The Portuguese Escape (19 page)

The Duke smiled.

‘No, Miss Probyn. But she did tell me that the second party was acting as the Vatican's representative in this affair, and that could only be Monsignor Subercaseaux.' He turned to Torrens. ‘Well?'

‘Yes, Sir. I will bring them both here tonight. That is much the best plan, if it won't be putting you about too much to have guests arriving so late.'

‘My household is never put about by anything that is my wish,' the Duke said, pressing a bell on his desk. ‘For one thing they are paid to do whatever is required of them, and for another, there still obtains here in Portugal that happy sense of
unity
in a household between employer and employed. Do you know the Portuguese word for the domestic staff of a house?'

‘No, I'm afraid I don't.'

‘It is “
a familia
”, the family.'

At this point a representative of the family appeared in the person of Elidio.

‘O Elidio,' the Duke said, ‘cause two rooms to be prepared for two guests; let
borachas
(hot-water bottles) be placed in the beds, for the gentlemen are old, and the night is chilly. You will wait upon them yourself, and will enquire if they desire any refreshment—tell the chef to have hot consommé and biscuits ready.'

‘
Muito bem
, His Excellency. And at what hour does His Excellency expect His Excellency's guests?'

The Duke glanced at the Empire clock on the chimney-place—it was twenty minutes to eleven.

‘About midnight, or perhaps a little later.'

‘
Muito bem, Sua Excellenza
‘.

‘And when the Senhora Condessa has finished the Rosary, tell her that I will come up and speak with her, and also with Dom Pedro—let him not go to bed,' the Duke said firmly. Bowing, with another
Muito bem
, Elidio withdrew.

‘Well, I think I'd better get going,' Torrens said; he too had noticed the time.

‘Duke, could Major Torrens have some of the consommé and biscuits when he brings his people along? He's had no dinner yet.'

‘Of course—how distressing.' He pressed the bell again. ‘You must forgive my lack of hospitality,' he said gravely to the Major—' I had no idea of this. Will you take something now?'

‘Thank you very much, Sir, but I would rather get them safely here first.'

‘Very right. Do you come up to Gralheira with your charges? That would, of course, be a pleasure.'

‘I think not, Sir, thank you so much—there may be things for me to see to here.'

‘I understand—though I am sorry. Will consommé and an omelette, and some cold turkey, be sufficient when you return?—a poor meal, I am afraid.'

‘Ample, Sir. Don't bother with the omelette.' He rose— ‘I really think we had better start.'

‘By all means. Does Miss Probyn go with you?' the Duke asked, suddenly noticing Julia's jacket, as she also got up.

‘She is very kindly driving me; her car is faster than a taxi.'

‘Ah yes—she drives well. I will say good night, for I trust you and my other guests will excuse me if I should not be here to receive you when you return.'

‘Duke, there is one thing we ought perhaps to settle,' Julia put in. ‘What names are they to go by?—their own, or should we make some up? I'm not thinking so much of the staff—it's things like the postman, and all the swarms of people who come and go at Gralheira.'

The Duke, who had risen, sat down again behind his Chippendale escritoire.

‘Elidio, tell the chef to be ready to serve an omelette and some cold
perù
and a salad, as well as the consommé, when the Senhor Comandante returns with the other guests,' he said, when the man reappeared. As the servant left the room he turned to Torrens. ‘I think that is a good point of Miss Probyn's, as regards Dr. Horvath; the Monsignor must, of course, come under his own name—my chaplain, my secretary, my steward, in fact everyone knows him by sight. What do you say?'

‘Yes, Miss Probyn is right—I ought to have thought of it myself. It would certainly be wiser for Father Antal not to use his own name.'

The Duke doodled on his blotting-paper. ‘One can never think of names when one wants them,' he said, drawing his eyebrows together.

‘Why not Père Antoine for Father Antal?' Julia suggested. ‘A French name, as he's a foreigner.'

‘You are very ready, Miss Probyn! Will that do, Major Torrens?'

‘No, Sir, not Antoine—too like Antal.'

‘Then what?'

‘Oh, Père François—they'll call him Dom Francisco anyhow,' Julia said abruptly; she was anxious to get off. Torrens agreed to this, and the Duke jotted down the name methodically in a little note-book—‘I will tell Elidio and the steward,' he said.

As this was settled Torrens gave a fleeting grin, which to Julia's surprise was repeated in the Duke's grey lined face. She registered suddenly that her late employer was enjoying the whole business considerably, and decided to waste two more minutes on increasing his pleasure.

‘Duke, you realise that Countess Hetta Páloczy was cook to
Père François
‘—she stressed the words, smiling—‘in Hungary for six years?'

‘Impossible! This young lady who knows so much Latin, a cook?'

‘Indeed
yes
. I'll tell you about that when we get to Gralheira, and aren't in a hurry.'

‘Ought she to come up too?' the Duke asked—nothing, Julia felt, was beyond him that night.

‘Not for the moment.'

‘But
you
come, of course?'

‘Yes, rather—only I shall have to get back for the wedding.'

‘Oh, this wedding!' the Duke said. ‘That is not for another week, anyhow.'

A groom swung back the great doors of the cobbled courtyard of the Ericeira stables to let Julia's car drive out.

‘O Fausto, be here to let me in again—in an hour, or
perhaps in two hours—but I must not be caused to wait,' the girl said urgently. ‘I shall hoot three times, when I return.' As she turned out into the street the gates clanged to behind them.

‘Which first?' Julia asked.

‘Oh, Estoril. They probably won't be watching Subercaseaux at this time of night—though you never know. How often have you had this new car out since you got it, by the way?'

‘Once. It only came yesterday morning, and I took Nanny and Luzia to the Zoo in the afternoon.'

‘See anyone hanging about?'

‘No—though I confess I wasn't looking.'

‘Well I
was
looking when we came out just now, and I swear that street was bone empty,' Torrens said, as Julia twisted down towards the river. ‘There isn't cover for a cat along those huge house-fronts. We ought to be all right.' There was a nervousness in his voice and manner that Julia had never met before—he's tired and hungry, she thought, as they raced along beside the Tagus. The young moon was fuller now than it had been three nights ago, and its light etched the Torre de Belém, the Manueline tower built on the spot whence the great Basque Vasco da Gama set sail to discover the Indies, in black and silver as they shot past it—a black-and-silver tower outlined against the broad black-and-silver river. Julia observed this with pleasure, but she was thinking of the task in hand in all its aspects. It was wonderful how the old Duque had played up, and there came into her mind Atherley's remark—was it really only three nights ago?—when she had taken him to see the night-watchman's chair: ‘Just the place to park Hugh's priest.' Well, now Hugh's priest was going to be parked there—and at the thought she gave her slow giggle.

‘What is it?' Torrens asked—she told him, and he laughed shortly.

‘Yes, we're almighty lucky—having you there, and the old man being so splendid about it all. What a charmer he is—and so superbly off-hand about having people arrive in the middle of the night. I must say I'm looking forward to that omelette and consommé!'

‘There's one thing,' Julia said; the omelette had reminded her of it. ‘Do we pick up Father Antal on our way-back or drop the Monsignor first and then go and fetch him?'

‘I was thinking about that. It's between not putting all your eggs in one basket, and making as few calls as possible at the Duke's. On balance, I think the second is more important; anyhow I'll risk it. You know that big lift that goes up from near the Rossio—do you know your way to the top of it?'

‘Yes.'

‘Well you can wait there, and I'll go down, collect Hetta's late employer, and bring him up in it.'

‘That's all right except for one thing, Hugh,' Julia said.

‘What?' He sounded impatient; she realised that the slightest check or hindrance played on his nerves tonight.

‘It's easily got round,' she said tranquilly. ‘That stub of street that leads down to the lift is a blind alley, and a car could block it; all I'm thinking is that it might be better for me to wait in the square near the other end, where I can't be blocked. It's barely a hundred yards from the lift.'

‘Yes. Yes, you're right. But don't just
sit
in the square; drive round a bit.'

‘I will. Don't worry, Hugh—I won't bog it.' She reached out a hand to his.

‘Bless you, I know you won't.'

Mgr Subercaseaux lived in a small house with a garden in one of the shady streets between Estoril and Monte Estoril—the road was empty under the lamps as they turned into it; a light shone in one of the lower windows of the house. Torrens sprang out almost before the car stopped, and went up the little path to the door—at that moment the light in the window was quenched, and ten minutes later the two men appeared with a typewriter and a couple of suit-cases; the latter Torrens pitched into the boot, while the priest, clutching his machine, got into the back of the car.

‘See anything?' Torrens asked as he got in beside Julia.

‘Not a thing,' the girl replied as she shot off down the road.

Cruising back along the Tagus speed-way towards Lisbon, a small thought came into Julia's mind and nagged and fretted there. It was more a picture than a thought, really—a picture of a long line of goods trucks clanking slowly over that level crossing leading from the docks (whence the engine-whistles so troubled Lady Loseley at night) and of cars held up and standing stationary on either side of it, for as much as five minutes on end. She had a curious, insistent feeling that it would be better
not
to be immobilised for five minutes on the road tonight.

‘Hugh, I'm going to turn up at Ajuda, onto the by-pass that goes out past the Stadium, and get into Lisbon from the top,' she said.

‘Why?' Again he sounded irritated.

‘There's a level crossing if we don't, and at this time of night we might be held up by a train,' she said, swinging sharply left as she spoke; the car climbed a hill, past the great Palace of Ajuda, past one of Dr. Salazar's new garden suburbs, and emerged onto the by-pass; this led into the city near the great aqueduct, whose gothic arches were as sharply defined in black and silver as the Tower of Belém had been. Torrens quite lost his bearings; he was surprised when Julia suddenly pulled up and said— ‘There. The lift's at the end of that short street.'

He got out, glanced round sharply, looked at his watch.

‘All right. Give me nine minutes. If I'm not back then go on cruising about, but close by. Keep moving.' He was gone.

Julia too looked at her watch; it was ten minutes past twelve. As she drove away, Mgr Subercaseaux, for the first time, spoke from the back seat.

‘Had you any particular reason for wishing to avoid the level crossing tonight?'

‘Not what you could call a reason—except that there often
are
trains there as late as this. I just had a hunch that I'd rather not wait there, like a sitting duck, tonight.' She was driving at considerable speed through the lamp-lit, almost empty streets; they came out by the Estrela Gardens, went up past the parsonage of St. George's, the English church, where among cypresses and judas-trees the novelist Fielding lies buried, and fetched a compass
round; on the return journey they crossed the end of a long street filled on either side with the lofty frontages of baroque mansions—Julia slowed down as she passed it, and peered up its empty length.

‘Nothing there,' Subercaseaux said.

‘No car, anyhow,' Julia replied, accelerating again—it was the street in which the Ericeira palace stood.

‘Is this your profession? You seem very good at it,' the priest said, clutching the back of the front seat as the car swung sharply round a corner.

‘Oh Lord no—I'm a journalist. I'm just helping Major Torrens out. I was governess for some time to the Duke's child, Luzia, so I know them.'

‘Do you come with us to the country, then?'

‘For a few days—I've got to come back to cover this wedding.'

‘Ah. Do you know Countess Hetta Páloczy?'

‘Indeed yes. She's a splendid girl.'

‘Splendid is the right word,' Subercaseaux was beginning, when the car swung round another corner. ‘Don't talk now—do you mind?' the girl said, as they passed across the end of a square. She turned down one side of it, driving slowly now, and almost halted at the end of a short street. There was not a soul in it. Julia held her wrist-watch out towards the dash-board light. ‘Nine and a half,' she muttered—‘Drive round the block!' Rather slowly, now, she made the circuit of the square, and for a second time slowed down at the street. At that moment two figures appeared at the farther end, one carrying a small case. ‘Here they are—good-oh,' she said.

Torrens and a small man got into the car, Torrens in front—Julia had kept the engine running, and even as the door slammed she shot off up the square.

‘That's right—drive like hell,' Torrens muttered. He was panting like a man who has been running. ‘I heard a car pull up outside the shop in a hurry, brakes squealing, as we left by the back way; and two men came racing up the passage to the lift just as it got moving. They yelled like mad, but I showed the man a huge note, and he kept on, thank God. I heard them swear—in Spanish, of course —before they ran back down the passage, and then I saw
a car flash past along the bottom. They're after us all right.'