‘I’ve phoned Forsyth,’ Harry told him. ‘We’re meeting at the cafe tomorrow.’
‘Good.’ He passed over the paper. ‘You should see this.’
Harry read the article about Gomez. He laid the paper on the desk. ‘So they killed him,’ he said bleakly.
Tolhurst nodded. ‘Seems so. It’s what we suspected. It doesn’t make any difference to recruiting Forsyth.’ His voice was cool and even. Harry remembered their first meeting, Tolhurst as the friendly fat boy. He was seeing another side now.
‘Even after you know he’s involved in this?’ he asked.
‘Suspected of involvement, Harry, suspected. And we’re not the police.’
‘No.’ Harry put the paper on the desk. ‘It’s all right, Tolly, I’ll still try to get him for you.’
Tolhurst smiled. ‘Good man,’ he said, with a touch of the old friendliness. ‘How’s the ear, by the way?’
‘Fine. I think part of it was psychological, like the panics.’ He hadn’t had another since that night outside the theatre. Being with Sofia seemed to have cured him.
‘Jolly good,’ Tolhurst said. ‘Well, must fly. Good luck.’
After he left Harry sat looking at the article, read the things they had done to Gomez. The poor bastard. Had Sandy been there? No, Harry thought bitterly. He’d leave that to others.
SOFIA LOOKED tired when she arrived at his flat that evening: there were black shadows under her eyes.
‘Are you all right?’ Harry asked as he took her coat.
She smiled, a brave child’s smile. Sometimes she looked so young. ‘I do not want to go back to work tomorrow. I am fed up of cows,’ she said. ‘It is so boring. How I hate the smell of milk.’
‘Sit down, I’ll bring the dinner in. I’ve done a cocido.’
He had the record player on, Vera Lynn singing ‘When the lights go on again all over the world’ in longing tones, but Sofia followed him into the kitchen and leaned against the wall, watching as he mixed the contents of the pans he had been boiling on the stove.
‘You are the first man I have met who can cook.’
‘You learn when you’re on your own. You have to.’
She inclined her head. ‘You look worried. Is there trouble at work?’
He took a deep breath. ‘No. Listen, I’ve something to tell you.’
‘What is it?’ She sounded apprehensive at once. He realized that for a long time, news for her had meant bad news.
‘Wait till we’re sitting down.’
He had bought a good red wine and when they were seated he poured her a glass. The dim electric light cast a glow of light over the table, leaving the rest of the room in shadow.
‘Sofia,’ he said. ‘The embassy want to send me back home.’
She seemed to shrink into herself, her face paled a little. ‘But why? Surely they need you here, nothing has changed, unless—’ She drew in her breath sharply. ‘Unless Franco is about to declare war. Oh God, they are evacuating you all—’
He raised a hand. ‘No, no, it’s not that. It’s me, they – they think I’d be better deployed at home.’
‘Harry,’ she asked softly. ‘Are you in trouble?’
‘No, honestly. It’s just – I’ve been doing other work, not just translating, and it’s nearly finished.’
She frowned. ‘What sort of work?’
He hesitated, then said, ‘Intelligence.’ He bit his lip. ‘Please, I can’t tell you any more. I shouldn’t tell you at all. But it’s nearly finished. I’m pleased, I hate it.’
‘Intelligence against this regime?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. I am glad.’ She took a deep breath. ‘When will you go?’
‘I’m not sure. Perhaps before the end of the year.’ He looked into her eyes. ‘Sofia, will you come with me? You don’t have to answer now, but listen, I’ve been thinking all afternoon. You remember what Barbara said, about foreigners being allowed into England if they’re married to an Englishman?’
She stared at him with a set face. Her voice trembled. ‘Harry, do not ask. I couldn’t leave Paco. Enrique can look after himself but not Paco too. The beata would get him.’ She reached out and took Harry’s hand. ‘Don’t ask me to make such a choice—’
‘I’ve been thinking about that too. If somehow you could adopt Paco—’
She shook her head wearily. ‘I can’t. The Church is in charge of those things now and they would never allow it.’
‘No, not in Spain, in England. If we say you’ve been looking after him since his parents died and we could get him to England, then we could adopt him. I think there are ways. This job, you see, there’s this last little thing I need to do and if I succeed I’ll be in their good graces, the people at the embassy. They might help us.’
She looked at him steadily. ‘Is what you are doing dangerous?’
‘No, no.’ He laughed. ‘Honestly it isn’t, I swear. It’s just trying to get information out of businessmen. There’s no danger. Forget about that. Sofia, what do you say?’
‘How would Paco find England? A strange language, the bombs. I have to think of Paco.’
He couldn’t help feeling hurt that the boy seemed to be more important than him. ‘We could go to Cambridge,’ he said. ‘There aren’t any bombs there. We could have a good life; you can still get most things in England if you have money. I’ve enough. And Paco would be safe, no more knocks at the door. I’d try and get Enrique out too later but that might be more difficult.’
‘Yes, Paco would have a better chance in England. Unless the Germans come, but they may come here too. They say this is the worst time but Spain will take years, decades, to recover from what Franco has done to it. If it ever can.’ She looked at him with wonder. ‘You would take on Paco, take that responsibility?’
‘Yes. I don’t want to leave him either. I’m sure if he got some proper medical attention that could help him.’
She nodded. ‘There must be many doctors in Cambridge.’
‘Loads. Sofia, if we can bring Paco out, will you – will you marry me? You – you haven’t said what you feel about that. If – if you don’t want to…’
She studied him. ‘You would settle for a life with me and Paco? Knowing how Paco is?’
‘Yes, yes. It’s the only responsibility I want now. Sofia, will you marry me?’
She got up from her seat and came over to him. She knelt down and kissed him, then lifted her mouth from his and smiled.
‘Yes. Yes, I will. Though I wonder if you are mad.’
He laughed aloud with relief and joy.
‘Perhaps I am, a little, but I want to be. I’ve been thinking what to do all day, ever since they told me I’d be going back—’
She leaned over and put a finger to his lips. ‘You will sort something out. I know. Yes, Harry, I will marry you.’
‘I know we’ve only known each other a few weeks. But in these times you have to seize the good things while you can.’
‘The best few weeks of my life.’ She knelt beside him on the floor and he bent over and held her.
‘I had to think of Paco,’ she said. ‘I could not abandon him, you see that.’ Her voice sunk to a whisper. ‘He has been the only thing I have been able to rescue, from all the hopes we once had.’
‘I understand. Sofia, perhaps in England you could study again, be a doctor.’
‘I must learn English first. That will be hard. But anything, if it is with you. And to think we wouldn’t have met but for Enrique.’ She shook her head. ‘Such a strange fragile chance.’
THE PROSTITUTE Harry had once mistaken for a spy was in the Café Rocinante when he arrived next afternoon. Sandy wasn’t there yet. The woman sat at her table at the back of the room; a fat middle-aged businessman was with her, talking Spanish with a strong German accent. He was boasting about how much money he had made since he came to Spain, the deals he had done. The woman smiled and nodded but there was a distant look on her face. She sat at an angle to the
table, displaying shapely legs for her age. She had a line painted down the back of them, Harry saw; she was pretending to be wearing the new nylon stockings but you could see from the way the light reflected from her legs that they were bare. She must be frozen, walking through the snow like that.
The German saw Harry staring and raised shaggy eyebrows. Harry took a seat as far away from them as possible. There was a breath of cold air as the door opened and Sandy came in. He wore a heavy black coat and Homburg hat, the hat and his shoulders covered with a dusting of snow for it had started up again. Waiting there, knowing what Sandy had done, Harry had wondered if he might feel fear when he saw him now, but there was only disgust and anger.
Sandy made his way to Harry’s table, pausing to exchange remarks about the weather with an acquaintance. Harry raised an arm to attract the elderly waiter who was standing in a corner, talking to the shoeshine boy. The boy was new; perhaps the last one had gone away or died of cold in a doorway somewhere.
‘Hello, Harry.’ Sandy extended a hand. His fingers were icy.
‘Hello. Coffee?’
‘Chocolate, I think, on a day like today.’ Sandy looked up at the waiter who had hurried over. ‘Un café con leche y un chocolate, Alfredo.’
Harry studied Sandy’s face. He was smiling his broad smile but he had a tired, strained look. He lit a cigarette.
‘How are things?’ Harry asked.
‘They’ve been better. What’s this urgent business? I’m intrigued.’
Harry took a deep breath. ‘Sandy, I mentioned at the embassy that I had an English friend who’s been having some business problems. There are a couple of people there who’d like to talk to you. You might be able to do some work with them.’
Sandy looked at him, a long hard look. You could almost hear the cogs turning. He took out his cigarette case and lit up. ‘That sounds like intelligence work,’ he said crisply.
God, he was quick. Harry didn’t reply. Sandy’s eyes narrowed.
‘Are they spies?’ He stopped and gave a little gasp of surprise. ‘Are you a spy, Harry?’ he asked softly. He hesitated a moment. ‘By God. You are, aren’t you? Translating’s a good cover, I suppose. Have you been rifling through Franco’s wastebaskets?’ He laughed incredulously, looked at Harry, then laughed again.
‘I can’t say any more now, Sandy, I’m sorry. It’s just – I’ve seen things haven’t been going well for you, I’d like to help.’ How easily the lies were coming. ‘Just an exploratory meeting with a couple of people at the embassy, no strings.’
‘I suppose they want to recruit me?’ Sandy went on in the same quiet tone. The waiter reappeared and Sandy took the tray from him. ‘Ah. Alfredo, muy bien. Sugar, Harry?’ He made a fuss of organizing the drinks; giving himself time to think. He leaned back and blew out a cloud of smoke, then kicked Harry’s shin playfully. ‘Sure you can’t tell me any more, old chap?’
‘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.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
THE 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.
THAT 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.’