Dennis Wheatley - Vendetta in Spain

On either side of the archway, near its street end, there was a door. From under one only a faint light showed; from the other came a much brighter light and the sound of voices. This door obviously led to the bar. The short, sharp shower was over but de Quesnoy still had the collar of his jacket turned up and now, pulling the peak of his cap well down, he went in.

At a glance he saw it to be a comfortable room furnished with old but solid pieces. In one corner four men were playing dice, farther along two others were seated drinking, a seventh was leaning on the bar and, beyond him, two women were sitting in an inglenook with a table in front of them. Behind the bar stood a broad-shouldered, square-faced man of about fifty with greyish grizzled hair, whom de Quesnoy rightly guessed to be the landlord.

Touching his cap with a murmured Buenas tardes to the company, he walked over to the bar and ordered himself a brandy and ginger-ale. It was not a mixture that he particularly liked, but he had found that while the best Spanish brandy, although not comparable with fine French cognac, was quite palatable, the worst could be horrible; so in a place like this it was safer not to take it neat.

The landlord had been chatting with the other men at the bar. As he served the Count, he remarked that it was getting late in the year for a thunderstorm, but it didn't look like coming to much. De Quesnoy replied that it had already stopped raining, which was a pity as it was oppressive and a bit more would have freshened things up. Then the landlord just nodded and moved along to resume his conversation with his earlier customer.

The Count took a drink and lit a cigarette. Both the women behind him were wearing mantillas made from small fluffy black bobbles sewn on to net, but under this head-dress the hair of one of them had certainly been lightish, and as nine out of ten women in Spain were brunettes he felt fairly certain she would prove to be Inez Giudice. It looked, too, as though he had timed his entry well, as he had not wanted to have to linger about there and perhaps be drawn into conversation with other people before she turned up, or, on the other hand, leave his arrival so late that she might have already been picked up by some other man.

When he had smoked a third of his cigarette he glanced round and remained looking at the two girls for a moment as though he had noticed them for the first time. Now, he had no doubt that the fair one was Inez. Her head had been in shadow when he had glanced at her before, but now the rays of a lamp on the bar brought out its vivid red lights. As their eyes met she smiled and closed one of hers in a wink.

Returning her smile, he carried his glass over to their table, asked permission to join them, and then if he might buy them a drink. The red-head asked for a Calisay and the darker woman for an Anis. Having collected the two liqueurs from the bar, the Count told them his name was Jaime. His lead confirmed his belief that the red-head was Inez and the dark one said her name was Beatriz.

Now that de Quesnoy had a chance to look at them closely he saw that Beatriz was by a good bit the older of the two. Her face was very ordinary, with a heavy jowl and a rather bovine but not unpleasant expression. Inez, on the other hand, he decided, would prove distinctly attractive to anyone who liked the gamine type. She had a small freckled face with a retrousse nose, a wide mouth and merry grey eyes. What he could see of her figure was also good and, barely concealed by the fichu of her bodice, two small plump breasts, pushed up by her stays, pouted invitingly. Even so, experience told him that with such small features she might be more amusing but would not be as passionate as her companion, and would certainly prove more hard-boiled.

For a few minutes they talked platitudes about the weather -how oppressive it was and what a pity that the rain had stopped - then Inez said to him, 'You are not Spanish, are you?'

'No,' he replied, 'I am British, and in my own country I am called James.'

'Are you the master of a ship?' Beatriz inquired.

He shook his head. 'No, only the representative of a Shipping Company. I am out here to make some new arrangements with our agents in Cadiz.'

They asked him how long he had been in the city, whether he had been to Spain before, if he liked the country, and so on; to all of which questions he made suitable replies. But in every case he addressed his replies to Inez, hardly giving her companion a glance.

After ten minutes Beatriz took the hint. Finishing her Anis, she said to Inez with good-natured resignation, 'Well, dear, two's company and three's none, as they say; and you're the lucky one again. Maybe I'll see you later if the gentleman doesn't keep you too long. Have a good time, both of you, and thanks for the drink.'

De Quesnoy did not seek to detain her; but as with a rustle of skirts she stood up to leave them, he said, 'At least permit me to buy you another Anis to drink while you are waiting for a happy encounter with some old or new friend who may arrive to entertain you.'

It was a gracious gesture and both girls smiled their appreciation. When she had settled herself in another corner of the room he took the Anis over to her, then he collected from the bar another Calisay for Inez and another brandy and ginger-ale for himself.

As he sat down again she smiled at him, pouted her mouth, and said the one word, 'Well?'

'Well?' he repeated, returning her smile. 'Do you live far from here?'

'No.' She winked one of her bright grey eyes, then nodded in the direction of the big man behind the bar. 'I live in the house, and Senor Anzana makes no objection to my taking gentlemen friends up to my room. Would you like to see it?'

'Indeed I would,' he told her quickly.

'All right then.' Her grey eyes narrowed a trifle. 'But you understand I want a nice present.'

'Of course,' he nodded, 'that's only fair. But how much? I'm not a rich man, and the money I brought from England has got to last me out.'

'Thirty pesetas,' she suggested.

Knowing her price to be much less, he shook his head. 'No, I can't afford more than twenty.'

She considered for a moment, then nodded. 'Very well then. I wouldn't, if it weren't that I like you. You're different, somehow, to most of the men who come here.'

'I like you too,' he returned the compliment. 'You, too, are different from the sort of girls one expects to find in a place like this.' It was on the tip of his tongue to add, 'I don't wonder that licentious young devil, Sanchez, ran off with you!' but he checked himself in time.

Standing up, she said, 'Let's go upstairs, then.' Simultaneously he rose and walked the length of the bar with her. A few of the men looked up then hid a smile, but most of them took no notice.

They crossed under the archway, entered the door on its far side, and Inez led the way up a flight of stairs. At their top she walked down a corridor in which a dim light was burning. Opening the last door but one on the right she turned, smiled at de Quesnoy, and said, 'Here we are.'

He followed her in and she lit an oil lamp. On taking a quick look round he was conscious of sharp disappointment. It was a small slip-room, hardly more than a cubby-hole and furnished only with a narrow single bed. It seemed that after all she did not live at the Silver Galleon as La Torcero had supposed, but had only professional accommodation there; and even if she used it at times to sleep in, it was quite clear that Sanchez did not share it with her.

Turning away from the lamp, she put her arms round his neck, gave him a swift kiss, and asked, 'Would you like me to undress?'

'I certainly would,' he told her, as his object now was to play for time during which he hoped to get some useful information out of her.