María Dueñas - The Time in Between

And it did. At last they reached an agreement, then they got up and sealed their agreement with a handshake that I heard but couldn’t see. But I could see their feet moving toward the door, the German allowing the guest to walk ahead of him, acting the host again. Before leaving, Bernhardt threw out one last question.

“Will you talk to Colonel Beigbeder about this, or would you rather I told him about it myself?”

Serrano didn’t reply right away. First I heard him light a cigarette. His umpteenth one.

“Do you really think it’s absolutely essential to do that?” he asked after breathing out his first drag of smoke.

“The installations will be located in the Spanish Protectorate, so I suppose he ought to know something about it.”

“Leave it to me, then. El Caudillo will inform him directly. And as to the terms of the agreement, best not to let any details out. That can be kept between us,” he added as the German turned out the lights.

I let a few minutes go by, until I calculated that they were out of the building. Then I got up cautiously. All that remained of their presence was the thick smell of tobacco and an ashtray full of cigarette butts. And yet I was incapable of lowering my guard. I straightened my skirt and jacket and approached the door stealthily on tiptoes. I brought my hand slowly to the doorknob, as though afraid that touching it would give me a whip-sharp pain, afraid to go out into the corridor. I didn’t get as far as moving the latch, however; my fingers were just about to touch the handle when I noticed that someone else was moving it from the other side. Automatically I threw myself back and pressed myself against the wall as though trying to sink into it. The door burst open almost hitting me in the face, and a second later the light came on. I couldn’t see who’d come in, but I could hear his voice cursing through his teeth.

“So where the hell has the bastard left the damned cigarette case then… ”

Even without being able to see him I could tell it was just a simple soldier reluctantly carrying out an order, retrieving an object left behind by Serrano or Bernhardt. I didn’t know at which of them the soldier was aiming his epithet. Darkness and silence returned in seconds, but I wasn’t able to recover enough courage to venture out into the corridor. For the second time in my life, my salvation came by jumping out of a window.

I returned to the garden and to my surprise found Marcus Logan in animated conversation with Beigbeder. I tried to retreat, but I was too late: he’d already seen me and called me over to join them. I approached, trying not to let them see how nervous I was: after what had just happened, a private audience with the high commissioner was the last thing I needed.

“So you’re my Rosalinda’s pretty dressmaker friend, then,” he said, greeting me with a smile.

He had a cigar in his hand and put the other arm over my shoulders familiarly.

“I’m so pleased to meet you at last, my dear. It’s such a shame our Rosalinda is indisposed and hasn’t been able to join us.”

“What’s the matter with her?”

With the hand that was holding the cigar he traced circles over his belly.

“Intestinal troubles. She gets them when she’s anxious, and these past days we’ve been so busy attending to our guest that my poor little thing has barely had a moment’s peace.”

He gestured for me and Marcus to bring our heads closer and dropped the tone of his voice with apparent complicity.

“Thank God the brother-in-law’s going tomorrow; I don’t think I could bear him a day longer.”

He finished off this confidence with a booming laugh and we imitated him.

“Well, friends, I really ought to go,” he said, looking at his watch. “Much as I love your company, duty calls: now it’s time for the anthems, the speeches, and all that paraphernalia, undoubtedly the most boring part. Go see Rosalinda whenever you can, Sira—she’d appreciate the visit. And you, too, Logan, stop by her house; the company of a compatriot would be good for her. And let’s see if we can’t all arrange to have dinner one night, the four of us, to relax a little. ‘God save the king!’ ” he added in English by way of farewell, raising his hand theatrically. And without a further word he turned and left.

We remained in silence a few moments, watching him walk away, unable to find an adjective to assign to the uniqueness of the man who’d just left us.

“I’ve been looking for you for an hour, where were you?” Marcus asked finally, his eyes still fixed on the high commissioner’s back.

“I’ve been solving your problems, just like you asked me to do.”

“You mean you managed to see what it was that the group was passing around?”

“Nothing important. Family photographs.”

“God, what bad luck.”

We talked without looking at each other, both with our eyes on Beigbeder.

“But I’ve learned other things that might be of interest to you,” I announced.

“Such as?”

“Agreements. Negotiations. Deals.”

“About what?”

“Antennas,” I explained. “Large antennas. Three of them. About three hundred feet high, a console system, the Electro-Sonner brand. The Germans want to install them to intercept radio signals from air and maritime traffic in the Strait, to make up for the presence of the English in Gibraltar. They’re negotiating to have them installed next to the Tamuda ruins, a few miles from here. In exchange for express permission being granted by Franco, the Nationalist army will receive a substantial sum from the German government. It will all be run by HISMA, a firm whose senior partner is Johannes Bernhardt, who’s the one Serrano closed the deal with. They intend to marginalize Beigbeder, to hide it from him.”

“My goodness,” he muttered. Then in Spanish: “How did you find out?”

We went on without exchanging a glance, both of us apparently still looking attentively at the high commissioner, who made his way, greeting people as he went, toward a decorated platform on which someone was setting up a microphone.

“Because I happened to be in the same room where they were closing the deal.”

“And they closed the deal right in front of you?” he asked, incredulous.

“No, don’t worry; they didn’t see me. It’s a rather long story, I’ll tell you about it another time.”

“Very well. Tell me something else, did they talk about dates?”

The microphone squeaked with an unpleasantly shrill sound. Testing, testing, said a voice.

“The parts are ready, and they’re docked at Hamburg. As soon as they have El Caudillo’s signature they’ll be unloaded at Ceuta and the assembly will begin.”

In the distance we saw the colonel energetically step up onto the dais, calling Serrano over to join him with an expansive gesture. He was still smiling, still greeting people confidently. I asked Marcus a couple of questions.

“Do you think Beigbeder should know that they’re leaving him out? Do you think I should tell Rosalinda?”

He thought about it before answering, his eyes still on the two men, who were now receiving the feverish applause of the audience.

“I suppose so; it would be worthwhile for him to know that. But I think it’s best for the information not to get to him through you and Mrs. Fox, it could compromise her. Leave it to me, I’ll work out the best way of passing it on to him. Don’t say anything to your friend; I’ll find an opportunity.”

A few more seconds of silence went by, as though he were still considering everything he’d just heard.

“You know something, Sira?” he asked, turning to face me at last. “Even though I don’t know how you did it, you’ve managed to get hold of an amazing piece of information, much more interesting than I originally thought it would be possible to get during a reception like this. I don’t know how to thank you.”