C. Sansom - Winter in Madrid

Barbara ran her eyes quickly over his other pockets. ‘Put your hands on your head,’ she said.

Sandy’s face darkened again, but he did as she ordered. ‘What are you going to do?’ he asked. There was fear in his voice now, something she had never heard before. She was glad; he realized she meant it. She thought quickly.

‘We’re going back across the bridge. To Bernie.’

‘No.’ His face seemed to crumple. ‘Not like this.’

She jerked the gun up, towards his face. ‘Turn round.’

He flinched. ‘All right.’ He turned and began slowly walking back the way he had come. Barbara followed, an arm’s length away in case he made a sudden grab for her. They walked to the end of the bridge and stepped on to the grass verge by the road. The snow had stopped and the moon appeared from behind the clouds.

‘Stop,’ she said. Sandy halted. He looked ridiculous standing there with his hands on his head. She had to think what to do now. She turned to stare at the clump of trees. Can Bernie see us? she thought. What are we going to do with Sandy? She knew she couldn’t shoot him in cold blood, but Bernie might.

Then she heard a patter of feet. She turned and saw Sandy running across the road. He had moved like lightning, the moment she had looked away.

‘Stop!’

He began zigzagging from side to side. She tried to aim but it was impossible. She remembered what he had said earlier, a shot would echo all over the place. She lowered the gun as Sandy reached the other side of the road and began running up the hill, still twisting and turning. He disappeared among the trees. She heard the creak and rustle of branches.

She lowered the gun. Let him go, she thought, don’t risk a shot. He hadn’t a weapon and he wasn’t in a position to go into town and tell the authorities about her – they were looking for him too.

She walked quickly up the road, glancing continually up at the hillside, feeling alone and exposed. She looked across the gorge at the lights of the town, making out the dark bulk of the cathedral where Harry and Sofia would be waiting.

She found the clump of trees. It was dark and silent. Had Sandy been lying, was Bernie really there? She stood looking up at the bank for a moment, then began to climb. She realized she was still carrying the gun and slipped it into her pocket. Her feet slipped on the frosty grass. She looked back at the road and the bridge, both still deserted. She wondered how she had known to say those things, hands up and hands on your head? A decade of talkies, she supposed, everybody knew such things now.

‘Bernie,’ she called into the trees in a loud whisper. There was no reply.

‘Bernie,’ she called again, louder.

There was a sound of branches moving from inside the copse. She tensed and took hold of the gun again as a man appeared. Barbara saw a gaunt shape in a ragged old coat, a beard and an old man’s limp. She thought it was some tramp and reached for the gun again.

‘Barbara.’ She heard him cry out, heard his voice for the first time in more than three years. He stepped forward. She opened her arms and he fell into them.

THE OLD MAN Francisco had taken out a rosary and was turning it over and over in fretful hands. Harry bent over him, putting his lips to the old man’s hairy ear.

‘You must get the priest to leave. He saw my friends outside. They said they were going to the convent. If they come back and he sees them, there will be questions.’

‘I cannot ask a priest praying to Our Lord to leave the cathedral,’ Francisco whispered furiously.

‘You must.’ Harry stared into his eyes. ‘Or there will be danger for us all. And no money.’

Francisco ran a callused hand over the stubble on his cheeks. ‘ Mierda ,’ he breathed. ‘Why did I agree to this?’

The priest’s muttering had stopped. He had lifted his face from his hands and knelt looking at them. He couldn’t have heard their whispered words but the urgency in Harry’s tone might have carried. Hell, he thought, bloody hell. He whispered again.

‘He’s not praying now. Tell him there’s a family emergency and you have to lock the cathedral up for a while.’

The priest rose and came over to them, black cloak swishing round his legs. Francisco stood up. The priest smiled gently at him.

‘Are you all right, viejo ?’

‘I am afraid his wife has been taken ill,’ Harry said. He tried to make his accent sound more Spanish. ‘I am a doctor. It would be a great favour, sir, if he could close the cathedral and go home to her. I can fetch the other watchman.’

The priest gave him a keen look. Harry wondered how easy it would be to overpower him. He was young but flabby-looking.

‘Where are you from, doctor? I do not recognize your accent.’

‘Catalunya, señor. I fetched up here after the war.’

Francisco gestured at Harry. ‘Father, he has, he has—’ But he couldn’t continue. He bowed his head.

‘If you like I can stay while you fetch the other man,’ the priest said.

Francisco swallowed. ‘Please, señor, the rules say the cathedral must be closed if there is no watchman here.’

‘It is best if we close the cathedral,’ Harry said. ‘I will take Francisco home; the dean’s house is on the way and I can fetch the other man.’

The priest nodded. ‘Very well. I should be back at the convent anyway. What is your wife’s name?’

‘Maria, señor .’

‘Very well.’ He turned away. ‘I will pray to the Virgin for her recovery.’

‘Yes. Pray for us.’ The old man broke down then, dissolving into floods of tears and burying his face in his hands. Harry nodded to the priest.

‘I’ll take care of him, señor .’

‘ Vaya con Dios, viejo. ’

‘ Vaya con Dios, señor. ’ The watchman’s reply was a shamed mumble. The priest touched his shoulder. Then at last he walked away, down the nave and out of the church.

Francisco wiped his face but did not look at Harry. ‘You have shamed me. Cabrón rojo. You have shamed me in this holy place.’

BERNIE AND BARBARA held each other tightly. She felt the rough material of his coat, like sacking, smelt his sickly odour, but the warm body underneath was his, his. ‘Bernie, Bernie,’ she said.

He pulled away, looked at her. His face was thin, seamed with dirt, his beard unkempt.

‘My God,’ he said. ‘How did you do this?’

‘I had to, I had to find you.’ She took a deep breath. ‘But listen, we have to go.’ She looked up at the hill. ‘Sandy was here earlier.’

‘ Forsyth? He knows?’

‘Yes.’ Quickly she explained what had happened. His eyes widened when she told him Harry was in the cathedral with his Spanish fiancée.

‘Harry and Sandy.’ He laughed incredulously, shook his head. ‘And Sandy’s out there somewhere.’ He looked up at the hill. ‘He sounds mad.’

‘He’s gone. He won’t come back while I’ve got a gun.’

‘You with a gun.’ He shook his head. ‘Oh, Barbara, what you’ve done for me.’ His voice broke with emotion. Barbara took a deep breath. She had to be practical now, practical. Sandy was gone but there were so many other dangers.

‘I’ve got some clothes here. You should change and shave off your beard. No, there’s not enough light for that, we’ll have to do that at the cathedral. But change.’

‘Yes.’ He took her hands. ‘God, you’ve thought of everything.’ He studied her in the gloom. ‘How different you look.’

‘So do you.’

‘The clothes. And you’re wearing perfume. You never used to do that. It smells so strange.’

She bent and started unpacking the rucksack. It was hard to see among the trees, she should have brought a torch. ‘I’ve got a warm coat in here.’