Tapestry of Fear

by Margaret Pemberton

  I said quietly. “ No, nothing makes sense anymore.”

  Pedro had joined Manuel, Antonio and Eugenio at the far end of the table. They were bent over it, studying a large, fraying map. Javier stood apart, his face thoughtful, his brow furrowed. He put one foot on a chair, resting his hand on one knee, cupping his chin. “Well?”

  The men at the table straightened their backs and faced him.

  “It’s entirely up to you and Pedro … if you want to risk it.”

  “Risk what?” I cried, standing up hastily, the chair clattering as it fell backwards.

  “We’re going to Cotanes,” Javier said. “ I don’t believe for one minute that Angel is waiting there with only Alphonso Cia and the Englishwoman for company. Nor that he only wants to persuade Jose to relinquish leadership of the Spanish side of ETA. He wants him dead. And,” he said, picking up his jacket and swinging it over one shoulder. “He isn’t going to succeed, not if we can help it.”

  Manuel sent a bunch of car keys skittering across the table and Javier pocketed them, Pedro moving across the room, joining him.

  My mouth was dry. I waited for Carmen to speak but she remained silent, composed. Suddenly I didn’t care anymore. I had no room for anything but concern for Jose. Not even jealousy. That those dancing, laughing, desiring eyes of amber-gold should gaze down at Carmen. That he was hers by right as the diamond on her finger openly testified, seemed hardly to matter. All that mattered was that Jose should live. Please God, let him live, let him live, was the prayer that circled my brain, beating against the back of my eyes. I said: “ I’m coming too.”

  Carmen made a noise of protest, moving up behind me. “There is no point in your going,” she said.

  I said again quietly: “ I’m going.”

  I walked over to the head of the stairs. “Are you ready, Javier?” He looked across at Pedro. The big Spaniard shrugged his shoulders. “Miss Daventry is her friend and countrywoman. She knows the dangers. If she wishes to come, let her come.”

  The swirl of scarlet moved up beside me. “ Why?” she asked innocently. I think, if I had turned to face her, that I would have told her the truth, that I loved Jose, that nothing in my life mattered but his safety. Pedro saved me from the scene that would have followed.

  “Because of the old one,” he said, patting Carmen on the head. “It is natural.”

  She grasped my hand. “ She will be safe, Alison. Jose will save her.” I knew by the tone of her voice that it had not been heartlessness that had prevented her from going with him, from behaving as I was now doing, only an implicit faith in her lover. In the sure knowledge that he would return to her. He would not be returning to me, and I knew with even more certainty that I had to go to Cotanes with Pedro and Javier, for it would be the last time I would have the chance to play any part in Jose’s life.

  I said: “ I will feel better if I go, Carmen. Miss Daventry is old, and …” my voice faltered, unable to continue. She released my hand and blindly I followed Javier down the stairs, stumbling in my haste. Pedro’s large hand checked my fall and guided me out into the street.

  “Will we be able to make it in time?” Javier asked Pedro anxiously. Pedro shrugged. “This is an old car, she won’t travel as fast as the one Jose and Romero took.”

  “How fast?” Javier asked, opening the car door.

  “Thirty … thirty-five if the roads are good.”

  “The roads to Cotanes are like mud tracks,” Javier said bluntly. “How long do you think it is since they left?” he turned to look at me as I slid along the back seat.

  “About twenty minutes … not much longer.” I had no real idea. The time spent in the claustrophobic little room, Jose totally lost to me, reunited with Carmen, had seemed endless.

  Javier fitted the key into the ignition. “ Then we had better hope this car improves its speed. Or we will be too late.”

  “No,” I protested, my voice hoarse. “Don’t say that! Please God, don’t say that!”

  Chapter Nineteen

  We approached the village slowly, the rain leaving the steeply winding road that led to it, a quagmire. The village seemed empty. As we motored slowly down the main street a man stood in the doorway of an inn, glass in hand. He was fat and bull-necked and eyed us with hostile curiosity.

  With mounting tension, we parked the car and approached the inn.

  “Has Garmendia been here?” Javier asked.

  “Garmendia?”

  “Angel Garmendia. The Basque separatist. You know who I mean.”

  “Yes,” the barman said from the depths behind. “ Yes, I know who you mean and he has been here.”

  “Has?” I croaked. “ Has? Where is he now? Who went with him. Who.…”

  “What about the Villada’s?” Javier asked. “Have they been here?”

  The heavy jowled man at the door shook his head. “ You can take your feuds elsewhere. Don’t drag Cotanes into it. We want no part of it.”

  “But what’s happened?” I cried, taut nerves snapping at last.

  “Ask your friend,” he nodded in the direction of the bead curtain.

  Disregarding Javier’s warning I ran to the curtain and dragged it back. Beneath a magnolia tree, straw hat rammed firmly on her head, binoculars and camera intact, a drink in her hand, sat Miss Daventry.

  “My dear Alison. I’m so glad to see you. And Javier and Pedro. How nice. Do sit down and have a drink.” “What,” I said weakly. “ Has happened? And where is Jose?”

  “It’s a long story,” she said, pleased at having such a captive audience. “Do sit down and have some refreshment.”

  She was as resilient, as irrepressible as ever. Even Javier and Pedro were unable to rise to the occasion. Dumbly they did as she asked and we sat in a circle on the wicker chairs while Miss Daventry poured out generous glasses of wine and handed them round.

  “Please,” I said, hanging on to the last shreds of patience and sanity. “ Where is Jose? Is he all right?”

  “He was the last time I saw him, which was,” she looked at her watch. “About half an hour ago.”

  “For heaven’s sake, what happened? Did Garmendia kidnap you?”

  “Oh, most definitely,” she said cheerfully. “But really, Alison. You must have some patience. If I’m to tell you what has happened I must start from the beginning … though I’m not sure where that was,” she added thoughtfully.

  “As far as I’m concerned the beginning was when Jose and myself were nearly drowned and you and Luis were being fired on by the police.”

  “Coastguards, actually.”

  I took a deep, shuddering breath. “All right. Coastguards. Now what happened after that?”

  Miss Daventry adjusted her hat, jamming a hatpin even more firmly through the crown and said:

  “We escaped of course. No sense in hanging around with all those bullets flying through the air. I had all my documents on me and I simply drove straight to the border and crossed into France. I knew you would make for Bayonne.…”

  “Luis,” I said faintly. “You had Luis with you.”

  “Well, I expect luck was on our side, it being night you know, I simply stuffed him in the boot five minutes before the checkpoint and let him out five minutes after. All you really need when dealing with the police is a lot of patience and the ability to lie with conviction … I can never really understand it. Other people seem to have such trouble at frontiers, searches and all that, and insufferable delays. But they never seem to be able to get me through fast enough. I can’t imagine why.”

  I could, but I hadn’t the heart to tell her.

  “I must say it’s all been very exciting, quite the most interesting holiday I’ve had for years.” She beamed cheerfully at Pedro. “Those people in Bayonne. So nice and polite. Eugenio draws you know. Very talented. I told him he was wasting his time fighting governments. Much more sensible to accept things as they are and get on with enjoying life.…”

  “And then you went for a walk?” I
said, the words strangling in my throat.

  “Ah yes. Now this is the interesting part. I was walking down the Rue d’Espagne … or was it the Rue Faures … I really can’t remember. Anyway, I was making my way towards the cathedral when a car drew up beside me and someone called my name.” She paused dramatically. “It was Garmendia. He said he had kidnapped both you and Jose and that if I didn’t go with him he would shoot both of you. Of course I didn’t believe a word of it. The man must have thought me a simpleton. But I did think it an offer I couldn’t refuse. I do so like being the centre of things … to know what is going on … so I got into the car and away we went.”

  “You didn’t fight … struggle … ?” Pedro asked with an air of one who has given up all hope.

  “No, I didn’t,” Miss Daventry said crossly. “I told you, I wanted to know what was going on. Alphonso Cia was in the car. And what a nasty piece of work he is. We drove straight here and it wasn’t till then that I knew what he was going to do. Of course then I wished I hadn’t been so rash, but it was too late to alter things. He told me quite frankly what he was going to do. He said Jose Villada was in love with you and that as I was your aunt … really, I can’t imagine where he gets his information from … that by holding me as hostage he could lure Jose to Cotanes. And,” she said, pouring some more wine into her glass. “Kill him. I must admit I wasn’t too worried. After all I knew you weren’t in love with Jose, I told Garmendia so. I must admit he began to look worried. And I had every faith in Jose. I knew he would have more sense than to walk into such a childish trap. So here we all waited. And I made plans.”

  “Plans?” Pedro asked faintly.

  “Plans,” Miss Daventry said firmly. “As I said, I was sure Jose would have more sense than to come to Cotanes … and when Garmendia and Cia finally realised this I thought they might be quite annoyed, so I made plans. But of course,” she said brightly, beaming at us all. “Since he did come, and since you are all here, all my escape plans were totally unnecessary.”

  “Please go on,” Javier said, with a glazed look about his eyes.

  “It was Cia’s job to watch the road so that Angel would have plenty of warning. Well, he got a warning all right. But it wasn’t Jose who was approaching Cotanes, it was a police car. The car turned towards the square and by that time of course Cia was back in the inn like a crazed lunatic. Blaming everything on to Garmendia and saying they would be arrested or shot and Garmendia telling him not to be such a fool and neither of them noticing me very much at all. I could see the two policemen leave their car and begin to walk towards the inn … and so could Garmendia and Cia. For a shocking moment I actually thought they were going to shoot it out, but of course Angel is not a complete fool. To shoot a policeman gets you only one sentence in Spain. Death by garotting. And though Garmendia is undoubtedly a murderer, as far as I know, there is no direct evidence against him. Not so far as shooting policemen are concerned. Anyway …” she took a deep breath. “Garmendia and Cia decided to bluff it out. They stood at the bar casually, with drinks in their hands, trying to look innocent and failing lamentably … so of course, they didn’t see.”

  She clasped her hands in her lap, gazing round at us with sunny geniality.

  “See what?” I asked, my voice little more than a croak.

  “Why, that the policemen were Romero and Jose! Though I didn’t know it was Romero at the time of course … such a nice man … Spanish aristocracy at its best … not,” she said hastily, patting Pedro’s knee, “meaning any reflection on you, my dear Pedro. No-one could be more of a gentleman than you.”

  “And …” we all asked together, leaning forward. “And then what?”

  “Ah, now comes the action. And what action! Haven’t seen anything like it since nineteen thirty-seven. If we had had the Villada’s with us then, Pedro, the whole course of the war could have been altered!”

  Terrified that she was about to digress once more, I said carefully. “What … happened … then?”

  “Really, Alison. There is no need to talk like that. I’m not a child you know. Or deaf. What happened was this. The Villada’s stepped into the inn, walking slowly and steadily towards the bar and the turned backs of Garmendia and Cia. Then, so quickly that I hardly saw, they had whipped the men round, slamming their fists into their jaws sending them sprawling and snatching their guns from them. I’ve never seen anything quite like it before. It was quite extraordinary. Perfect co-ordination. With the guns out of the way it simply developed into a fist fight. I did skirt round them, picking up the guns they had slung across the floor. If either Garmendia or Cia had reached them it would have been the end. Then I stood in the doorway,” she nodded in the direction of the swinging beaded curtain that led back into the inn, “ and watched.”

  “Please,” I said. “ Where is Jose now. And Garmendia?”

  “There you go again, Alison. Rushing things. Of course it was difficult to watch both sets of men fighting at the same time, so I concentrated on Jose, I was worried about his shoulder and if things had got sticky I would have had no hesitation in making use of one of the guns. German Walthers P38’s,” she said to Pedro. “I haven’t used one since the war, felt quite strange having one in my hand again.… Anyway, Jose seemed to be doing quite all right without my help. Garmendia broke away from Jose’s grasp and was glancing wildly round for his gun … then Jose rushed him, sending him flying once more, but Garmendia was quick. He was back on his feet in seconds and gave Jose a really solid punch to the jaw … but Jose didn’t break away. They stayed locked together and I could see blood but I didn’t know if it was Angel’s or Jose’s, and then Garmendia split Jose’s lip and Jose kneed him in the groin and then they were both on the floor, and it was very hard to tell who was winning and who was losing. Garmendia was trying to get a firm hold of Jose’s throat and I really thought I would have to intervene, but he twisted away, out of Garmendia’s grasp and staggered to his feet again and then Garmendia kicked out at him and Jose fell on him, pinning him to the floor and Romero and Cia were already rolling around in the dust, locked so close together that I couldn’t tell what was happening … and all the time that incredible barman just kept on polishing his glasses. There was an awful lot of grunting and swearing and cries of pain and then it did seem that Garmendia had the upper hand and was going to throttle Jose. Quite understandable … Jose having been so recently wounded,” she explained kindly, “I began to walk across to them trying to keep out of Romero and Cia’s way, they were swaying and falling all over the place … and then Garmendia was on his knees and Jose had his arm round his neck and I really think he would have strangled him then and there, but Garmendia heaved himself forward throwing Jose off balance and then ran from the inn and out into the street with Jose panting and running after him. I didn’t see what happened then, as I dare not leave Romero who finally seemed to be weakening, but I heard Garmendia’s car roar into life and seconds later Jose’s car scream out of the street and down the hill, so I presumed that it was Jose chasing Garmendia … but by this time Romero was definitely getting the worst of it and I thought enough was enough. I had to yell quite loud to be heard, in actual fact I had to fire the gun before anyone would take any notice of me. I kept it levelled at Cia who seemed quite surprised … and then Romero struggled to his feet, and his face was dreadfully marked, he’ll have the bruises for weeks, and with me pointing the gun at Cia he managed to tie his hands behind his back and gag him. Not that he could have called for help anyway. It was patently obvious that no-one in Cotanes was going to intervene, but his language was quite offensive.”

  “And where,” Pedro asked. “ Is Cia now?”

  “Why, in the inn’s cellars. Didn’t I tell you? Romero’s down there with him now, trying to find out where Garmendia may be making for.”

  “Holy saints,” Pedro breathed devoutly. “ Take us to him now, this very minute.”

  “There’s no hurry,” Miss Daventry said, petulent at losing her audience. �
�� There’s nothing more we can do.”

  “There is,” I said tightly. “ There is still Jose.”

  “Oh, he’ll come to no harm,” Miss Daventry said airily. “If ever a man can look after himself, that one can.”

  “The cellars,” Pedro repeated, struggling for calm.

  Miss Daventry rose to her feet, smoothing out the creases in her dress. “If you insist. Though I’m sure Romero will be coming back at any moment.”

  “We insist,” Javier said.

  She shrugged. “Very well then. Follow me.”

  We followed her back into the inn, passing the whole length of the zinc topped bar, ignoring the barman as he ignored us, and then through a narrow doorway and down into the gloom of a large cellar stacked high with cobwebby casks.

  “Romero,” Miss Daventry called out breezily. “ We have company. Alison is here. And Pedro. And Javier.”

  There was a half-choked sigh of relief and then Romero was at the bottom of the steps looking unbelievingly up at us. His handsome face was streaked with dirt and sweat, a swelling bruise distorting his left cheek, the blood running from a cut lip, smearing stickily down over his chin, staining his shirt a ghastly red.

  We moved back, allowing him to climb the stairs. I gave him an inadequate handkerchief and he dabbed at the still flowing blood.

  “I can’t get any sense from him,” he said to Javier. “God alone knows where they are.”

  “How did you do it?” Javier asked. “How in the name of all that is wonderful, did you do it?”

  Romero managed a sheepish grin. “We took a police car at gunpoint. Took their clothes and their car, and left them in their underwear, tied and bound, and as far from a main road as it is possible to get!”