Winter in Madrid

  The spy hadn’t frightened him but he did feel a clutch of fear, that momentary light-headedness that came on him sometimes, as he walked up Sandy’s drive half an hour later. He hadn’t told Sandy about his panics after Dunkirk, despite the spies saying it could do no harm. Pride had stopped him, he supposed. The house was a big villa standing in a large garden. Harry stood on the step for a moment, collecting himself, then took a deep breath and rang the bell.

  A young maid answered the door, pretty but rather glum-looking. She took him through a hall where Chinese porcelain stood on little tables into a large salon where a fire burned. Everything was comfortable, expensive.

  Sandy came forward, taking his hand in a firm grasp. His dinner jacket was immaculate, his hair sleek with oil. ‘Harry, marvellous you could come. ‘Now then, Barbara you know, of course.’

  She was standing smoking by the mantelpiece, a glass of wine in her hand. She looked utterly different, the old cardigans and untidy hair replaced by an expensive silk dress that set off her fine skin and figure, her face thinner, and carefully made up to emphasize her high cheekbones and bright green eyes, her long, styled hair curled at the ends. Only the glasses were the same. Despite the changes she looked tired and strained but her smile was warm as she took his hand.

  ‘Harry, how are you?’

  ‘I’m all right. You’ve changed a lot.’

  ‘I’ve never forgotten how kind you were three years ago. I was in such a state back then.’

  ‘Just did what I could. It was a rough time.’

  ‘Sandy says you tried to write to me. I’m so sorry, I never got the letters. The Red Cross moved me to Burgos. I needed to get away from Madrid, after—’ She made a gesture with one hand.

  ‘Yes. I wrote to you in Madrid. I guess letters weren’t forwarded across the lines.’

  ‘My fault,’ Barbara said. ‘I should have tried to keep in touch.’

  ‘I often wondered how you were. I hear you don’t work for the Red Cross any more?’

  ‘No, I gave that up after I met Sandy. Had to really, I wasn’t in a fit state to work. But I might be doing some voluntary work soon with war orphans.’

  Harry shook his head, smiling. ‘And you met up with Sandy. How extraordinary.’

  ‘Yes. He helped put me back together.’

  Sandy came over to her, putting an arm round her shoulders, squeezing protectively. It seemed to Harry that Barbara flinched a little.

  ‘And you, Harry,’ she asked. ‘Are you all right? Sandy said you were at Dunkirk.’

  ‘Yes. I’m fine now. Just a spot of deafness.’

  ‘How are things at home? I get letters from my family but they don’t give me much idea how people are bearing up. The Spanish papers say it’s pretty bad.’

  ‘People are coping well. The Battle of Britain was a boost.’

  ‘That’s good. One’s so far away, I didn’t worry too much during the phoney war, but since the bombing – I expect you hear all about how things are at the embassy. All the papers are censored here.’

  Sandy laughed. ‘Yes, they even censor the fashion shows in the Daily Mail. If they think the dresses are too low-cut they put a black band across them.’

  ‘Well, things are tough, but not as bad as the papers here make them out. There’s an amazing spirit, Churchill’s rallied everyone.’

  ‘Have some wine,’ Sandy said. ‘We’re having some food later, once the others arrive. Look, why don’t you two meet up one afternoon, have a longer chat about home? It’d do Barbara good.’

  ‘Yes, yes we could.’ She nodded agreement, but Harry sensed reluctance in her voice.

  ‘That would be good.’ Harry turned to Sandy. ‘And what exactly are you up to now? You didn’t really say the other day.’

  He smiled broadly. ‘Oh, I’ve fingers in a number of pies.’

  Harry smiled at Barbara. ‘Sandy’s come up in the world.’

  ‘Yes, he has.’ She seemed bored by this mention of business. Harry felt glad. If she didn’t know anything she wouldn’t have anything to tell.

  ‘I’m involved mainly with a government-backed project just now,’ Sandy said. ‘Mineral extraction. All very dull, just exploratory stuff. Takes some organizing, though.’

  ‘Mining, eh?’ Harry asked. This had to be the gold. His luck was continuing. His heart pounded. Steady, he thought, take it carefully. ‘I remember at school you wanted to be a palaeontologist. The secrets of the earth, you used to say.’

  Sandy laughed. ‘Oh, it’s not dinosaurs now.’ The doorbell rang. ‘Excuse me. Must go and welcome Sebastian and Jenny.’

  He went out. Barbara was silent a moment, then smiled uncertainly.

  ‘It’s good to see you again.’

  ‘And you. You’ve a fine house here.’

  ‘Yes. I’ve landed on my feet, I suppose.’ She paused, then asked quickly, ‘Do you think Franco will come into the war?’

  ‘Nobody knows. There are all sorts of rumours. If it happens it’ll be sudden.’

  They fell silent as Sandy reappeared, accompanied by a well-dressed couple. The man was in his thirties, small and slim, handsome in a dark, southern Spanish way. He wore the Falange uniform, dark military dress with a blue shirt. The woman was younger, attractive, too, with blonde hair and smooth round features. Her expression was haughty.

  ‘Harry,’ Sandy said in Spanish. ‘Let me introduce Sebastian de Salas, a colleague of mine. Sebastian, this is Harry Brett.’

  The Spaniard pressed Harry’s hand. ‘I am delighted, señor. There are so few Englishmen in Madrid.’ He turned to his companion. ‘Jenny sees so few of her compatriots.’

  ‘Hello there!’ The woman’s voice was cut-glass, her eyes hard and appraising. She turned to give Barbara a cold, formal smile. ‘Hello there, Babs, what a nice dress.’

  ‘Would you like some wine?’ Barbara’s tone was equally cool.

  ‘I’d rather have a G and T. Been out at the golf club all afternoon.’

  ‘Come on everyone,’ Sandy said cheerfully. ‘Take the weight off your feet.’

  They sat down in the comfortable armchairs. ‘What do you do then, Harry?’ Jenny asked brusquely.

  ‘I’m a translator at the embassy.’

  ‘Met anyone interesting?’

  ‘Just a junior minister.’

  ‘Jenny’s an Hon, Harry,’ Sandy said. ‘Sebastian’s an aristocrat too.’

  The Spaniard laughed self-deprecatingly. ‘A small one. We have a little castle in Extremadura, but it is falling down.’

  ‘Don’t knock it, Sebastian,’ Jenny said. ‘I’m a cousin of Lord Redesdale. Know him?’

  ‘No.’ Harry wanted to laugh, she was ridiculous. Jenny took the glass Barbara handed to her.

  ‘I say, thanks. Mmm, lovely.’ She leaned back against de Salas.

  ‘How long have you been in Madrid, Señor Brett?’ de Salas asked.

  ‘A little over a week.’

  ‘And how do you find Spain?’

  ‘The Civil War seems to have caused a lot of – dislocation.’

  ‘Yes.’ De Salas nodded sadly. ‘The war did much damage and now we have the bad harvests. People are suffering. But we are working to improve things. It is a hard road, but we have made a start.’

  ‘Sebastian’s in the Falange, as you can see.’ Sandy’s tone was neutral but his look at Harry was keen, mischievous. De Salas smiled and Harry smiled neutrally back. Sandy put his hand on Barbara’s arm.

  ‘Babs, see how Pilar’s getting on, would you?’

  She nodded and went out. The obedient housewife, Harry thought. The idea pained him for some reason.

  ‘Señor Brett,’ de Salas said when she had left. ‘May I ask something? Only, I fear many Englishman do not understand the Falange.’

  ‘It’s often hard to understand foreign countries’ politics,’ Harry replied carefully. He remembered the screaming horde around the car, the boy who had wet himself.

  ‘In England you have democracy, yes? Th
at is what you are fighting for, your system.’

  ‘Yes.’ God, Harry thought, he’s gone straight to the point.

  De Salas smiled. ‘Please understand I mean no offence.’

  ‘No, of course.’

  ‘Democracy has worked well in England and America, but it does not work everywhere. In Spain under the Republic, democracy brought chaos and bloodshed.’ He smiled sadly. ‘Not all countries are suited to its freedoms, they tear themselves apart. Sometimes in the end the authoritarian way is the only one.’

  Harry nodded, remembering he should avoid politics if he could. ‘I can see that. Only I suppose one might ask, who holds the rulers to account?’

  De Salas laughed and spread his hands. ‘Oh, señor, the whole nation holds them to account. The whole nation represented by one party. That is the beauty of our system. Listen, do you know why the Falange wear blue shirts?’

  ‘Don’t say it’s because all the other colours were taken,’ Sandy interjected with a laugh.

  ‘Because blue is the colour of workmen’s overalls. We represent everyone in Spain. The Falange is a middle way between socialism and capitalism. It has worked in Italy. We know how hard life is in Spain now, but we will do justice to everyone. Just give us time.’ He smiled earnestly.

  ‘I hope so,’ Harry said. He studied de Salas. His expression was open, sincere. He means it, Harry thought.

  Barbara returned. ‘We can go through,’ she said.

  Sandy got up and stood between Harry and de Salas, a hand on each of their shoulders. ‘We should renew this talk another time. But let’s change the subject now, eh, out of deference to the ladies.’ He gave them a fatherly smile and Harry wondered again, how did he come to seem so middle-aged, so much older than he was? He had felt sorry for Sandy before but now he struck him as faintly repulsive.

  A COLD BUFFET had been laid in the dining room. They filled their plates and took them to the oak table. Sandy opened a fresh bottle of wine. Jenny had brought the gin bottle with her.

  ‘Sandy,’ de Salas said, ‘you should have invited a señorita for Señor Brett.’

  ‘Yes, Sandy, we’re one short,’ Jenny agreed. ‘Bad form.’

  ‘There wasn’t time.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Harry said. ‘I should meet plenty of señoritas on Thursday. I’m going to my first Spanish party.’

  ‘And where is that?’ de Salas asked.

  ‘General Maestre’s house. It’s his daughter’s eighteenth.’

  De Salas looked at Harry with new interest. ‘Maestre, eh?’

  ‘Yes. I translated at a meeting between him and one of our diplomats.’

  Sandy’s voice was suddenly sharp. ‘No, Sebastian, no business tonight.’

  De Salas nodded and turned to Barbara. ‘How are your plans going, señora, to work with the orphans? The marquesa was helpful?’

  ‘Yes, thanks. She’s hoping to fix something up.’

  ‘I am glad. Will you enjoy going back to nursing?’

  ‘I’d like to do something to help. I feel I ought to, really.’

  ‘Jenny is a nurse too, like Barbara,’ de Salas told Harry. ‘I met her when she came out to help during the war.’

  ‘What?’ Jenny lifted her head, her face flushed. Harry realized she was drunk. ‘I didn’t catch that. Why am I like Barbara?’

  ‘I was saying you were a nurse.’

  ‘Oh yes! Yes!’ She laughed. ‘I’m not a proper nurse, though. I never trained. But when I came out, they put me straight into helping at operations. After the Jarama battle. Just as well I’m not squeamish.’

  Barbara bowed her head to her plate. Sandy gave her a solicitous glance.

  ‘Harry,’ he said, ‘do have some of this marvellous red. I had to pay the earth for it. Scandalous.’

  De Salas smiled at Harry. ‘I expect the embassy has its own supplies.’

  ‘We get rations. They’re not too bad.’

  De Salas nodded. ‘Is it true there is much hardship in England? Food is rationed?’

  ‘Yes. But everyone gets enough.’

  ‘Do they? It is not what we read here.’ He leaned forward, genuinely interested. ‘But tell me, please, I am interested, why do you go on with the war? You were beaten in France, why not surrender now?’

  He wouldn’t let it go. Harry glanced at Barbara. ‘It’s what all the Spaniards think,’ she told him.

  ‘Hitler has offered you peace. And I have seen so many killed in Spain, I wish the killing could stop in Europe.’

  Sandy leaned forward. ‘He’s got a point, you know. England should surrender now, while good terms are on the table. I’m not being unpatriotic, Harry, I only want what’s in my country’s best interests. I’ve been away nearly four years, and sometimes you see things more clearly from a distance. And England can’t win.’

  ‘People are determined.’

  ‘To defend democracy, eh?’ de Salas smiled sadly.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Perhaps Hitler would let us keep democracy?’ Sandy suggested. ‘In return for leaving the war.’

  ‘He hasn’t a very good record in that department.’ Harry felt sudden anger. He had actually fought the Germans, while Sandy was sitting here making money. Sandy may have taken people round former battlefields, but Harry had been on a real one.

  ‘There isn’t much democracy left in England, from what I hear,’ Jenny interjected loudly. ‘Oswald Mosley was locked up just for leading the wrong party.’

  Barbara shot her a look of venom. De Salas coughed.

  ‘I think perhaps we are getting a little heated,’ he said awkwardly.

  THE PARTY didn’t last long. Soon de Salas said they must go and led a stumbling Jenny away.

  ‘Don’t invite her again, Sandy, please,’ Barbara said when they had left.

  Sandy raised his eyebrows at Harry as he lit a cigar. ‘Jenny spent the whole of the Civil War nursing out here. She was pretty wild before, ran away from Roedean apparently. Can’t seem to cope with peace, just gets drunk all the time. Sebastian’s thinking of giving her the heave-ho.’

  ‘She’s foul,’ Barbara said. She turned to Harry. ‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t very sociable tonight.’

  ‘Don Sebastian seems civilized enough,’ Harry said. ‘In his way.’

  ‘Yes.’ Sandy nodded. ‘Spanish fascism’s not like Nazism, Harry, you have to remember that. They’re much more like the Italians. I’m doing some charitable work with refugee Jews, for example. Have to keep it a bit quiet because they’re terrified of annoying the Germans, but the authorities wink at it.’ He smiled. ‘Don’t mind what I was saying earlier about Britain surrendering. It was just – conversation. It’s the big topic here, as you might imagine. They’d be happy if the war ended, they’ve had enough bloodshed, as Sebastian was saying.’

  Barbara lit a cigarette. ‘I agree they haven’t got the Nazi ideas about racial purity here. But they’re still a brutal lot.’

  Sandy raised his eyebrows. ‘I thought you agreed Franco had brought some order at last.’

  Barbara shrugged. ‘Maybe. I’ll get Pilar to clean up, Sandy, then I’m going up. I’ll leave you to your drinks. Sorry, Harry, I’m not feeling too bright. Got a bad headache.’ She gave him a wan smile. ‘I’ll ring you and we can meet up.’

  ‘Yes, do. A call to the embassy will usually get me. Later this week, perhaps.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ He sensed the reluctance in her voice again. Why, he wondered.

  When they were alone, Sandy poured them a whisky and lit a cigar. He seemed to have a tremendous capacity. Harry had been drinking slowly to keep his head clear.

  ‘Is Barbara all right?’ he asked.

  Sandy waved a hand dismissively. ‘Oh yes. Just tired and worried about home. The bombing and everything. Listen, when she rings you, take her out for a nice lunch somewhere. She’s on her own here too much.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘It’s a funny old place, Spain, but there are lots of business opportunities.’ He la
ughed. ‘Might be as well not to mention you know me, when you go to the ball for Maestre’s girly. The government’s a nest of rivalries, and the faction I’m working with and Maestre’s don’t get on.’

  ‘Oh?’ Harry paused, then asked innocently. ‘Maestre’s a Monarchist, isn’t he?’

  Sandy’s eyes through the cigar smoke were hooded, calculating. ‘Yes, that’s right. Hidebound lot.’ He looked at Harry seriously. ‘By the way, you remember what I was saying in the cafe, about maybe getting out of Spain?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Don’t tell Barbara, would you? If I do decide to go it won’t be for a while. I’ll tell her when the time’s right.’

  ‘Of course. Understood.’

  ‘Still got business to finish here. Money to make.’ He smiled. ‘I expect all your funds are invested in safe things?’

  Harry hesitated. That calculating look was back in Sandy’s face. ‘Yes. My parents left some money, and my uncle put it in safe securities. I’ve left everything where he put it. Too safe, I sometimes think.’ He laughed uncertainly. In fact, he didn’t think money could ever be kept too safe, but he wanted to see where Sandy was leading.

  ‘Money can always make more money, if you know where to put it.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

  To Harry’s disappointment, Sandy stood up. ‘Anyway, I want to show you something. Come upstairs.’

  He led Harry upstairs to a small comfortable study, full of objets d’art. ‘My sanctum. I come up here to work in peace.’ Harry’s eyes flickered over the desk; there were cardboard folders and papers but he couldn’t see what they were.