Winter in Madrid

by C. J. Sansom

‘Of course.’ De Salas laughed. ‘They have to be understood by the committee.’

  ‘You’d have to come here and read them,’ Sandy said. ‘We couldn’t let them out of the office. But we’d take you through them.’

  ‘You are privileged, Señor Brett,’ Otero said seriously. ‘Very few people know about this.’

  Harry took a deep breath. In for a penny, in for a pound, he thought. ‘I’d want to see the site. I wouldn’t want to go in blind.’

  Otero shook his head slowly. ‘Its location is very confidential information, señor. I am not prepared to go that far, no.’

  ‘The government must know where it is, surely?’

  ‘Yes, Harry.’ Sandy’s voice was suddenly impatient. ‘But only on the basis of guaranteed confidentiality.’

  ‘It’s just, if I’m to be part of this…’ Harry spread his hands.

  ‘We’ll have to discuss that.’ Sandy stroked his moustache, looking between de Salas and Otero. Both looked unhappy.

  ‘All right,’ Harry said. There was no point in pressing further now. He felt pleasure at having stirred them to obvious anxiety. That had knocked the complacent smile off Sandy’s face. If they refused to show him he would go in with them anyway, but to see the site would be a real coup.

  There was a tap on the door. Sandy looked up, still irritable, as Maria put her head through.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Señora Forsyth has arrived, sir. She’s outside.’

  Sandy ran a hand through his hair. ‘She’s early. Look, Harry, we’ll need to discuss this. Why don’t you take Barbara for that coffee on your own? We’ll ring you later.’

  ‘As you like.’

  ‘OK. I’ll come out with you, say hello.’ Sandy rose; the Spaniards did too.

  ‘Then, until we meet again.’ Sebastian shook his hand, followed by Otero, who gave him another hard stare. Sandy ushered him out. Barbara was sitting by Maria’s desk, in a patterned headscarf slick with rain. She looked pale and preoccupied.

  ‘Hello, Harry.’

  ‘You’re early!’ Sandy gestured impatiently at the scarf. ‘And what are you wearing that for? You’ve enough hats.’

  Harry stared at him, surprised by his tone. Catching his look, Sandy smiled and took Barbara’s arm. ‘Look, darling, change of plan. We’ve had a meeting, there’s something I need to discuss with some friends. Why don’t you and Harry go for a coffee on your own?’

  ‘Yes, all right.’ She gave Harry a quick smile.

  ‘He’ll take you home afterwards, won’t you, Harry? Good man. I’ll ring tomorrow.’ He winked. ‘I’ll see what I can do with Otero.’

  Outside the rain was still falling steadily, chill and dank. Barbara adjusted her headscarf.

  ‘He doesn’t like me wearing these,’ she said. ‘Thinks they’re common.’ She gave a tight cold smile, an expression Harry had never seen on her face before. ‘What have you been up to – is he trying to rope you into one of his schemes?’

  Harry laughed awkwardly. ‘There is an investment possibility.’

  ‘Look, d’you mind if we don’t go for coffee? I’d rather get home, I think I’ve a cold coming.’

  ‘Of course.’ They walked on slowly. He looked at her pale set face. ‘Are you all right, Barbara?’

  ‘No, not really.’ She sighed deeply. ‘I went to a cinema after lunch, to pass the time till I met you. They had the newsreel, you know what they’re like, pro-German propaganda.’ She gave a shuddering sigh. ‘There was an item about the bombing, “Britain on its Knees”. They showed the centre of Birmingham.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Was it bad?’

  ‘Awful. Parts of the city were on fire. All those people killed in the last big raid and they were gloating.’ She stopped suddenly. ‘Oh God, I’m sorry, I feel faint.’

  Harry looked around for a cafe but there were none in view, only one of the large city churches. He took her arm. ‘Come on, let’s go and sit down in there.’ He led her up the steps.

  The church interior was cold and gloomy, only the ornate gold-covered altar was lit. Along the shadowy benches a few dim figures sat huddled, some murmuring softly. Harry led Barbara to an empty bench. There were tears on her cheeks. She took off her glasses, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.

  ‘I understand. I worry about my cousin Will.’

  ‘He’s the one whose wife’s a bit of a dragon?’

  ‘Yes. Though I saw another side to her just before I came out. We were caught in a raid, I had to get her to a shelter. She was terrified for her children. I didn’t think she loved them, but she does.’

  Barbara sighed. ‘I saw raids here, of course, during the Civil War, but to see it in England—’ She bit her lip. Things will never be the same after this, will they? Anywhere?’

  Harry looked at her earnest face, pale in the gloom. ‘No. I don’t think they will.’

  ‘I feel I should be there. England. I wanted security once, after Bernie – ’ she paused – ‘after he went. Sandy gave me that, or I thought he did. But there’s no security anywhere, not now.’ She paused again. ‘I’m not sure I even want it any more.’

  Harry smiled sadly. ‘I still do, I’m afraid. I’m not a hero. If I’m honest what I’d really like is to scuttle home and have a quiet life.’

  ‘But you won’t, will you?’ She smiled at him. ‘That would go against your sense of honour.’

  ‘Funny, that word came up in the talk I’ve just been having with Sandy. Public-school honour. Of course, it never meant anything to him.’

  They were silent a moment. Their eyes had adjusted to the gloom and Harry saw most of the people praying were poor women in black. Some had only scraps of black rag to cover their heads. Barbara looked at the figure of Jesus on the Cross in a side chapel, painted blood running from his wounds.

  ‘What a religion,’ she said bitterly. ‘Blood and torture, no wonder the Spaniards ended up massacring one another. Religion’s a curse, Sandy’s right about that.’

  ‘I used to think it held people’s excesses in check.’

  Barbara gave a bitter laugh. ‘It does the opposite here, I think it always has.’ She replaced her glasses. ‘Do you remember that family Bernie was friendly with? The Meras?’

  ‘Yes, I was with him when he first met Pedro Mera. In fact, I went – I went to see if I could find their flat.’ He hesitated, he didn’t want to tell Barbara what he had found in Carabanchel.

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘Yes. Why – have you seen them?’ His face was eager.

  Barbara bit her lip. ‘You know I’m doing voluntary work at a church orphanage?’ she said quietly.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s a hell hole. They treat the children like animals. That little daughter of Pedro and Inés, Carmela, she was brought in two days ago. She’d been living wild. I think the others are all dead.’

  ‘Oh God.’ Harry remembered the little girl looking solemnly at him as he tried to teach her English words. Her brother Antonio who had watched the Communists chasing the Fascist with him and Bernie; Pedro the big bluff father, Inés the tireless mother. ‘All of them?’

  ‘I think so.’ Barbara reached into her bag and pulled out the ragged woollen donkey, sewn up round the middle. ‘The old bitch who works with me pulled this out of the child’s hand and tore it. I think it was the last possession Carmela had. I promised I’d mend it but when I took it back this morning they said she kept trying to escape so she’d been moved to a special home for recalcitrant children. You can imagine what that means. The nun in charge wouldn’t tell me where it was, said it wasn’t my concern. Sister Inmaculada.’ There was a savage bitterness in her tone.

  ‘Can’t you find out?’

  ‘How? How can I if they won’t tell me?’ Her voice rose, then she sighed. Her mouth set. ‘I know, let’s leave Fernandito the donkey as an offering to the Lord. Maybe then he’ll take care of Carmela. Maybe.’ She got up and took the toy to
the rail of the side chapel. She thrust it angrily on top of the flowers in front of the Cross, then came back and sat beside Harry.

  ‘I’m not going back to work at the convent. Sandy won’t like it but he’ll have to lump it.’

  ‘Are you and Sandy – ’ he hesitated – ‘all right?’

  She smiled sadly. ‘Let’s leave that one, Harry.’ She shivered. ‘Come on, let’s get out of this mausoleum.’

  He looked at her seriously. ‘Barbara, if ever you need – well – any help, you can always come to me.’

  She touched his hand. An old woman walking by clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

  ‘Thanks, Harry. But I’m all right, I’ve just had a bad day.’ Harry saw the old woman catch the sleeve of a priest and point to them. ‘Come on,’ Barbara said. ‘We’ll get arrested for immorality on sacred premises.’

  OUTSIDE, BARBARA felt angry with herself for her momentary dizziness. She had to stay strong.

  After leaving the church she let Harry take her to a coffee bar. She asked what the latest word was at the embassy about Franco entering the war. Harry told her they thought Franco’s meeting with Hitler had gone badly. That was some comfort.

  When she got home she made some tea and sat by herself in the kitchen, thinking and smoking. Pilar was out for the afternoon; Barbara was glad, she could never feel at ease around the girl. The weather forecast came on, the announcer promising more cold weather for Madrid and snow for the Guadarrama mountains. Barbara looked out at the rainswept garden and thought, that’ll mean snow in Cuenca too. And nothing to do now but wait for Luis’s brother to take his leave. She thought about Harry again. She wished she could have told him about Bernie, she hated letting him carry on thinking his old friend was dead and longed to tell him the truth, but he was Sandy’s friend too, and what she was thinking of doing was illegal. It wasn’t safe, it wasn’t safe to tell a soul.

  After a while she went into the salón and wrote a letter to Sister Inmaculada, telling her in coldly polite tones that domestic commitments meant she couldn’t work at the orphanage any more. She was just finishing as Sandy came in. He looked tired. He smiled as he put down his briefcase. It made a chinking sound, as though it contained something metal. He came over and put a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘How are you, darling? Listen, I’m sorry I was bad-tempered at the office. I’ve had a hard day. Been at the Jews’ Committee for the last hour.’ He leaned over and kissed her neck. Once that would have melted her, now she was conscious only of the tickling hairs of his moustache. She pulled away. He frowned.

  ‘What’s the matter? I’ve said I’m sorry.’

  ‘I’ve had a bad day too.’

  ‘Who are you writing to?’

  ‘Sister Inmaculada. I’ve said I’m not going to the orphanage any more. I can’t stand how those children are treated.’

  ‘You haven’t said that in the letter, have you?’

  ‘No, Sandy, I’ve said domestic commitments. Don’t worry, there won’t be any trouble with the marquesa.’

  He stepped away. ‘No need to be so snappy.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘So what are you going to do with yourself now? You need something to do.’

  I need a month till I can get Bernie away and escape, she thought. ‘I don’t know. Maybe I could help with your refugees? The Jews?’

  Sandy took a sip of whisky. He shook his head. ‘I’ve just been meeting some of them. They’re very traditional. Don’t like being told what to do by women.’

  ‘I thought they were mostly professional people.’

  ‘They’re still very traditional.’ He changed the subject. ‘What did Harry have to say for himself?’

  ‘We talked about the war. He doesn’t think Franco will come in.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what he told me. You know, he’s quite shrewd when it comes to business.’ He smiled reflectively. ‘More than I’d have expected.’ He looked at her again. ‘Look, lovey, I think you’re making a mistake about the orphanage. You have to do things their way. When in Rome – I’ve said that often enough.’

  ‘Yes, you have. But I’m not going back there, Sandy, I won’t be part of how those children are treated.’ Why did he always seem to provoke her to anger these days, just when she needed to keep things normal, on an even keel? Barbara knew he had noticed something was wrong. She even avoided love-making now, and when he persisted and she gave in, she couldn’t fake pleasure.

  ‘Those children are wild,’ Sandy said. ‘You’ve said so yourself. They need disciplining, not toy animals.’

  ‘God, Sandy, sometimes I think you’ve got a stone instead of a heart.’ The words came out before she could stop herself.

  He flushed angrily and took a step towards her. His fists were clenched and Barbara flinched, heart thudding. She had always known he could be cruel, venomous when he was crossed, but until now she had never feared violence from him. She drew a sharp breath. Sandy checked himself and spoke coldly.

  ‘I made you,’ he said. ‘Don’t you forget it. You were nothing when I met you, a mess, because all you’ve ever cared about is what people think of you. All you’ve got for a heart is sentimental mush.’ He glared at her furiously and she saw clearly, for the first time, what he had always wanted from her, what their relationship had been about from the start. Control. Power.

  She got up and walked out of the room.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  WHEN HARRY RETURNED home after leaving Barbara he found two letters waiting for him. One was a hand-delivered scribbled note from Sandy. It said he had persuaded Otero and de Salas to let him visit the mine, and that he would collect Harry early on Sunday, in three days’ time, and drive him there. It was only a few hours’ journey, he said.

  He opened the other letter; the address was written in a small, neat hand he didn’t recognize. It was from Sofia, and enclosed a bill for treatment and drugs from a doctor in the town centre, along with a letter in Spanish.

  Dear Señor Brett,

  I enclose the bill from the doctor. I know his charges are reasonable. Enrique is better already. Soon he will be able to work again and things will be easier for all of us. He sends his thanks, as does Mama. You saved Enrique’s life and we will always remember what you did with gratitude.

  Harry felt disappointed by the letter’s formal tone, the hint of dismissal. He turned it over in his hands a couple of times, then sat down and wrote a reply.

  I am so glad Enrique is better and I shall pay the doctor’s bill tomorrow morning. I would like to meet you to give you the receipt and also to buy you coffee. I enjoyed our talk and I meet few Spanish people informally. I hope you will feel able to come.

  He suggested they meet in two days’ time, at a cafe he knew near the Puerta del Sol, at six o’clock because he knew she began work early.

  Harry sealed the letter. He would post it when he went out. The receipt was an excuse, as she would realize. Well, either she would reply or she would not. He turned to the telephone table and dialled the embassy. He asked reception to tell Mr Tolhurst that he wished to come in to discuss the planned press release on the fruit imports. It was the code they had agreed for when he had news about Sandy. He had thought these codes were silly and melodramatic at first but realized they were necessary as the phones were tapped.

  The receptionist came back and said Mr Tolhurst was available if he would like to call in now. He wasn’t surprised: Tolly seemed to spend many of his evenings at the embassy. Harry fetched his coat and went out again.

  Tolhurst was delighted when Harry told him what had happened. He said he would tell Hillgarth; he was in a meeting but he would want to know about this. He returned to his little office a few minutes later, beaming excitedly.

  ‘The captain’s really pleased,’ he said. ‘If there is a lot of gold my guess is the captain will go straight to Churchill and he’ll order the blockade strengthened; let in fewer supplies to make up for any they can pay f
or with gold.’ He rubbed his hands.

  ‘What will Sir Sam say to that?’

  ‘It’s what the captain thinks that counts with Churchill.’ Tolhurst’s face flushed with pleasure as he rolled off the Prime Minister’s name.

  ‘They’ll ask why the blockade’s being tightened.’

  ‘We’ll probably tell them. Show them they can’t keep anything from us. And one in the eye for the Falange faction. You said we should have a firmer policy, Harry. We might be going to get it.’

  Harry nodded thoughtfully. ‘That’ll leave Sandy in the soup. I suppose he could end up in real trouble.’ He realized he had been so focused on his mission, he had hardly thought about what might happen to Sandy. He felt a twinge of guilt.

  Tolhurst winked. ‘Not necessarily. The captain’s got something up his sleeve there too.’

  ‘What?’ Harry thought a moment. ‘You’re not going to try and recruit him?’

  Tolhurst shook his head. ‘Can’t say, not yet.’ He smiled, a self-important smile that irritated Harry. ‘By the way, that other business, the Knights of St George, you haven’t told anyone else?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Important you don’t.’

  ‘I know.’

  NEXT MORNING Harry accompanied one of the embassy secretaries to another interpreting session with Maestre, more certificates to be gone through. The young Falange interpreter was there again and they repeated the game of pretending Maestre spoke no English. The Spanish general’s manner towards Harry was distinctly cool and he realized Hillgarth had been right; his failure to contact Milagros again had been taken as a slight. But he wouldn’t pretend there might be something between him and the girl just to keep the spies happy. He was glad it was Friday, the end of the week. When he came home there was a reply from Sofia on the mat, just a couple of lines agreeing to meet him the next evening. He was surprised by the degree to which his heart soared.

  The cafe was a small place, bright and modern. But for Franco’s picture on the wall behind the counter it could have been anywhere in Europe. He was a little early but Sofia was there already, sitting at the back of the cafe nursing a cup of coffee. She wore the same long black coat she had had on the day he took Enrique back to the flat, a little threadbare he could see under the lights. Her elfin face, without make-up, was pale. She looked much younger, vulnerable. She looked up with a smile as he approached.