Winter in Madrid (59 page)

‘I’m sorry.’

A spasm, a stricken look, suddenly crossed Sandy’s face. He looked at Harry with wide eyes. ‘Jesus, this wouldn’t have anything to do with the gold, would it?’

For the first time Harry did feel a twitch of fear. ‘I can’t say any more.’

Sandy leaned back in his chair. He made his face expressionless but he still had the stricken look in his eyes.

‘They say the British Embassy’s full of spies,’ he said. ‘More spies there than any other embassy except the Germans. Not that I’ve
been to the German embassy, though I know people who have. I hear Hoare’s furious because Franco keeps saying he’s too busy to see him while von Stohrer’s in and out of El Pardo.’

Harry didn’t reply. Sandy took a long deep breath.

‘Oh well, it seems to be a time of change. My brother’s dead, you know.’

Harry looked up. ‘Is he? I’m sorry.’

‘Had a letter a week ago. He was in Egypt, an Italian shell hit his tent.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Probably aiming for Wavell – it’d be like the wops to get the padre by mistake.’

‘I’m sorry, Sandy. That’s bad news.’

He shrugged again. ‘I hadn’t seen him for years. Never got on with Peter, you know that.’

‘Did your father write?’

‘No, an old acquaintance in London saw it in the paper and sent me a letter. The dear old pater wouldn’t write even if he knew where I was. He’s written me off, I’m destined for the flames. Peter’ll be in heaven though, safe in the arms of Jesus.’ He laughed harshly. ‘You look uncomfortable, Harry. You don’t believe all that religious stuff, do you?’

‘No. Even less after what I’ve seen here.’

Sandy sat back, drawing reflectively on his cigarette, then laughed, a harsh bitter sound. ‘Sometimes it all just seems so funny.’

‘What?’

‘Life. Death. The whole bloody thing. Look at that tart over there with her pencilled nylons. Thousands of years of evolution and it’s led to that. I often think the dinosaurs were more impressive. A hundred and sixty million years they lasted.’ He drained his chocolate. ‘You were spying on me, Harry, all the time, weren’t you?’

‘I told you, I can’t say any more now.’

Sandy shook his head. ‘I wanted your approval, you know. I did at Rookwood too. I don’t know why. It felt so strange when you came back. So strange …’ Sandy looked into the middle distance for a moment, then turned his gaze back to Harry, his eyes hard. ‘I wanted to help you make some money, you know that. My old friend Harry. More fool me, eh?’

Harry didn’t reply; there was nothing to say. Sandy nodded.

‘I’ll come and see your intelligence people. Got a number?’ He shoved his cigarette packet towards Harry. He wrote down the number that would take him through to Tolhurst. Sandy put it in his pocket, then gave an odd half-smile, the corners of his mouth twisting. ‘Might have some information that would surprise them.’

‘What?’

Sandy inclined his head. ‘Wait and see. By the way, I haven’t told Barbara about my brother. Don’t want her getting all weepy. Don’t say anything if you see her.’

‘I won’t.’

‘Does she know you’re a spy?’

‘No. She doesn’t know anything, Sandy.’

He nodded. ‘I wondered for a moment there if that might be what’s up with her.’ He smiled that strange half-smile again. ‘Funny, when I was a little boy I wanted to be good. But I could never seem to manage it somehow. And if you’re not good, the good people will throw you to the wolves. So you might as well just be bad.’ He looked into his empty cup for a moment, then reached for his coat.

‘All right. Let’s go.’

They headed for the door. Sandy waved the cigarette boy aside. They stood in the doorway – the snow was still falling; drifts were banked high against the buildings. Across the street people were leaving a church service, huddling into their coats as they descended the steps, the priest shaking hands in the doorway.

Sandy put on his hat. ‘Oh well, out into it all again.’

‘Yes.’

‘Don’t get found nosing in those wastepaper baskets. See you, Harry.’ Sandy turned abruptly away, hunching down into his coat. Harry took a deep breath then headed out into the snow, to tell Tolhurst he had landed his quarry.

T
HE TAXI WOUND ITS WAY
slowly through Carabanchel. There had been a power cut and the streets were pitch-black except for faint glows of candlelight at the windows of the tall blocks. The taxi lurched over the uneven, snow-covered streets. A cart parked by the kerb appeared in the twin globes of the headlights and the driver skidded as he swerved to avoid it.
‘Mierda!’
he muttered. ‘This is like a drive to hell,
señor
.’

When Harry hailed him in the Puerta del Sol the driver hadn’t wanted to drive him out to Carabanchel, not in the middle of a power cut. The snow had stopped as darkness fell and the moon had come out; with the power off, no streetlights and only feeble glows of candlelight from the windows, it was like driving through a crumbling dead city that had been abandoned to the elements.

T
HAT MORNING
Harry had been called round to Tolhurst’s office. The power cut had affected the central heating and Tolhurst’s chubby form was again wreathed in thick pullovers.

‘Forsyth’s rung already,’ he said. ‘He must be keen.’

‘Good.’ It’s done, Harry thought, that’s that.

‘We’d like you present when we interview him.’

‘What?’ Harry frowned. ‘Is that necessary?’

‘We think it would help. In fact, we’d like to have the meeting at your flat.’

‘I thought this was the end of it so far as I was concerned.’

‘It will be. This is the last thing. I know you’re keen to be off.’ Tolhurst’s tone became disapproving, almost hurt. ‘The captain says you can go home after this, there should be a place for you on the plane taking people home for Christmas. But he thinks Forsyth might be more amenable on your territory. These little things can make a
difference, you know. And if he denies he told you something, you’ll be there to contradict him.’

Harry felt angry, his stomach clenched into a tight knot. ‘It’ll be humiliating. For him and me. At least do it in the office, don’t rub our noses in it.’

Tolhurst shook his head. ‘Captain’s orders, I’m afraid.’

Harry was silent. Tolhurst looked at him sadly. ‘I’m sorry it hasn’t worked out as well as we’d hoped. That’s the trouble with this line of work; one word out of place and you’re sunk.’

‘I know.’ Harry studied him. ‘Listen, Tolly, you know I’ve been seeing this girl?’

‘Yes.’

‘I want to marry her. Take her back to England.’

Tolhurst raised his eyebrows. ‘The little dairymaid?’

Anger welled up in Harry. But he had to try and get Tolhurst on his side. He made his voice calm. ‘She’s agreed to marry me.’

Tolhurst frowned. ‘I say, are you sure about this? If you take her to England you’ll be stuck with her for good.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘You haven’t got her into trouble, have you?’

‘No. Though there is a child she and her brother have been looking after, a war orphan. We’d like to take him as well.’

Tolhurst eyed Harry owlishly. ‘Look, I know things haven’t been easy for you, is it the right time to be taking decisions like that? If you don’t mind me saying?’

‘Look, Tolly, it’s what I want. Can you help? With the immigration people?’

‘I don’t know. I’d have to speak to the captain.’

‘Would you? Please, Simon, I know it would be a big responsibility but it’s what I want, you see.’

Tolhurst stroked his chin. ‘Have the girl or her brother any political affiliations?’

‘No. They’re anti-regime but that’s hardly unusual.’

‘Not for that class of people, no.’ Tolhurst tapped his fingers on the desk.

‘If you could do what you can, Tolly, I’d be really in your debt.’

He looked pleased. ‘All right. I’ll try.’

H
ARRY AND
S
OFIA
had agreed he would come over to Carabanchel for dinner and they would tell Enrique and Paco their plans. When at last the taxi dropped him at Sofia’s block, Harry opened the door with the key she had given him. He made his way carefully up the dark staircase; he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face and had to light a match. That had been one of Tolhurst’s tips, always carry matches in case of power cuts.

He knocked and Sofia answered, pale light spilling out on to the landing as she opened the door. She wore the dress she had the night they went to the play. Behind her the room was full of candles; their soft light hid the damp on the walls, the battered scruffiness of the furniture. Her mother’s bed still stood against the wall. He leaned forward and kissed her. She looked tired.

‘Hola,’
she said softly.

‘Where are Enrique and Paco?’

‘They have gone out to get some coffee. They should be back soon.’

‘Do they know something’s up?’

‘Paco’s guessed there’s something. Come on, take your coat off.’

There was a clean patchwork quilt on the bed that had been her mother’s, a white cloth on the table. The
brasero
had been on for some time and the room was warm. They sat side by side on the bed. He told her he’d spoken to a colleague about visas.

‘I think he’ll do what he can. It could be before Christmas.’

‘As soon as that?’

He nodded.

She shook her head. ‘It will be hard for Enrique.’

‘We can send him money. Then at least he could keep the flat.’ He took her hand. ‘Are you still sure about this?’

‘Yes.’ She looked at him. ‘What about this work of yours? Is it nearly finished?’

‘Yes. Listen, are you sure we shouldn’t wait until it’s certain we can do this, before we tell them?’

Sofia shook her head decisively. ‘No. We do not want to leave it until we are about to go. They should know what we plan, now.’

‘I am glad.’

Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Enrique came in with Paco. He
looked tired but Paco, at his side, had an unaccustomed colour in his cheeks. Enrique shook hands with Harry. ‘
Buenas tardes. Madre de Dios
, it is colder than ever.’ He turned to Sofia. ‘See, we have found some coffee. This stuff, anyway.’ Paco pulled a bottle of chicory essence from under his coat and held it up like a trophy, with a rare smile.

Sofia prepared the dinner, chickpeas with some small pieces of
chorizo
. They ate together at the table, Enrique talking about his work snow-clearing, the rich women who still wore high-heeled shoes and kept falling over. When they had eaten Sofia pushed away her plate and took Harry’s hand.

‘We have something to tell you.’

Enrique stared at them, puzzled. Paco, his head only a little above the level of the table, frowned worriedly.

‘I’ve asked Sofia to marry me,’ Harry said. ‘I’m going back to England soon and Sofia has said she’ll come back with me so long as we can take Paco with us.’

Enrique’s face fell. He looked at Sofia. ‘I will be left here alone?’ Then he shrugged and forced a smile. ‘Well, what would I do in England? I can hardly read and write. It was always you who was the clever one.’

Paco had been looking between the three of them. At Enrique’s words his face stiffened. ‘No! No! I won’t leave Enrique, no!’ He threw his arms round him, burying his face in his shoulder, making desperate squealing noises. Enrique lifted him up.

‘I will take him to the kitchen,’ he said. He lifted Paco up and went out. As the kitchen door closed, Sofia sighed. ‘Enrique is being brave. This, so soon after Mama.’

Harry took one of her hands, pulled it away from her face. ‘When we’re settled, we can try to get him over—’

He broke off as a loud knocking sounded at the door. Sofia got up, her face weary. ‘If that is Señora Avila again—’

She marched to the door and threw it open. Barbara stood there. Her face was pale and she had been crying.

‘What is it?’ Harry asked sharply. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Can I come in? Please? I went to your flat and then I thought
you might be here. I’m sorry, I’d nowhere else to turn.’ She looked desperate, frightened.

Sofia looked at her for a moment, then took her arm. ‘Come in.’ She led her to a chair. Barbara sat down heavily.

‘Have some wine,’ Harry said. ‘You look frozen.’

‘Thanks. I’m sorry, were you eating?’

‘We’ve finished,’ Sofia said. ‘Paco was upset, Enrique has taken him into the kitchen for a moment.’

Barbara bit her lip. ‘He’d better not hear why I’ve come.’ She pulled a packet of cigarettes from her handbag, offered one to Sofia and lit up. She sighed with relief.

‘It’s good to be with friends. You’ve no idea.’

‘What is it?’ Harry asked. ‘What’s got you into this state?’

She clasped her hands tightly on the table and took a deep breath. ‘You know Sandy and I haven’t been getting on. You know I’ve talked about going home.’

‘Yes.’

She swallowed. ‘A while ago I overheard a telephone conversation he was having in his study. It was an accident, I wasn’t eavesdropping, but what he was saying was so strange. He was talking to someone about your investments, then he asked about what the person on the other end had done to some man –’ she shivered – ‘saying he was tough. It kept going round in my mind. They mentioned a name. Gomez.’

Harry’s eyes widened as Barbara pulled the copy of
Ya
from her handbag. ‘Then the evening before last I saw this.’

Sofia leaned forward to read the article. Harry sat back, staring at Barbara, his mind whirling.

Sofia looked up. ‘You are saying there is a connection?’ she asked urgently.

The kitchen door opened and Enrique looked out enquiringly. Sofia rose and went into the kitchen with him. Barbara remained slumped in her chair. Harry looked at her. Sofia came back.

‘I have asked them to stay in the kitchen.’ She sat down again. ‘Señora Barbara, are you sure of this? You are – forgive me – overwrought.’

Barbara shook her head vigorously. ‘It all fits.’ Her voice rose. ‘Sandy’s been involved in torturing and murdering a man. After I read the paper I didn’t want to go home. I made myself. I told him I’d a bad headache and had to go to bed. Now I can hardly bear to talk to him.’ Her whole body shook for a moment. ‘I heard him laughing in the hall with the maid, he’s having an affair with her. I felt so scared, lying there in bed, I’ve never felt so afraid. Then today I went out early, to the veterans’ hospital. Afterwards I – I just couldn’t go home. I should, I must, but I just couldn’t face it.’