"Winter in Madrid" - читать интересную книгу автора (Sansom C. J.)

Chapter Nine

THE CAF#201; ROCINANTE was in a narrow street off Calle Toledo. When Harry left the embassy he saw the pale-faced young Spaniard following him again. He cursed – he would have liked to turn round and shout at the man, hit him. He doubled round a couple of streets and managed to lose him. He walked on with a feeling of satisfaction, but when he saw the cafe and crossed over to it his heart began to pound. He took long, deep breaths as he opened the door. He went over the preparation they had done in Surrey for this first meeting. Expect him to be suspicious, they had said; be friendly, naive, a newcomer to Madrid. Be receptive, a listener.

The cafe was gloomy, the daylight coming through the small dusty window barely augmented by fifteen-watt bulbs round the walls. The patrons were mainly middle-class men, shopkeepers and small businessmen. They sat at the little round tables drinking coffee or chocolate, mostly talking business. A thin boy of ten circulated, selling cigarettes from a tray tied round his neck with string. Harry felt uncomfortable, looking round the place while trying not to attract attention. So this was what being a spy was like. There was a faint hissing and churning in his bad ear.

Apart from a couple of middle-aged matrons sitting talking about how expensive things were on the black market, there was only one other woman, smoking alone with an empty coffee cup in front of her. She was in her thirties, thin and anxious-looking, wearing a faded dress. She watched the other customers constantly, her eyes darting from table to table. Harry wondered whether she might be some sort of informer; she was a bit obvious, but then so was his ‘tail’.

He saw Sandy at once, sitting alone at a table reading a copy of ABC. There was a coffee on the table and a big cigar in the ashtray. If he hadn’t seen the photographs he wouldn’t have recognized him. In his well-cut suit, with his moustache and slicked-back hair, there was hardly anything of the schoolboy Harry remembered. He was heavier, though with muscle not fat, and there were already lines on his face. He was only a few months older than Harry, but he looked forty. How had he come to look so old?

He approached the table. Sandy didn’t look up and Harry stood there a moment, feeling foolish. He coughed and Sandy lowered the newspaper and stared at him enquiringly.

‘Sandy Forsyth?’ Harry pretended surprise. ‘Is it? It’s me. Harry Brett.’

Sandy looked blank for a moment, then recognition dawned. His whole face lit up and he gave the wide smile Harry remembered, showing large square white teeth.

‘Harry Brett! It is you. I don’t believe it! After all these years! God, what are you doing here?’ He got up and grasped Harry’s hand firmly. Harry took a deep breath.

‘I’m working as an interpreter at the embassy.’

‘Good Lord! Yes, of course, you did languages at Cambridge, didn’t you? What a turn up!’ He leaned across and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Jesus, you haven’t changed much. Sit down, d’you want a coffee? What’re you doing in the Rocinante?’

‘I’m billeted near here, just round the corner. Thought I’d try it out.’ A momentary catch in his throat as he told his first actual lie, but looking at the simple happy surprise on Sandy’s face, Harry saw he had taken him in. He felt a stab of guilt, then relief that Sandy was so pleased to see him, though this would not make things easier.

Sandy clicked his fingers and an elderly waiter in a greasy white jacket came across. Harry ordered a hot chocolate. Cigar smoke wreathed from Sandy’s mouth as he studied Harry. ‘Well, damn me.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s been – what – fifteen years. I’m surprised you recognized me.’

‘Well, you’ve certainly changed. I wasn’t sure for a minute …’

‘I thought you’d have forgotten me years ago.’

‘Never forget those days.’

‘Rookwood, eh?’ Sandy shook his head. ‘You’ve put on a bit of weight.’

‘I guess so. You look fit.’

‘Work keeps me on my toes. Remember those afternoons hunting for fossils?’ Sandy smiled again, looked suddenly younger. ‘They were the best times for me at Rookwood. The best times.’

He sighed and his face seemed to close up as he leaned back in his chair. He was still smiling but something wary had come into his eyes.

‘How did you end up working for HMG?’

‘Got shot up at Dunkirk.’

‘God, yes, the war.’ He spoke as though it was something he had forgotten, nothing to do with him. ‘Nothing bad, I hope.’

‘No, I’m all right now. Little bit of a hearing problem. Anyway, I didn’t want to go back to Cambridge afterwards. The Foreign Office were looking for interpreters and they took me on.’

‘Cambridge, eh? So you didn’t go into the Colonial Office after all?’ He laughed. ‘Boys’ dreams, eh? Remember you were going to be a district officer in Bongoland, and I was going to be a dinosaur hunter?’ Sandy’s expression was open again, amused. He reached for his cigar and took a long draw.

‘Yes. Funny how things turn out.’ Harry tried to make his voice sound casual. ‘What are you doing out here? It gave me a shock when I saw you. I thought, I know him, who is he? Then I realized.’ The lies were flowing smoothly now.

Sandy took another puff of his cigar, blowing out more acrid smoke. ‘Fetched up here three years ago. Lot of business opportunities. Doing my bit to help get Spain back on its feet. Though I might move on in a while.’

The old waiter came over and laid a little cup of chocolate in front of Harry. Sandy nodded at the urchin, who was selling Lucky Strikes to the thin woman. ‘Want a cigar? Make Roberto’s day. He’s got a couple of Havanas tucked away there. A bit dry but they’re OK.’

‘Thanks, I don’t smoke.’ Harry glanced at the woman. She wasn’t even pretending to do anything but watch the customers. There was a clerkly look about her pinched face.

‘Never took it up, eh? I remember you never used to join us bad lads behind the gym.’

Harry laughed. ‘I just never enjoyed it. The couple of times I tried I felt sick.’ He reached for his chocolate. His hand was steady.

‘Oh come on, Brett, you disapproved.’ There was a light sardonic edge to Sandy’s voice now. ‘You were always a Rookwood man to your fingertips. Always followed the rules.’

‘Maybe. Listen, call me Harry.’

Sandy smiled. ‘Like the old days, eh?’ Sandy smiled again, with genuine warmth.

‘Anyway, Sandy, you were still in London last I heard.’

‘I needed to get out. Some racing people had decided they didn’t like me. Rough business, racing.’ He looked at Harry. ‘That was when we lost touch, wasn’t it? I was sorry, I used to like getting your letters.’ He sighed. ‘Had a good scheme going, but it annoyed some big fish. Still, it taught me some lessons. Then a chap I knew at Newmarket told me Franco’s people were looking for guides for tours of the battlefields. People with the right background, to get a little foreign exchange and drum up some support for the Nationalists in Britain. So I spent a year showing old colonels from Torquay round the northern battle sites. Then I got involved in a couple of business ventures.’ He spread his arms. ‘Somehow I just stayed. Came to Madrid last year, followed the General#237;simo in.’

‘I see.’ Better not press too closely, Harry thought. Too soon. ‘Are you still in touch with your father?’ he asked.

Sandy’s face went cold. ‘I’ve lost touch with him now. It was for the best, we could never see eye to eye.’ He was silent a moment, then smiled again. ‘Anyway. How long have you been in Madrid?’

‘Only a few days.’

‘But you were here before, weren’t you? You came with Piper after school.’

Harry stared at him, astonished. Sandy chuckled and pointed his cigar butt at him. ‘You didn’t know I knew that, did you?’

Harry’s heart beat fast. How could he know?

‘Yes, we did. In the Republic’s time. But how—’

‘You came again later, too, didn’t you?’ Harry was pleased to see that Sandy’s face was full of mischief, which it wouldn’t have been had he known Harry’s real purpose here. ‘Came to try and find him after he went missing at the Jarama and met his girlfriend. Barbara.’ He laughed now. ‘Don’t look so amazed. I’m sorry. Only I met Barbara in Burgos when I was doing the tours, the Red Cross sent her there after Piper went west. She told me all about it.’

So that was it. Harry took a deep breath, leaned back in his chair. ‘I wrote to her via the Red Cross office in Madrid, but never heard back. The letters mustn’t have got sent on.’

‘Probably not. It was pretty chaotic in the Republic by then.’

‘How on earth did you two meet? What a coincidence.’

‘Not really. There weren’t many English people in Burgos in ’37. Coincidence we were both in the Nationalist Zone I suppose. We met at a party Texas Oil threw for expatriates.’ He smiled broadly. ‘In fact, we got together. She’s with me now, we’ve a house out in Vigo. You wouldn’t recognize her these days.’

‘I thought I saw her the other day, crossing the Plaza Mayor.’

‘Did you? What was she doing there? Looking for a shop with something worth buying, maybe.’ He smiled.

This is a complication, Harry thought. Barbara. How on earth had she got involved with him?

‘Is she still working for the Red Cross?’ he asked.

‘No, she’s a housewife now. She was pretty cut up over Piper, but she’s OK now. I’m trying to persuade her to do a bit of voluntary work.’

‘It devastated her, Bernie being killed. We never found where his body was.’

Sandy shrugged. ‘The Reds didn’t care what happened to their men. All those failed offensives the Russians ordered. God knows how many there are buried in the sierras. But Barbara’s fine now. I’m sure she’d love to see you. We’re having a couple of people round on Tuesday, why don’t you join us?’

It was the entr#233;e Harry had been told to angle for, offered on a plate.

‘Will that be all right – for Barbara? I wouldn’t want to bring back, well, bad memories.’

‘She’d be delighted to see you.’ Sandy lowered his voice. ‘By the way, we tell people we’re married, though we’re not actually. Makes it easier, the government are a puritan lot.’

Harry saw him watching for his reaction. He smiled and nodded. ‘Understood,’ he said awkwardly.

‘Everyone was living over the brush during the Civil War, of course, you never knew how long you’d got.’ He smiled. ‘I know Barbara was very grateful for all the help you gave her.’

‘Was she? I wished I could have done more. But thanks, I’d love to come.’

Sandy leaned forward, clapped him on the shoulder again. ‘Now, more about you. How are that old aunt and uncle of yours?’

‘Oh, same as ever. They don’t change.’

‘You’re not married?’

‘No. There was someone, but it didn’t work out.’

‘Plenty of nice se#241;oritas here.’

‘As a matter of fact I’ve been invited to a party next week, by one of the junior ministers I did some interpreting for. His daughter’s eighteenth.’

‘Oh, who’s that?’ Sandy looked interested.

‘General Maestre.’

Sandy’s eyes narrowed. ‘Maestre, eh? You are moving in exalted circles. What’s he like?’

‘Very courteous. You know him?’

‘I met him briefly once. He had a pretty brutal reputation during the Civil War, you know.’ He paused reflectively. ‘I expect you’ll get to meet a lot of government people, in your line.’

‘I suppose so. I just go where they want me to.’

‘I’ve met Maestre’s new boss, Carceller. Dealt with quite a few people in the government. Met the General#237;simo himself as a matter of fact,’ Sandy added proudly. ‘At a reception for foreign businessmen.’ He’s trying to impress, Harry thought.

‘What’s he like?’

Sandy leaned forward and spoke quietly again. ‘Not what you’d think when you see him strutting about on the newsreels. Looks more like a bank manager than a general. But he’s crafty, a real Galician. He’ll still be here when people like Maestre are long gone. And they say he’s the hardest man that ever lived. Signs death warrants over coffee in the evenings.’

‘What if we win the war? Franco’ll be out then, surely, even if he doesn’t come in with Hitler.’ They had told him to steer clear of politics at first, but Sandy had started on the topic. It was a chance to find out what he thought of the regime.

Sandy shook his head confidently. ‘He won’t come in. Too scared of the naval blockade. The regime’s not that strong; if the Germans marched into Spain, the Reds would start coming out of their holes. And if we win – ’ Sandy shrugged – ‘Franco has his uses. There’s no one more anti-communist.’ He smiled ironically. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not helping an enemy of England.’

‘You’re very sure.’

‘I am.’

‘Things seem pretty desperate here. The poverty. There’s a really grim atmosphere.’

Sandy shrugged. ‘That’s Spain. It’s what it’s always been like, always will be. They need order.’

Harry inclined his head. ‘I wouldn’t have thought you’d like the idea of being ordered about by a dictatorship, Sandy.’

He laughed. ‘This isn’t a real dictatorship. It’s too chaotic for that. There’s lots of opportunities for business if you keep your wits about you. Not that I’ll stay here for ever.’

‘You might move on.’

Sandy shrugged. ‘Next year perhaps.’

‘People here look as though they’re on the verge of starvation.’

Sandy looked at Harry seriously. ‘The last two harvests have been disastrous because of drought. And half the infrastructure was wrecked in the war. Britain’s not helping, frankly. There’s hardly enough oil being allowed in to keep transport going. Have you seen those gasogene things?’

‘Yes.’

‘The place is a bureaucratic nightmare, of course, but the market will win out. People like me are showing the way.’ He looked into Harry’s eyes. ‘That will help them, you know. I do want to help them.’

The woman was staring at them again. Harry leaned across, whispering. ‘See her, at that table? She’s been looking at us ever since I arrived. I can’t help worrying she might be an informer.’

Sandy looked blank for a moment, then threw his head back and roared with laughter. The other customers turned and stared at them.

‘Oh, Harry, Harry, you are priceless!’

‘What? What do you mean?’

‘She’s a tart, Harry. She’s always here, she’s looking for business.’

‘What?’

‘You keep looking over, meeting her eyes and turning away again, the poor girl won’t know what’s going on.’ Sandy grinned at the woman. She didn’t understand his words but reddened at his mocking look.

‘All right, I didn’t know. She doesn’t look like a tart.’

‘A lot don’t now. She’s probably the widow of some Republican. A lot of them have gone on the game to make ends meet.’

The woman got up. Fumbling with her handbag, she dropped some coins on the table and walked out. Sandy watched her go, still grinning at her embarrassment. ‘You do have to look out, though,’ Sandy continued. ‘I thought someone was following me recently.’

‘Were they?’

‘Not sure. They seem to have disappeared, anyway.’ Sandy looked at his watch. ‘Well, I must get back to the office. Let me get these.’

‘Thanks.’

Sandy laughed again, shook his head. ‘It is good to see you again.’ There was genuine affection in his voice. ‘Wait till I tell Barbara. Can I get you at the embassy about Tuesday?’

‘Yes. Ask for the translation section.’

Out in the street Sandy shook Harry’s hand. He looked at him seriously. ‘England’s lost the war, you know. I was right – all the Rookwood ideas, empire and noblesse oblige and playing the game, it’s all nonsense. One knock and it’s all fallen down. People who create opportunities for themselves, who make themselves up, they’re the future.’ He shook his head. ‘Oh, well.’ He sounded almost regretful.

‘It’s not over yet.’

‘Not quite yet. But almost.’ Sandy smiled commiseratingly, then turned and walked away.