C. Sansom - Winter in Madrid

Harry studied the crowd. A few people were smiling at the bizarre vehicle, but it struck Harry that none were laughing or calling out, as Madrileños would have done before at such a thing. Again he thought how silent they were, the background buzz of conversation he remembered gone.

They drove into Opera district, catching glimpses of the Royal Palace in the distance. It stood out brightly amid the general shabbiness, the sun reflected from its white walls.

‘Does Franco live there?’ Harry asked.

‘He receives people there but he’s established himself in the Pardo Palace, outside Madrid. He’s terrified of assassination. Drives everywhere in a bullet-proof Mercedes Hitler sent him.’

‘There’s still opposition then?’

‘The civiles have security sewn up in the towns. But you never know. After all, Madrid was only taken eighteen months ago. In a way, it’s an occupied city as much as Paris. There’s still resistance in the north, from what we hear, and Republican bands hiding out in the countryside. The vagabundos , they call them.’

‘God,’ Harry said. ‘What this country’s been through.’

‘It might not be over yet,’ Tolhurst observed grimly.

They drove into a street of large nineteenth-century houses, outside one of which a Union Jack hung from a flagpole, blessedly familiar. Harry remembered coming to the embassy in 1937, to ask for Bernie after he was reported missing. The officials had been unhelpful, disapproving of the International Brigades.

A couple of civiles were posted at the door. Cars were drawn up outside the entrance so Tolhurst stopped a little way up the road.

‘Let’s get your bag,’ he said.

Harry looked warily at the civiles as he climbed out. Then he felt his leg tugged from behind. He looked round to see a thin boy of ten, dressed in the rags of an army tunic, sitting on a kind of wheeled wooden sled.

‘ Señor, por favor, diez pesetas. ’

Harry saw the child had no legs. The boy clung to his turn-ups. ‘ Por el amor de Dios ,’ he pleaded, thrusting out his other hand. One of the civiles marched sharply down the street, clapping his hands. ‘ ¡Vete! ¡Vete! ’ At his shout the little boy slapped his hands on the cobbles, rolling his cart backwards into a side street. Tolhurst took Harry’s elbow.

‘You’ll have to be quicker than that, old boy. Beggars don’t usually get as far out as this, but they’re thick as pigeons round the Centro. Not that there are any pigeons left, they’ve eaten them all.’

The civil who had chased the boy away escorted them to the embassy door. ‘ Gracias por su asistencia ,’ Tolhurst said formally. The man nodded, but Harry saw a look of contempt in his eyes.

‘It’s a bit of a shock at first, the children,’ Tolhurst said as he turned the handle of the big wooden door. ‘But you have to get used to it. Now, time to meet your reception committee. The big guns are waiting for you.’ He sounded jealous, Harry thought, as Tolhurst led the way into the hot, gloomy interior.

THE AMBASSADOR sat behind an enormous desk in an imposing room cooled by quietly whirring fans. There were eighteenth-century prints on the wall, thick rugs on the tiled floor. Another man, in the uniform of a naval captain, sat to one side of the desk. A window looked on to an interior courtyard full of potted plants, where a little group of men in shirtsleeves sat talking on a bench.

Harry recognized Sir Samuel Hoare from the newsreels. He had been a minister under Chamberlain, an appeaser dismissed when Churchill took over. A small man with delicately pointed, severe features and thin white hair, he wore a morning coat with a blue flower in the buttonhole. He stood and leaned across the desk, thrusting out a hand.

‘Welcome, Brett, welcome.’ The handshake was surprisingly strong. Cold, pale blue eyes stared into Harry’s for a moment, then the ambassador waved at the other man. ‘Captain Alan Hillgarth, our naval attaché. He has overall responsibility for Special Services.’ Hoare pronounced the final words with a touch of distaste.

Hillgarth was in his forties, tall and darkly handsome with large brown eyes. They were hard but there was something mischievous, almost childlike, about them and about the wide sensual mouth. Harry remembered Sandy reading adventure stories at Rookwood by a man called Hillgarth. They were about spies, adventures in dark backwaters of Europe. Sandy Forsyth had liked them but Harry had found them rather garbled.

The captain shook his hand warmly. ‘Hello, Brett. You’ll be directly responsible to me, through Tolhurst here.’

‘Sit, please; sit, all.’ Hoare waved Harry to a chair.

‘We’re glad to see you,’ Hillgarth said. ‘We’ve had reports of your training. You seemed to pick up everything reasonably well.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘Ready to spin your yarn to Forsyth?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘We’ve got you a flat, Tolhurst here will take you round afterwards. Now, you know the drill? The cover story?’

‘Yes, sir. I’ve been seconded as an interpreter, after the illness of the previous man.’

‘Poor old Greene,’ Hillgarth said with a sudden laugh. ‘Still doesn’t know why he was rushed off home.’

‘Good interpreter,’ Hoare interjected. ‘Knew his job. Brett, you’ll have to be very careful what you say. As well as your – ah – other work, you’ll be interpreting for some senior people, and things are delicate here. Very delicate.’ Hoare looked at him sharply and Harry felt suddenly intimidated. He still couldn’t get used to the fact that he was talking to a man he had seen on the newsreels. He took a deep breath.

‘I understand, sir. They briefed me in England. I translate everything into the most diplomatic language possible, never add comments of my own.’

Hillgarth nodded. ‘He’s doing a session with the junior trade minister and me on Thursday. I’ll keep him in order.’

‘Maestre, yes.’ Hoare grunted. ‘We don’t want to upset him .’

Hillgarth produced a gold cigarette case and offered it to Harry. ‘Smoke?’

‘I don’t, thanks.’

Hillgarth lit up and blew out a cloud of smoke. ‘We don’t want you to meet Forsyth straight away, Brett. Take a few days to get yourself known on the circuit, settle in. And get used to being watched and followed – the government put spies on all embassy staff. Most of them are pretty hopeless, you can spot them a mile off, though a few Gestapo-trained men are coming through now. Watch out for anyone on your tail, and report to Tolhurst.’ He smiled as though it were all an adventure, in a way that reminded Harry of the people at the training school.

‘I will, sir.’

‘Now,’ Hillgarth went on. ‘Forsyth. You knew him well for a time at school, but you haven’t seen him since. Correct?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘But you think he might be well disposed towards you?’

‘I hope so, sir. But I don’t really know what he’s been up to since we stopped writing. That was ten years ago.’ Harry glanced out at the courtyard. One of the men there was looking in at them.

‘Those bloody airmen!’ Hoare snapped. ‘I’m fed up of them peering in here!’ He waved a hand imperiously and the men got up and walked off, disappearing through a side door. Harry saw Hillgarth gave Hoare a quick look of dislike before turning back to him.

‘Those are pilots who had to bale out over France,’ Hillgarth said pointedly. ‘Some of them have walked here.’

‘Yes, yes, yes,’ Hoare said pettishly. ‘We must get on.’

‘Of course, ambassador,’ Hillgarth said with heavy formality. He turned back to Harry. ‘Now, we first heard about Forsyth two months ago. I’ve an agent in the Industry Ministry here, a junior clerk. He let us know they were all very excited there about something that was going on out in the country, about fifty miles from Madrid. Our man can’t get to the papers but he overheard a couple of conversations. Gold deposits. Large ones, geologically verified. We know they’re sending mining equipment out, and mercury and other chemicals; scarce resources.’