C. Sansom - Winter in Madrid

‘I’m Brett, one of the translators. We’ve got an injured man here, he needs medical attention.’

Chalmers turned the beam on to Bernie. ‘Jesus Christ!’ He shone the torch into the car, staring in horror at the blood on the back seats. ‘Christ, what’s happened? This is one of our cars!’

Harry helped Barbara drag Bernie towards the open door. Thank God he was still breathing. He moaned again. Chalmers hurried after them.

‘What happened? Who is he? Has there been an accident?’

‘He’s been shot,’ Harry said. ‘He’s British. For Christ’s sake, man, will you stop dithering and ring for a doctor?’ Harry pushed the door open and they staggered inside. They were in a long corridor; Harry threw open the door of the nearest office and went in. He and Barbara laid Bernie carefully on the floor while Chalmers went to the desk and picked up the telephone.

‘Dr Pagall,’ he said. ‘Get Dr Pagall.’

‘How long will he be?’ Harry asked tersely as Chalmers put the phone down.

‘Not long. Listen, Brett, for Christ’s sake, what’s happened?’

The picture of Sofia’s body jerking backwards appeared in his mind again. He winced and took a deep breath. Chalmers was looking at him curiously.

‘Listen, phone Simon Tolhurst, Special Operations, his number’s in the book. Let me speak to him.’

‘Special Operations? Jesus.’ Chalmers frowned; the regular staff disliked the spies. He rang another number and passed the receiver to Harry. A sleepy voice answered. ‘Hello, yes?’

‘It’s Harry. It’s an emergency. I’m at the embassy with Barbara Clare and an Englishman who’s been shot. No, not Forsyth. A prisoner of war. Yes, the Civil War. He’s badly injured. There’s been an – an incident. General Maestre’s been shot dead.’

Tolhurst was surprisingly quick and decisive. He told Harry he would be there at once, he would phone Hillgarth and the ambassador. ‘Stay where you are,’ he concluded. As though there was anywhere else they could go, Harry thought as he put the phone down. He remembered Enrique and Paco; at home, waiting. They would be wondering where he and Sofia were. This would be the end for Paco. ‘I told her not to come,’ he whispered aloud.

THE DOCTOR and Tolhurst arrived at the same time. The doctor was a middle-aged Spaniard, still blinking sleep from his eyes. He went over to Barbara and she explained what had happened. Tolhurst took in the sight of Bernie lying on the floor, his and Barbara’s clothes spattered with blood, with surprising calmness.

‘Is that Miss Clare?’ he asked Harry quietly.

‘Yes.’

‘Who’s the man?’

Harry took a deep breath. ‘He’s an International Brigader who’s been held illegally in a labour camp for three years. He’s an old friend of ours. We had a plan to rescue him; it went wrong.’

‘Christ, I’ll say.’ Tolhurst glanced at Barbara. ‘The two of you had better come to my office.’

Barbara looked up. ‘No, I’m a nurse, I can help.’

The doctor looked at her. He spoke quietly and his eyes were kind. ‘No, señorita, I will be better alone.’ He had begun unwinding the bandages. Harry glimpsed red pulp and white bone underneath. Barbara looked at the wound and swallowed.

‘Can you – can you help him?’

The doctor raised his hands. ‘I will do better if you will all leave me. Please.’

‘Come on, Barbara.’ Harry took her elbow and helped her stand. They followed Tolhurst out of the room and up a dark staircase. Around the building lights were clicking on and voices muttering as the night staff prepared to deal with the crisis.

Tolhurst switched on his office light and ushered them to seats. Harry thought, I was here yesterday, only yesterday. In another time, another world. Sofia was alive. Tolhurst sat behind his desk, his plump features composed into a stiff alertness.

‘All right, Harry. Tell me exactly what’s happened. What the hell’s this about Maestre being shot?’

Harry told him the story, from Barbara coming to Sofia’s flat and telling them of her plan, to the rescue that afternoon. Tolhurst kept glancing at Barbara. She had sunk into her chair and was staring into space with a glassy-eyed look.

‘You did all this without telling Forsyth?’ Tolhurst asked her sharply at one point.

She replied indifferently, ‘Yes.’

Harry told him about the ambush in the clearing. ‘They shot Sofia,’ he said and for the first time his voice broke. ‘I asked Maestre why and he said because Spaniards need keeping in order.’

Tolhurst let out a deep breath. Help us, Tolly, Harry thought, help us. As he went on to describe how they had escaped, Tolhurst’s eyes widened and he stared at Barbara again.

‘You ran over one man and shot another dead?’

‘Yes.’ She met his gaze. ‘They left me no choice.’

‘Have you the gun now?’ he asked.

‘No. Harry’s got it.’

Tolhurst stretched out a hand. ‘Give it to me please, old chap.’

Harry reached into his pocket and passed it over. Tolhurst placed it in his desk drawer, grimacing with distaste at the blood on it. He wiped his fingers carefully on a handkerchief, then leaned forward.

‘This is bad ,’ he said. ‘A government minister killed and an embassy official involved. And after what Franco said to Hoare yesterday – hell.’ He shook his head.

‘It wasn’t murder,’ Barbara said flatly. ‘It was self-defence. Sofia was the only one who was murdered.’

Tolhurst frowned at her as though she was someone stupid who couldn’t understand what was important. Harry felt a weight of disappointment settle on top of the dull heavy grief. He had thought Tolly might help them somehow, speak for them. But what could he have done?’

Tolhurst’s head jerked round as the telephone on his desk rang. He picked it up. ‘Right,’ he said. He took a deep breath. ‘The captain and the ambassador are here. I’ll have to brief them.’ He got up and left.

Barbara looked at Harry. ‘I want to see Bernie,’ she said flatly. He noticed there was a smear of blood on her glasses.

‘That doctor seemed to know what he was doing.’

‘I want to see him.’

Harry felt sudden anger. Why had she survived while Sofia was dead? It was strange, they should be comforting each other, but he felt only this terrible anger. When he had knelt over Sofia, her blank eyes had been half open and her mouth too, showing a glimpse of her white teeth that she had clenched as the life was ripped out of her. He blinked, trying to clear the picture from his mind. They sat in silence. They seemed to wait a very long time. Occasionally they heard sharp voices and footsteps outside. The whining noise began again in his bad ear.

Voices sounded in the corridor. He heard Hillgarth’s deep tones and the ambassador’s shrill jabber. Harry tensed as the door opened. Hillgarth was in a suit and looked as fresh as ever, black hair slicked back, the large brown eyes keen. Hoare was a mess, his suit pulled on untidily, eyes red and his wispy white hair standing on end. He glanced furiously at Harry, then blenched at the sight of Barbara covered with blood. He sat behind Tolhurst’s desk, Tolhurst and Hillgarth on either side of him. The little room seemed very crowded.

Hillgarth looked at Barbara. ‘Are you injured?’ he asked, surprisingly gently.

‘No, I’m all right. Please, how’s Bernie?’

Hillgarth didn’t reply. He turned slowly to Harry. ‘Brett, Simon says your fiancée’s dead.’

‘Yes, sir. The civiles shot her with a machine gun.’

‘I’m very sorry. But you’ve betrayed us. Why did you do this?’

‘They shot her with a machine gun,’ Harry repeated. ‘She broke the law. You have to keep people in order.’