upstairs she first looked at the hotel register. Turning back to five weeks earlier, she studied the names. Yes, there was what she was looking for—Cristofero and Domingo de Calderón, and an address in Madrid; the room number was 17. Now she asked for the Senhor da Silva, and when he came out of his office told him, with many regrets and apologies, that she was obliged to leave at once, a sudden emergency. She was going up now to pack—could her bill be ready for her when she came down? Senhor da Silva was all regrets too, but he was not going to make any difficulties for a client brought to him by the Senhor Armitage; he asked if the Senhora had dined?—if not, might he not have something sent to her room? This struck Julia as a good idea, and she indented for a bowl of soup and some toast; she suggested that it might be brought by the chambermaid who was related to her attendant—indicating Porfirio, who stood, smiling and silent, in the background. Da Silva of course knew the old man, and greeted him amicably; certainly Speranza should bring the Senhora’s soup, and see her uncle; she might also be of service to the Senhora.

  At this point Julia had to make a choice. What she wanted, desperately and immediately, to know was whether the Spaniards were in or out—and if out, when they were likely to return; the question was whether to risk making a direct enquiry of Da Silva, or hope to learn about their movements from Porfirio’s niece. The niece was an unknown quantity, whereas Da Silva she knew up to a point, and felt him to be reliable; besides, she might have another use for the niece, if her gamble came off. With elaborate calmness she made a playful remark about ces jeunes Messieurs Espagnols, and asked if they had been making any more films of the pretty waitress? Da Silva laughed and said no, and he had asked them to refrain; he did not want the girl’s head turned! Then in his turn he asked if Madame wished to see them before she left? Oh no, Julia s
aid; she was not really acquainted with them, and besides they were probably at dinner. No, that they certainly were not; they never dined before nine or nine-thirty, the landlord said. He turned to the receptionist and asked if the Senhores de Calderón were dining in or out? Out, the receptionist thought; they had said they were going over to Santa Ana, and would eat on the way home. H’m— probably going to unload their tapes and films on the trawler, somewhere in the seclusion of the north side of the island, Julia thought grimly to herself—aloud, she expressed a laughing hope that there was another pretty waitress at the hotel at Santa Ana, and, accompanied by Porfirio, went up to her room.

  There she first caused the old man to lift her two suitcases down off the top of the wardrobe, and put them on the bed; she spread the bath-towel over the quilt to protect it, which brought an approving “Muito bem” from the well-trained old servant. Rapidly she took down and folded several dresses and put them in one case, leaving it open. Then she turned to him and spoke low and earnestly, in French.

  “O Porfirio, is your niece discreet?—reliable? Can she keep silence if required?”

  Looking rather startled, as well he might, at this unusual question, Porfirio nevertheless replied that if Speranza was told to be silent, she would be silent.

  “Très bien. Now listen carefully. She has of course a pass-key to all the rooms in the hotel?”

  But evidently, the old man said—otherwise how could she arrange the rooms of the guests?

  “Precisely. Now there is one room in this hotel that I wish to search” Julia said firmly. “It is occupied by spies, enemies of your country and of mine—oh, not by any fault of the patron! He is a good man, but he has been deceived. And when she brings my soup, you will tell her to take us to this room, and we will all three enter, and I will make the search. But she must not speak of it to the patron, or to anyone, or it would bring danger. Can you arrange this?”

  “Anything I tell her, she will do” the old man said quietly.

  “Très bien. Now we will pack.” Julia showed him how to wrap her shoes and sandals in squares of coloured linen; while he did this she hastily stowed the rest of her belongings, and the shoes, in the second case. They had nearly finished when there was a tap on the door. Porfirio opened it, and bearing a small tray Speranza, his niece, walked in.