THE BOY FROM THE TANGIER SOUK

by Richard Savin

  The driver grinned and put out a huge weather-beaten paw in greeting.

  ‘Richard, my friend, it is good to see you again.’

  ‘Likewise José. Where is everybody?’

  ‘Away in the hills. We have a camp above Céret. Alain is there. Mathieu and his group are further west, over towards Carcassonne. How are the Americans, will they help?’

  ‘Yes, that’s why I’m here. Harper is arranging parachute drops and advisers. We don’t have much time. We need to organise the drop zones. I have to map them and get the information back to La Vajol. I’d like to do it before we get snow in the lower passes.’

  In the early afternoon, as the light began to fade, they arrived in Céret and went to a café. Waiting for them was another face Grainger recognised. ‘Alain, so good to see you again. Are you well?’

  The young man returned a beaming smile. ‘We are ready. There are now many more of us – but we need arms. We need machine guns, grenades and most of all, explosives. Will we get them?’

  ‘You will, that’s why I’m here, but we have to be quick. We think the Germans will come to take over Vichy any time now.’

  Alain clapped his hands and rubbed them together vigorously in his enthusiasm. ‘And how is my sister, Evangeline, have you seen her? When are you going to marry her?’

  Grainger shot him a look of surprise. ‘She is already married – did you not know that? She married a Spanish man; she is expecting her first child. You haven’t heard?’

  Alain was dumbstruck. José widened his eyes and smacked a hand down on top of his beret. ‘Sacre Dieu, I did not know this thing.’ He turned to Alain then back to Grainger. He held out both hands. ‘We did not know this thing. We have not been to Cadaqués since the spring. Mon Dieu, mon Dieu.’

  Alain just sat there looking dumbstruck. ‘Richard, I am so sorry. Does it make you feel bad?’

  Grainger shrugged it off but inside he harboured his sadness. It was one he did not wish to share. ‘Casualty of war, I’m afraid. Let’s get on; we need to sort things out and then I have to get back. I can’t be here when the Germans arrive.’

  Alain narrowed his eyes. ‘What makes you think they will come into Vichy? Is there something we don’t know?’

  Now it was Grainger’s turn to lie. ‘No, but we think it is the obvious next move for them.’

  After two days of mapping and fixing coordinates, he said his farewells and José drove him back to Les Hauts. There was snow on the wind from the higher peaks. He had to hurry. As he made his way through the hard countryside there was little to take his attention other than his thoughts. He let his mind wander to the men he had just said goodbye to; men who would soon have the Germans in their backyards and on their doorsteps. As he put them out of his mind his thoughts drifted to Evangeline and her goodbye. That hurt and he quickly shook it off, replacing it with his last images of Jordan. Then for no special reason he recalled the boy, standing there resolutely on the margins of the airstrip at Gibraltar. It had been a strange time of farewells and he wondered if he would ever see any of them again.

  That night he grabbed a few hours in a shepherd’s refuge, then before dawn got on the move again. At first light he crossed into Spain and later that day walked into La Vajol. Harper was waiting, and after McAndrew had served up a solid breakfast of eggs and ham, they spent the morning assessing the drop zones.

  *

  It was the eighth of November. Grainger was still at La Vajol from where they had managed three successful drops into Vichy.

  Shortly after daybreak he was woken by McAndrew tapping on his bedroom door. He stuck his head round it. ‘Torch is under way. We went in this morning. Coffee and chow in thirty minutes. Major wants one more drop into Vichy before the Krauts move in.’

  Four days later and they were done with it. Hitler had reacted exactly as they supposed and the German army had reached the Mediterranean.

  Grainger got up from the table strewn with maps, coloured map pins and coffee cups. ‘I guess I’m finished here. What’s the drill? I’d like to get back to London.’

  Harper stood, arched his back and stretched his arms in the air. ‘No can do, my friend. Your boss wants you flown down to Gibraltar. My understanding is you’re going back into North Africa. Casablanca gave up two days ago and we’re on the ground all the way across Algeria to the Tunis border.’

  ‘Well, sod that. I need at least a couple of days off. When do I go?’

  Harper raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, I guess we could arrange a short furlough. What do you say to four days?’

  ‘A week would be better.’

  ‘How about I give you till next Monday morning? That’s six days. Get your kit together and I’ll let McAndrew run you down there this afternoon. How does that sound?’

  ‘Sounds better than a kick up the bum to Gib.’

  ‘I’m real sorry about what happened with the little French lady,’ McAndrew said as Grainger climbed into the front passenger seat of the car. ‘She deserved better really.’

  Grainger raised an eyebrow in surprise. ‘Oh, and what was that?’

  ‘I’m probably snitching out of school but I’m guessing the major didn’t tell you.’

  ‘Tell me what?’

  ‘He lied to her. He had to for security. Couldn’t risk Torch getting out, even if it was damn unlikely.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He told her you were dead. Killed in Morocco. I guess that’s why she went off and married this other Spaniard guy.’ There was a moment when nothing was said. The air inside the car was brittle with an unspoken anger.

  ‘Did he, the bastard.’ Grainger broke the silence. It was spoken quietly and the tone did not invite response, nor did McAndrew think it appropriate to say anything further. The rest of the journey passed in a resumed silence.

  In the mid-afternoon of a still warm day, under a bright sun and a blue sky, McAndrew dropped Grainger at the Hotel Historic. Throughout the journey he had mauled and clawed over the sergeant’s words. He had known McAndrew on and off over the three years since the outset of war. It seemed churlish to hold a grudge over something committed by another. ‘Thanks for the lift, Mac,’ he offered him a hand, ‘and thanks for levelling with me.’

  As McAndrew drove away he stood and watched until the car was out of sight. ‘Another goodbye,’ he murmured to himself, then climbed the steps to the hotel foyer.

  As he reached the top, a woman came out. On her way down she glanced briefly at him and a look of recognition crossed her face – a face he thought vaguely familiar, though he could not place it.

  *

  In the offices of Cortez y Garcia there was an air of tension. Hard decisions had been taken after intense discussions between the two legal partners. The practice was to be split and they would go their separate ways. Juan Garcia had expressed concerns over certain aspects of Cortez’s dealings with some of his clients and certain of his methods.

  The meeting with Evangeline that had been interrupted by the birth had been rescheduled. Cortez waited at his desk, turning over in his mind how he would put the position to her. There were things that had to be done, none of which appealed to him. He would start with her.

  She arrived at the office in Cadaqués feeling tired. The new baby had broken her sleep as new babies always do. She had no husband to help her, although Maria and Tamaya had done what they could. She had already decided that she would be resolute. She would not put up with Don Ferdinand’s unreasonable demands; she would stand her ground.

  Cortez had a grave expression and she expected the worst. ‘I shall start with the easiest bit.’

  She did not like the sound of that.

  ‘I am aware that Don Ferdinand now has the Mercedes car back in his possession but I need to let you know there is a problem. He is now refusing to accept it, he no longer wants it in settlement. He is of the view that you gained your property in Girona by deception; that you made unlawful use of his money to take a financial advantage and that
the property is therefore his. The car is of no interest – he says you must take it back.’

  Evangeline held up a hand. ‘One minute, señor. I will not accept that your client has any right whatsoever over my property. It is a subterfuge and I will resist it.’

  Cortez prepared to continue, but when he opened his mouth she ignored him. ‘I have not finished, señor. I do not understand how he can do this or what he means about the Mercedes car. What is this?’

  Cortez held out both hands like a plaster Messiah in a cathedral relic shop offering his teachings to the faithful. ‘It is simple, señora. He demanded the car in settlement and you sent him the car – and now he says you must take it back. He says he does not want it. It is a hurtful reminder of his son’s death.’

  Evangeline again put up a hand to stop him. ‘No, this is nonsense. I have met his demand; I have returned his car. The anguish it now brings him is not my concern. Let me tell you what I imagine you may not know.’

  She recounted the events at Garatge Plana: the conversation with the salesman and the payment of a premium.

  Cortez put one elbow on the desktop and pressed the palm of his hand to his mouth. He drew a deep breath and raised an index finger.

  ‘Now I do not understand what is happening here. For the moment you must leave it with me. It is anyway of no consequence. He said he would settle for the return of the car. He has the car. He demanded and accepted a premium. No other claim is valid. No court would support it – no even for Don Ferdinand. You should rest easy on that. Your property is safe.’

  It was not what she had expected to hear and his words lifted a weight from her shoulders.

  Cortez’s expression darkened again. ‘There is, as I said, a more serious matter, though.’

  ‘And that is?’

  ‘There is a policeman, a man from Paris working in the French Gestapo.’

  Evangeline felt a chill fall across her body. ‘The Carlingue.’

  ‘I understand that is what he calls it. His name is Inspector Bonny. He plans to arrest you and take you back to France.’

  ‘Bonny!’ The name was no stranger to her. He had pursued her the length of France. Now here he was in Spain. The chill turned to a shiver of fear. ‘He is the head of the Carlingue. There is no worse man than this.’

  Cortez pursed his lips, the muscles on his face were taught. ‘Don Ferdinand is my client and I should not be telling you this, but I think you have been treated badly. There is not much I can do but I think it would be best if you went into hiding for a while. The British and the Americans are in Casablanca and Algiers. Germany is losing this war. If you can hide you may well avoid this man Bonny. I wish there was more I could do.’

  She left Cadaqués in a state of confusion and fear but there was one hope. She would take the child and go to La Vajol and seek refuge. Harper owed her at least that.

  *

  Cortez stood at the front door of de Lorca’s house where he took a moment to compose himself. He was ready. The moment he entered the salon he knew that what he was about to do was the only solution open to him.

  ‘Cortez.’ Ferdinand de Lorca shook his hand warmly, confident that this lawyer would have a solution. Bonny was standing there next to him, a man who also had high expectations.

  ‘So, Cortez, what do you have for us?’

  ‘There is a way, Don Ferdinand.’

  ‘Ha, good man.’ He turned to Bonny and translated it into French. Bonny nodded in satisfaction.

  ‘There is a problem, though.’

  De Lorca assumed a mildly irritated look. He was not used to being told there were problems in anything he had set his mind to. ‘And that is?’

  ‘It would require me to make a statement that the marriage was engineered by your daughter-in-law for her own benefit and by deception.’

  De Lorca dismissed it with a wave of his hand. ‘Is that a problem?’

  ‘Yes, because to do such a thing I would have to lie under oath, and that is a problem. That is perjury, Don Ferdinand, and I am not prepared to commit perjury – for you, or any other client.’

  De Lorca had a face like ice; he showed no emotion. ‘I pay for results not semantics. Is there another way?’

  ‘That is the only way, and I cannot do it. Your policeman will either have to resort to criminal abduction or go back to Paris with empty hands.’

  Bonny’s eyes darted from one man to the other. He did not understand a word that was being said, but he knew from the tone and the looks that it was not going to be useful.

  De Lorca remained cold though there was now a hint of disdain in the slight curl of his lip. ‘You are dismissed as my lawyer. You will never work for this family again. Leave my house.’

  Cortez had expected it and he was ready. He had practised his response. He gave a bow but it was more one of contempt than politesse. ‘I am satisfied, Don Ferdinand. I could no longer take you as a client.’

  That was a remark too far for Don Ferdinand De Lorca. It brought colour to his face and anger to his voice. ‘I shall see to it, Cortez, that you never work again.’

  Cortez, hesitated at the door. ‘Don Ferdinand, I am not threatened, and I will tell you this. It would be best if you left Evangeline de Lorca alone, and in peace. No good can come of it – and I would be obliged to make a sworn statement to the public prosecutor. Please do not put me in that position. Good-day, sir.’

  Out in the street Cortez threw his hat in the air. He had lost a client – but he had regained his self-respect.

  In the driveway of the de Lorca mansion the Gestapo car that had been put at the disposal of Bonny waited. He clambered in and slammed the door. ‘Back to the hotel,’ he said moodily to the driver. ‘We shall have to stay a little longer.’ He settled into a deep brood. He was determined not to let his quarry slip his grasp again. ‘Call Barcelona when we get to the hotel,’ he instructed the driver. ‘We need some assistance. Then I think we have to pay a call on Madame Pfeiffer.’

  The response to the call got a cool reception; everyone at Carrer Avinyo was preoccupied with North Africa. They would send a man. After that Bonny would have to move quickly. The Spanish army was moving units into the Pyrenees and, although Franco’s sympathies still leaned towards the Nazis, behind closed doors he stated clearly that he did not trust them to stay north of the mountains. He had sealed the borders with Vichy, and the Gestapo could no longer be certain of cooperation. There was a German submarine in the harbour at Barcelona. It would not stay long. The British and Americans were tightening their grip on the Straits.

  ‘You have two days,’ they told Bonny. ‘It cannot wait any longer.’

  Chapter 34

  An end to all things

  On her way back from the meeting with Cortez, Evangeline discussed her plan with Maria. They would collect the baby and a few essential things that the child would need, then they would go directly to La Vajol; but then things changed. Tamaya was waiting for them.

  ‘I have seen him, Evi. I’m sure it is him. The man who came to the shop with the letter.’

  ‘Richard?’

  Tamaya nodded vigorously. ‘Yes, yes. Going into the Historic. I was coming out as he was going in. I am sure it was him.’

  Both women stared at each other vacantly, the same question hovering in both their minds, like a gull hanging on the wind, unsure of where it will land. ‘What will you do?’ Tamaya had become almost breathless in her anticipation. ‘Go and see him?’

  ‘Yes,’ Evangeline said slowly as if in a trance. ‘I think I should. It would be good to close the book properly. Besides, there is something I must tell him.’

  The walk to the Historic felt like something out of a dream. It was as if she were one step removed from reality. It was like viewing the world through a glass or on a movie screen. She could see it but she was not quite part of it.

  As she climbed the steps to the foyer she could feel the beat of her heart rising in anticipation. A porter opened the door. She stepped inside
and there he was, just as she had last seen him. Quite unchanged.

  He was talking to the concierge and when she called his name and he turned to look at her she was determined she would not let him go.

  ‘Oh.’ There was mild surprise in his voice. ‘Evangeline.’ He struggled to find the words. ‘I had not – expected to see you again. They tell me you are married. Is your husband with you?’

  She shook her head. ‘No.’ She felt her confidence ebbing away. This wasn’t going to work. ‘It wasn’t a proper marriage.’

  ‘Oh.’ He was not sure what to say next, his words uncertain. ‘Did things go wrong?’

  ‘They never went right really. Anyway, he’s dead.’

  He felt a stab of embarrassment. The question had been unfortunate. ‘Oh, I am sorry.’

  She looked down at her feet. ‘You needn’t be; he was an awful man. They told me you were dead, that you had been killed in Morocco.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  His reply was flat; it lacked any emotion. A feeling of futility was creeping into the conversation; meeting him no longer seemed such a good idea.

  ‘Are you sorry to see me? Should I have not come?’

  He dropped his arms limply by his sides. ‘You will never know how often I have wished for this moment – and then I heard you had married, and it broke my heart.’ He gave a nervous little smile. ‘I know men are not supposed to have hearts that break – but they do you know. It’s just – well, we’re not allowed to say so.’

  Evangeline went up onto the tips of her toes and kissed him gently on the cheek. ‘Never mind,’ she said ever so quietly. ‘I’m here to mend it again.’ She took his hand in hers and they started towards the door. ‘Come on, I have so much to tell you and there is something I want to show you.’