C. Sansom - Winter in Madrid

‘Why is it so quiet?’ Harry asked.

‘This was always a quiet town. On a day like this people will be indoors, trying to keep warm.’ Sofia looked at the sky. Clouds were spreading across the sky from the north.

‘I think we should go into the cathedral.’ Barbara looked at the door, brown and studded with nails, the beggars crouched beside it eyeing them silently. ‘Get out of sight.’

Sofia nodded. ‘You are right. We should try to find the watchman.’ She led the way up the steps, shoulders hunched and hands thrust deep into the pockets of her old coat, past the beggars who stretched out their hands. She pushed the huge door and it slid open slowly.

The cathedral was vast, empty, lit with a cold yellowish light filtering through the stained-glass windows. Harry’s breath made a fog in the air in front of him. Barbara stood by his side. ‘There doesn’t seem to be anyone here,’ she whispered.

Sofia walked slowly on between the soaring pillars, towards the chancel where a huge altar screen, decorated in bright gold, stood behind high gates. She stood frowning up at the screen, a tiny figure in her old black coat. Harry went and put his arm round her.

‘So much gold,’ she whispered. ‘The church has never had any shortage of gold.’

‘Where’s the watchman?’ asked Barbara, who had walked up to them.

‘Let’s find him.’ Sofia pulled away from Harry’s side and continued down the nave. The others followed. The heavy rucksack dug into Harry’s shoulders.

To the right a large stained-glass window let in the fading light. Underneath stood a confessional box, a tall narrow thing of dark wood. As they progressed up the cathedral the light grew dimmer. Harry started violently at the sight of a figure standing in a side chapel. Barbara clutched his arm.

‘What is it?’

Looking closer, Harry saw it was a life-size tableau of the Last Supper. It was Judas that had made him start, a startlingly realistic Judas carved in the act of rising from the table. His face, turned slightly to the master he was about to betray, was brutally cold and calculating, his mouth half-open in a grim snarl. Beside him Christ in a white robe sat with his back to the nave.

‘Hideous, isn’t it?’ Barbara whispered.

‘Yes.’ Harry looked at Sofia, a little ahead, her hands still driven so deeply into her pockets the shoulder seams of her coat threatened to part. She stopped, and as they drew level with her she turned and whispered to Harry. ‘See, there he is, on that bench.’

A man was sitting beside a shrine to the Virgin, indistinct in the gloom. They approached him slowly. Then Harry heard a sharp gulp of indrawn breath from Sofia. She was looking at a large new plaque set into the wall. Candles were lit in niches beside it and a bunch of winter roses had been laid underneath. The inscription ‘Fallen for the Church’ stood out above a list of names.

‘He is there,’ Sofia said. ‘My uncle.’ Her shoulders sagged. Harry put his arm round her. She felt so small, so delicate.

She pulled away again. ‘We must go to the watchman,’ she said quietly.

The man rose from the bench as they approached. He was old, short and stocky, wearing an ancient greasy suit and threadbare shirt. He studied them with sharp blue eyes, his seamed face hostile and distrustful.

‘You are from Luis, the brother of Agustín?’ he asked Barbara.

‘Yes. You are Francisco?’

‘I was told to expect only one Englishwoman. Why are there three of you?’

‘The arrangement changed. Luis knows.’

‘Agustín said one.’ His eyes darted anxiously between them.

‘I have the money,’ Harry said. ‘So. Is it safe to wait, to bring our friend here?’

‘It should be. There is no evening service today. It is cold, no one has been in this afternoon except Father Belmonte’s sister.’ He nodded briefly at the memorial. ‘With flowers. He was one of those martyred for Spain,’ he added pointedly. ‘When priests were murdered and nuns raped for the pleasure of the Reds.’

So he’s a Nationalist, Harry thought. ‘We have the three hundred pesetas,’ he said.

The old man held out a hand. ‘Then give it to me.’

‘When the man we came for is here.’ Harry made his voice clipped, authoritative, an officer’s voice. ‘That was the arrangement.’ He reached into his coat pocket and showed the old man the billfold, angling his body so he caught a glimpse of the gun as well. His eyes widened and he nodded.

‘ Sí. Sí. ’

Harry looked at his watch. ‘We are early. We will have to wait a little.’

‘Wait then.’ The watchman turned and shuffled back to his bench. He sat watching them.

‘Can we trust him?’ Barbara whispered. ‘He’s very hostile.’

‘Of course he is,’ Sofia replied sharply. ‘He supports them . Do you think the church recruits Republicans?’

‘Luis’s brother must trust him,’ Harry said. ‘And he could be shot if this goes wrong.’

They went and sat on a bench that gave a view of both the watchman and the door. ‘It’s six ten,’ Harry said. ‘Sofia, how long does it take to get to the bridge from here?’

‘Not long. Fifteen minutes. We should wait another quarter of an hour. I will take you – we go round the back of the cathedral and then we are at the gorge and the bridge.’

Barbara took a deep breath. ‘Leave me there and come back, Sofia. He’s expecting me to come alone.’

‘I know.’ Sofia leaned forward and squeezed Barbara’s hand. ‘It will be all right, everything will be all right.’

Barbara reddened at the unexpected gesture. ‘Thanks. I’m sorry about your uncle, Sofia.’

She nodded sadly.

Harry thought of the old priest put up against a wall and shot. He wondered if similar pictures were going through Sofia’s mind. He put his arm round her again.

‘Sofia,’ Barbara said quietly. ‘I wanted to say – I’m so grateful to you, for coming here. Neither of you needed to do this.’

‘I did,’ Harry said. ‘For Bernie.’

‘I wish I could do more,’ Sofia said with sudden fierceness. ‘I wish there were barricades again, I would take a gun this time. They should not have won. Even my uncle would not have died if they had not started the war.’ She turned to Barbara. ‘Do I seem hard to you?’

Barbara sighed. ‘No. It’s difficult for someone like me sometimes, to realize all you’ve been through.’

Harry squeezed Sofia’s hand. ‘You try your best to be hard but you don’t want to be, not really.’

‘I have had no choice.’

‘It will be different in England.’

They sat without speaking for a little while. Then Sofia slid Harry’s sleeve up to see his watch. ‘Six thirty,’ she said. ‘We should go.’ She glanced at the watchman. ‘You stay here, Harry, keep an eye on him. Give Barbara the rucksack.’

He didn’t want to leave her. ‘We should all go.’

‘No. One of us should stay here.’

Harry released her hand and the two women stood up. Then, with his back to the watchman, he took out the gun.

‘I think you should take it. In case of trouble. Not to shoot, just to threaten.’ He held it out by the barrel but Sofia hesitated; she seemed reluctant to take it now. Barbara reached out and grasped it gingerly.

‘I’ll take it,’ she said. She put it carefully in her pocket. Harry passed her the rucksack. She smiled wryly. ‘Funny, it does give you a sense of security.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Come on, Sofia.’

The two women walked to the door. It creaked open and closed again behind them. Harry felt the separation from Sofia like a physical pain. He looked at the old man. He could feel his hostile eyes.