C. Sansom - Winter in Madrid

He laughed. ‘A proper cigarette. Gold Flake.’

‘Sandy used to get them.’

He held her hand, looked into her face. ‘I tried to forget you,’ he said. ‘In the camp.’

‘Did you manage it?’ she asked with forced lightness.

‘No. You have to try and forget the good things or they just torment you. But they keep coming back. Like the glimpses of the hanging houses. We used to see them sometimes on the way to the quarry. Hanging above the mist. It was a sort of mirage. They looked so small when we passed them earlier.’

‘I’m sorry about Sandy,’ she said. ‘Only – when I thought you were dead I was so broken up. And he was kind at first, he seemed kind.’

‘I should never have left you.’ He gripped her hand tight. ‘When Agustín told me it was you arranging the escape, when he said your name, that was the best moment, the best.’ He felt a rush of emotion. ‘I’ll never leave you again.’

The bar door opened, letting out a smell of stale wine and cigarette smoke. Two labourers came out and walked up the hill, glancing in surprise at the quartet by the fountain. Harry and Sofia came over.

‘We mustn’t stay here,’ Harry said. ‘Can you go on?’

Bernie nodded. When he stood up it was as though he put his feet in fire; but he made himself ignore it, they were nearly there.

THEY WALKED slowly on, saying little. Bernie found that despite the pain from his feet he seemed to notice everything with newly heightened senses: the sound of a dog barking, the sight of a tall tree looming up in the darkness, the smell of Barbara’s perfume; all the thousand and one things that had been kept from him since 1937.

They cleared the town, crossed the river, then walked down the long empty road to the field where the car was. It began to snow again, not heavily, little flakes that made a tiny pit-pit noise in the silence as they landed on the grass. His new clothes kept Bernie warm, their unfamiliar softness another new sensation.

‘We’re nearly there,’ Barbara whispered at length. ‘The car’s behind those trees.’

They turned through the gateway and on to the rutted track, Bernie gritting his teeth as his boots slipped on the uneven surface. Harry and Sofia walked a little ahead, Barbara was still at Bernie’s side. He saw the dim shape of a car ahead.

‘I’ll drive,’ Barbara told Harry.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes. You drove us out. Bernie, if you go in the back you can stretch your legs out.’

‘All right.’ He leaned against the cold metal of the Ford as Barbara opened the driver’s door. She threw in the rucksack and slid into the passenger seat, pulling the catches that unlocked the other doors. Harry opened a rear door, smiling the old solid reassuring smile. ‘Your car, sir,’ he said. Bernie squeezed his arm.

Then Sofia raised a hand. ‘I heard something,’ she whispered. ‘In the trees.’

‘It’ll be a deer,’ Bernie said, remembering the one that had disturbed him in his hiding place.

‘Wait.’ Sofia stepped away from the car and walked slowly over to the stand of holm oaks. They sent long black shadows over the grass. The others watched her. She stopped and squinted into the branches.

‘I can’t hear anything,’ Bernie whispered. He glanced into the car. Barbara was looking over her shoulder at them questioningly.

‘Come on,’ Harry called out.

‘Yes, all right.’ Then Sofia turned away.

A SEARCHLIGHT BEAM lanced from the trees. The crashing rattle of a machine gun spat from the copse and Bernie saw little branches flying into the air as Sofia, caught in the searchlight, jumped and jerked as bullets tore into her. Gouts of blood flew from her small form as it crashed over and hit the ground.

Harry began running to her but Bernie grabbed his arm and with a strength he didn’t know he had left threw him against the side of the car. Harry struggled for a second, then froze as two civiles stepped from the trees, their black bicorn hats glinting in the searchlight. One, an older man with a hard-bitten face, pointed a heavy submachine gun at them with a cold, unemotional expression. The other, who was young and scared-looking, held a revolver.

Bernie found himself unable to breathe. He gasped as he tried to suck in air, still holding Harry by the shoulders. The older civil went and prodded Sofia’s head with his foot, grunting with satisfaction as it lolled back lifeless. Harry tried to move again but still Bernie held him, though it hurt his shoulder.

‘It’s too late,’ he said.

He turned to look into the car. Barbara was still leaning over the seat watching, her expression terrified. The civiles stood at a little distance, covering them, as two men in army uniform stepped into the open. One was Aranda, a smile on his handsome face. The other was thinner, older, thin strands of black hair combed across his bald head, grim satisfaction on his craggy face.

‘Maestre,’ Harry said. ‘Dear God, it’s General Maestre. Oh God, Sofia.’ His voice lurched and he began to sob helplessly.

The officers marched purposefully to them. Maestre flicked a look of contempt at Harry.

‘All of you stay where you are.’ He raised his voice. ‘Señorita Clare, get out of the car.’

Barbara stepped out. She seemed on the point of collapse; she leaned against the open door, her face stricken as she looked at Sofia’s body. Aranda smiled happily at Bernie.

‘Well, we have caught our little bird again.’

Harry stared at Maestre. ‘How did you know about this? Was it Forsyth?’

‘No.’ The minister stared at him coldly. ‘This rescue was set up by us, Señor Brett. Colonel Aranda and I are old friends, we served in Morocco together. One night at a reunion he told me of an Englishman being held at the Tierra Muerta camp, with an English girlfriend who was now in Madrid. The name rang a bell.’ He put his hands in his pockets. ‘We have files on anyone who was involved with the Republic and when I saw Miss Clare was passing herself off as Forsyth’s wife, my friend and I decided we could embarrass him. Today would have been a good day to bring it all to a head – there is an important meeting to do with the gold mine tomorrow.’

‘Oh, no,’ Barbara groaned.

Maestre took out a cigarette and lit it. He blew a cloud of smoke at the sky then looked at Harry again with hard concentration, as though he hated him, Bernie thought. But his voice was still quiet, urbane.

‘Although there was no gold mine in the end, was there? We know that now.’

Harry made no reply. He hardly seemed to be listening any more.

He tried again to jerk away from Bernie’s grip but Bernie held him fast, though he winced with the effort. If he tried to run they might shoot him. Maestre went on.

‘We bribed the English journalist Markby to start things off – oh, do not look so surprised, Señorita Clare, the English can be bribed too – and then Colonel Aranda arranged for one of our former guards who was unemployed in Madrid to develop things. He knew that he and his brother needed money for their mother.’

‘Luis?’ Barbara asked. ‘Luis was working for you? Oh, Christ.’

‘He and Agustín will be getting money to help their mother, but from us. Though we are also letting them keep the money you gave them.’ He shook his head. ‘Luis tried to get out of it a couple of times. I think deceiving you troubled both him and his brother. But we have to be hard if we are to rebuild Spain.’

Maestre began walking to and fro, his tall slim form moving in and out of the searchlight beam where more and more snowflakes whirled, a soldier reflecting on a successful campaign. The light twinkled on his polished buttons. Aranda watched him with a smile. A little way off the snow was settling on Sofia’s black coat and in her hair. Harry had stopped sobbing, he stood slumped in Bernie’s arms now.