María Dueñas - The Time in Between

“I don’t know. I don’t think so, but I can’t guarantee it. In any case, if she did, I don’t think it’d be too problematic. My life in Tetouan isn’t in contradiction with anything I’m going to be doing from now on.”

“Don’t be so sure. Out there you were a friend of Mrs. Fox, and by extension eventually of Colonel Beigbeder, too. In Madrid nobody can know anything about that.”

“But I was barely with them at public events, and as for our private meetings Bernhardt and his wife have no way of knowing anything about them. Don’t worry, I don’t think there should be any problems.”

“I hope you’re right. In any case, Bernhardt is more or less on the fringes of intelligence matters: his world is that of business. He’s the front man of the Nazi government in a hugely complex web of German corporations operating in Spain: transport, banking, insurance…”

“Does he have anything to do with HISMA?”

“HISMA, the Spanish-Moroccan Transportation Corporation, became a small business when they made the move back to the Peninsula. Now they operate under the auspices of another more powerful firm, SOFINDUS. But tell me, how come you’ve heard about HISMA?”

“I heard it mentioned in Tetouan during the war,” I replied vaguely. This wasn’t the moment to go into detail about the negotiation between Bernhardt and Serrano Suñer; that was something we’d left far behind.

“Bernhardt,” he went on, “has a bunch of political informers on his payroll, but what he’s really always after is information of commercial value. We’re assuming you’re never going to meet him—in fact he doesn’t even live in Madrid but on the eastern coast. They say that Serrano Suñer himself paid for the house by way of thanks for services rendered; we don’t know if the truth is quite that extreme or not. One more very important thing about him, though.”

“Tell me.”

“Wolfram.”

“What?”

“Wolfram,” he repeated. “A mineral of vital importance for the manufacturing of components for artillery projectiles for the war. We think Bernhardt’s in negotiations with the Spanish government to sell him mining concessions in Galicia and Extremadura in order to get hold of small sites so that he can buy directly from their owners. I don’t imagine people will be talking about these things in your workshop, but if you happen to hear anything about this, you’re to let us know at once. Remember: wolfram . Sometimes they call it tungsten. It’s written down here, in the section on Bernhardt,” he said, pointing at the document.

“I’ll bear it in mind.”

We each lit another cigarette.

“Well then, let’s go on to some things you should avoid. Are you tired?”

“Not in the least. Please, go on.”

“As to clients, there’s one small group you should avoid at all costs: the employees of the Nazi administration. It’s easy to recognize these women: they’re extremely showy and arrogant, they go around with a lot of makeup on, heavily perfumed and showily dressed. The truth is that they have no social pedigree at all and relatively modest professional qualifications, but their salaries are astronomical by current Spanish standards and they spend them ostentatiously. The wives of the powerful Nazis despise them, and they themselves—in spite of their apparent conceit—hardly dare to cough in front of their superiors. If they show up at your workshop, get rid of them without a second thought: you don’t want them there, they’ll drive away the more desirable clientele.”

“I’ll do as you say, don’t worry about it.”

“As for public establishments, we advise against your presence at places like Chicote, Riscal, Casablanca, or Pasapoga. They’re full of nouveaux riches, black marketeers, parvenus from the regime, and theater people. Company that isn’t to be recommended in your circumstances. As far as possible, restrict yourself to the hotels I’ve already mentioned to you, to Embassy, to other safe places like the Puerta de Hierro club or the casino. And needless to say, if you manage to get invited to dinners or parties with the German women in private homes, you’re to accept at once.”

“I will,” I said, not adding how much I doubted that I’d ever be invited to any such thing.

He looked at his watch and I did the same. There wasn’t much light left in the room; we were already surrounded by a premonition of nightfall. Around us there wasn’t a sound, just a thick smell from the lack of ventilation. It was past seven in the evening; we’d been together since ten in the morning, Hillgarth spewing information like a hose, and me absorbing it through all my senses to take in the tiniest details, digesting facts, trying to allow every last fiber of my being to become imbued with his words. The coffee had been finished some time ago, and the cigarette butts were overflowing the ashtray.

“Well, we’re almost done now,” he announced. “All I have left are a few recommendations. The first of these is a message from Mrs. Fox. She’s asked me to tell you that—both in terms of your own appearance and your sewing work—you should try to be either bold and daring or pure elegance in its utmost simplicity. Either way, she advises you to avoid the conventional, and especially not to be mainstream, because if you do, she thinks there’s a risk that the workshop will fill up with the wives of big shots from the regime looking for modest jacket suits to go to Mass on Sundays with their husbands and children.”

I smiled. Rosalinda, incorrigible and unmistakable, even in messages delivered by someone else.

“Coming from that person, I’ll follow the advice without a second thought,” I said.

“And now, finally, our own suggestions. First: read the papers, keep up to date with the political situation, in Spain and also abroad, though bear in mind that all the information will always be slanted toward the German side. Second: always keep calm. Get yourself into character and convince yourself you are who you are, no one else. Act fearlessly, confidently: we can’t offer you diplomatic immunity, but I guarantee you that whatever happens you’ll always be protected. And our third and final piece of advice: be extremely wary in your personal life. A beautiful, single foreign woman will always attract all manner of playboys and opportunists. You can’t imagine how much confidential information has been revealed irresponsibly by careless agents in moments of passion. Be alert, and please do not share anything with anyone, anything at all of what you’ve heard here today.”

“I won’t, you can count on it.”

“Perfect. We trust you and hope that your mission will be successful.”

He began to gather up his papers and organize his briefcase. The moment had arrived that I’d been fearing all day: he was getting ready to leave and I had to stop myself from asking him to stay, to keep talking and giving me more instructions, not to let me fly free just yet. But he was no longer looking at me, so he probably hadn’t noticed my reaction. He moved at the same pace with which he’d delivered his sentences, one by one, over the course of the previous hours: quick, direct, methodical, reaching the end of every subject without wasting a single second on banalities. While he put away his belongings, he passed on his final recommendations.

“Remember what I’ve told you about the files: study them and then make them disappear immediately. Someone’s going to accompany you now to a side door; there’s a car waiting close by to take you home. Here is the airline ticket and money for your initial expenses.”

He handed me two envelopes. The first, slimmer, contained my documentation to cross the skies to Madrid. The second, thicker, was filled with a big wad of banknotes. He kept talking as he deftly fastened the clasps of the briefcase.