The Face of Eve

by Betty Burton

  Eve laughed lightly. ‘I expect I was going to say that. But I suppose I might have guessed seeing the Espanol Suissa.’

  ‘You noticed?’

  ‘Bet your darned life I noticed.’

  ‘I move in exalted circles these days. All the right accoutrements are essential. Here, Jose, put the teapot on my side and then you can go. Just look at you, Eve. You look a million dollars.’

  ‘Isn’t it amazing what a bucketful of money will do?’

  ‘I have a good many bucketsful, as you know, but I can never turn myself out like you.’

  ‘You said they would allow you to stay on, but I didn’t really believe it. You were supporting the other side.’

  Helan Alexander – Alex – had been in charge of a depot that got supplies trucks fixed and out on the road again. It was an unusual job for a woman, until you saw Alex at work. Her husband had been Max Alexander, a coloured man with a Swiss passport, an intellectual revolutionary. Her family, the Poveys, were second only to the German Krupps in the manufacture of armaments. Alex had inherited the majority shareholding and become a wealthy woman by any standards. She had met Max and had caught all his revolutionary fervour, which was how she had come to be supporting the Republic against the invading fascists. Eve had heard all about Alex’s guilty wealth.

  And here she still was, large as life, living in this new fascist state.

  ‘I might have the majority shareholding, but my grandfather, having seen the possibility that one day there might be an “unsuitable” Povey inheriting, saw to it that all decisions relating to the company who made machine guns and other death machines should be made by a board of managers. Nice move: he could rake in the profits and keep his hands clean.’ She paused and drew deeply on her cigarette. ‘And I’m a chip off the old block.’

  ‘No you’re not. You put money into those refuges.’

  ‘A drop in the ocean, Eve. You wouldn’t believe how many millions I have.’

  ‘Even so… you worked openly in support of the Republic.’

  ‘Just another upper-class rebel. Unity Mitford’s back in the bosom of her family, isn’t she?’

  ‘Oh yes, she’s back,’ Eve said ruefully. ‘Months ago. “The Storm-Trooper Maiden” who sat and gazed worshipfully at Hitler until he invited her to his table.’

  ‘Well, that’s it, isn’t it? Lord Redesdale’s wayward daughter, infatuated, misguided, led by the nose to follow a charismatic man. Silly girl. Isn’t that what they say?’

  Eve smiled. ‘I suppose they do.’

  ‘So I am the silly girl who fell in love with a black Communist. Same difference. If you are high-born enough, wealthy enough, you are without doubt a silly girl. When I wanted to buy my land, a couple of officials came to see me. All that was necessary was to eat humble pie and say that I was young and silly, and I was in love with Spain itself. I didn’t really understand any of it, I just wanted a bit of excitement.’

  ‘They obviously bought your story.’

  ‘Of course. They hope that my family will open up a new factory in the industrial North. And, as I told them, my role here was just fixing lorries. I wasn’t really involved.’

  Eve knew that that wasn’t true. She had been chauffeuse to Alex and the two Russian officers when they had come up from Albacete to Madrid on some inquiry.

  ‘You don’t have to justify yourself, Alex.’

  ‘Is that what I’m doing? Yes, I suppose I am. Anyway, they now like me, and I can stay here as long as I like. Just don’t get involved in any more silliness, Miss Povey. So I don’t.’

  Eve raised her eyebrows. ‘So we met here quite by accident.’

  ‘Of course. I come here whenever I am visiting Madrid, and I happened to see you and recognise somebody I once met at a skiing resort in Switzerland. Remember that? I expect I helped you fix your skis, and you sort of remembered me when you saw me today.’

  ‘But, Alex, I don’t know one end of a ski from another.’

  Alex laughed, looked up and held her hands out to the sunlight. ‘I doubt if you’ll be put to the test here.’

  ‘Do you live in Madrid?’

  ‘No, much further south, on the coast of the sun, it’s known as the “Jaws of Hell”, or the “Frying Pan of Spain” – I prefer the “Jaws”.’

  ‘Seville?’

  Alex Povey raised her eyebrows. ‘Close. Ten out of ten for geography. Hot as Cairo without the people. I love it. You must visit. Now,’ with mock fierceness, ‘if Joe hasn’t turned to stone, perhaps he will go tell his mother that a young friend from way back has suddenly appeared from nowhere and we want a proper English tea. Comprendes, Jose? Take away the pink cakes and we will have English fruity cake and then figs and cream.’

  Jose jerked his attention back from the interesting scene. ‘Si, señora… Alex… madame… señorita… at once.’

  ‘When did you have figs and cream for tea in England, Alex?’

  She smiled. ‘If and when I go home I shall introduce it as a standard at Fullers.’

  The serving of the two English ladies was taken over by a middle-aged woman whose lips looked tight and sore from any number of small scars. ‘Carla, this is Miss Anders, who was a schoolgirl when I last saw her and look at her now. Carla is Jose’s mother.’

  Carla smiled with her eyes, holding her painful lips together, nodding acknowledgement as she laid out some delicate china and a whole Dundee cake cut into a fan of slices.

  ‘Carla is bringing up her boys alone and wants them to learn English and French.’ Carla nodded. ‘So that they will be able to work in the best hotels.’

  Carla put her head on one side and shrugged a little as though not counting any chickens.

  Eve said, ‘Your son does very well with his English. Has he been learning for very long?’

  ‘About three months,’ Alex said, momentarily touching the woman’s hand. ‘We are very pleased with him, aren’t we, Carla?’

  The woman nodded and brushed Alex’s shoulder briefly, tenderly, and went away indoors as silently as she had come.

  ‘Is she dumb?’

  Alex nodded.

  During her service with the International Brigade, Eve had seen any number of silent women, and men, in states of nervous collapse, empty-eyed and often as uncommunicative as Carla; the difference here was that Carla did have expression in her eyes. Alex had spoken only in English and the woman appeared to understand perfectly yet never responded at all, even though they appeared to have some kind of tender friendship.

  Alex took over the tea table. People around lost interest. Now she spoke in a much lowered tone and smiled wryly. ‘Are you still a men-only woman?’

  Eve laid her dark glasses on the table and looked directly at Alex, who had once made a pass at her. ‘Not even one man at the moment, but I’m still not interested – except as a friend, Alex.’

  Alex laughed. ‘I don’t think I was serious at the time, but I was missing Max so much and I didn’t really want to get involved with another man. What happened to the Great Bear?’

  ‘Dimitri?’

  ‘You certainly went overboard for each other.’

  ‘Wartime romance.’

  ‘They never last, Eve. They’ve either got a wife or they get themselves killed. But I do have a very interesting man in my life again.’

  ‘Here? I mean, in Madrid?’

  ‘No, he’s bought the property adjacent to mine, down in the “Jaws of Hell”. We have a lot in common – horses and sex.’ She fanned her mouth and blew. ‘Hot as Hell also. The strong, silent type. Nothing like the Great Bear.’

  ‘Does he share your love of cracking motors?’

  ‘Of course, though it’s still horses for me. Now I have the beginnings of a stable. My ambition is to bring some great horses back into this country. Why don’t you come down and visit?’ The cigarette she had been smoking lay in the ashtray, but she absent-mindedly lit another. Eve noticed that her hand trembled slightly as she held the lighter. Alex saw her watc
hing. ‘I know,’ she said, ‘I am going to cut it down,’ and gave a short laugh. Beckoning Jose, she said, ‘How about you, Eve, a nice icy G&T?’

  ‘I can never fancy it before evening.’ Which of course wasn’t true.

  Carla, probably used to the way Alex liked her gin, sent out a tall glass, well filled. ‘Thanks, Jose. Tell your mama she’s a love.’

  With a straight uncompromising look, Eve asked, ‘Who told you where to find me?’

  ‘You really don’t need to know, Eve. Only that it is somebody who has your wellbeing at heart. Who else but me is going to get you into high society?’

  ‘I don’t like it, Alex. It’s cloak-and-dagger stuff. You appear to know something about why I’m here, or at least how I came to be here, yet you get in touch with me in such an idiotic fashion.’

  Alex sipped her drink appreciatively. ‘I thought it was rather good. I thought you would appreciate it.’

  The only likely person to have informed Alex was David Hatton. They were old friends.

  ‘Don’t be like that, Eve. I’m here to help. With me introducing you, it won’t look like infiltration. Madrid’s high society is very tight, which is why they are so pleased with the goose-steppers at the Hotel Royale, new people with plenty of money and the right ideas.’

  ‘What about your old left ideas?’

  ‘That’s the past, my dear. If anyone is curious, I was a silly young thing whose head was turned when she fell in love with a dissident.’

  Eve remembered how devastated Alex had been when Max was killed and she started drinking too much of the plentiful local wine. ‘Also, they can’t afford to throw you out,’ she suggested.

  ‘That’s right. They need the Povey guns and bullets. Everybody in the world needs the Poveys.’

  Eve remembered that Alex was the only Povey left. How far could she trust her? After all, Alex had stayed on.

  A little way off, away from the area of the visitors to the tea-room, of which there were very few, Eve could just see Mendoza and Nati, who appeared to be getting along very well.

  Eve understood the old Alex, who had gone against all that her family stood for, a woman who had been on the side of the Republic during the war, had married a black man, a Communist.

  ‘I’m out of my depth here, Alex.’

  ‘You don’t have to worry.’

  ‘I’m not worried. I would just like a few explanations.’

  ‘I can understand that. I think you should not have had me sprung upon you like this. Maybe somebody wants to see how you handle it.’

  ‘Handle what?’

  ‘This situation, an unexpected event. An important one.’

  The only explanation to the ‘situation’ was that Alex was working for either The Bureau or MI6. Let it not be MI6.

  ‘It’s your own situation that concerns me. You seem to be living here quite as easily under the fascists as you did under the Republic.’

  ‘I have to live somewhere, Eve. I think I’m needed here, both for my plans for horse breeding, and other things – like helping you, as I’ve been asked.’

  ‘That’s not what I mean.’

  Eve attended to refilling their cups, hoping that this intense conversation would not be obvious, though Alex appeared relaxed enough. ‘Why should these people trust you? They were the enemy, for God’s sake.’

  ‘Money, Eve. That and the fact that my family still trades in the armaments that helped get the fascists back into power is in my favour. Then there are the orphanages – they are still thriving. There aren’t many who are even curious about me. I’m a wealthy woman washed up on the shores, and I’m good value for money… people like me.’

  ‘Of course, I like you too, Alex. I’ll like you a lot more when I know who asked you to contact me.’

  ‘You know I’m not going to tell you that. Be patient. What are you doing with yourself all day?’

  ‘Taking photographs for a special book on flowers.’

  Alex gave a derisive snort. ‘Just what the world wants now, a book on flowers. That certainly puts you on the fluffy-headed girl list. Perfect. What we now have to do is to get you into Madrid society. You can meet my new man – he’s not exactly mine but we make a great partnership with our Lipizzaners,’ she lowered her voice, ‘and he’s wonderful in bed. Not only is he amazingly beautiful, but young, young, young.’

  Eve smiled. ‘I’m pleased that you’ve got a nice man in your life.’

  ‘Oh, he’s not nice, Eve. He’s an arrogant bastard who is equipped like his own stallion, and is just as much a thoroughbred. And he’s a better businessman than I ever met.’

  ‘He sounds like a Swiss army knife.’

  ‘You can laugh. He had it figured out that there wouldn’t be many decent horses left when the war ended.’

  ‘So, you and the arrogant bastard have a common aim to replace the ones that went in the pot.’

  ‘Spaniards love their beautiful horses. My man sees his fortune here.’

  ‘He’s Spanish?’

  ‘Don’t ask me. He says he’s Egyptian. He’s some kind of dago, the beautiful kind. He says he’s come here from South America, where he picked up his string of mares and the stallion, Diabolo.’

  ‘But you don’t believe him?’

  ‘No. His stallion is a Trakehner. It’s my guess that he smuggled him out of Poland before the Germans laid hands on him. Worth his weight in gold.’

  ‘I’m not sure whether you’re smitten by the man or the horse.’

  ‘They are an extension of one another. His hair is longer than the horse’s tail, and he binds it like Diabolo’s. They look down their long noses at the world – you’d think they were posing for an equestrian sculptor. But then I unbind his hair and it all changes. He becomes… oh, not feminine… different. You’d have to sleep with a man with long curling hair to know what I mean. His name is Paulo Fuentes – so he says – but I call the both of them Diabolo – the dark devils.’ Alex smiled, pleased with herself.

  Eve found herself thinking of Duke Barney, her own dark devil, who was always there, somewhere in her subconscious. ‘I really think I should get back to my camera, or the light will be gone.’

  ‘Will you come and visit me?’

  ‘Of course I will. If only to see Diabolo and his beautiful master.’

  ‘Hands off. He’s not your type.’

  Eve rose to leave, and as Alex bent forward to give her the double cheek kiss, she said quietly, ‘You know that I’ve known David since we were kids. I also know Baz Faludi. It was Baz who told me to contact you.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I’m Bureau.’

  ‘Damn it, Alex, you always did like a bit of drama. Did we have to go through all this rigmarole?’

  Alex laughed aloud. ‘Oh yes, the Poveys love a bit of drama.’

  ‘What happens now?’

  ‘You will start receiving invitations to parties.’

  9

  The next few days followed the same pattern as those before Eve met Alex. Mendoza wasn’t needed to drive, so he went into the city to keep tabs on the German party as they went about Madrid. Eve began taking Nati with her to interpret any request to take photographs of the flowers in private courtyards. They were always back in the hotel by the time the sun became unbearable, and Eve spent the hot hours resting or relaxing on her balcony, poring over the prints that Nati collected from a little specialist studio. Certainly the work was very good. These prints and what Eve gleaned from reference books drew her into a more genuine interest in the subject, so that it was not boring to spend so many hours at the Ritz.

  Before dinner she had a drive out with Mendoza, but neither of them had much information to exchange.

  The Germans, however, seemed to be having a high old time. Beautiful women in expensive clothes came and went and were often taken for drives in the big black cars. Theirs was as much a routine as her own and Mendoza’s.

  What were they all waiting for?

  Was it really
only to be on hand if the wayward ex-King of England should choose Spain when he fled his luxurious bolt hole?

  But that was exactly why they were there: waiting to persuade him to declare his support for the Third Reich, as he had done before Britain and Germany went to war with each other. Behind closed doors on both sides, it was believed that given half a chance he would try to make a pact for peace which would leave France, Poland, Belgium and Holland in the hands of Nazi Germany. If he was returned to the throne, civil war could easily break out in Britain, giving Germany good cause to step in and become the peacemaker. Hitler would have won the war that he’d started with hardly any cost to his people.

  What a waste of resources. What a self-centred, self-indulgent couple the Windsors were. Old enough to be her parents and behaving like spoiled brats.

  It couldn’t be long now before they knew one way or another what they were going to do. The supposedly impenetrable fortifications protecting France had remained impenetrable – the German army had skirted round them and pressed on, towns and cities capitulating as it went.

  Just a matter of time.

  Occasionally, when she saw one of the Germans leave, Eve would grab her camera bag and follow in the direction he went. Mostly – as Mendoza too had discovered – they went to a place in the old town which was festooned with flags and swastikas, a propaganda office where Eve presumed they could send and receive messages with impunity. She did not hear from Alex, nor see the Espanol Suissa motorcar.

  One day Eve was preparing to go out when Nati answered a knock on the door and said that Señor Quixote himself was asking to see her.

  Señor Quixote was obviously extremely pleased with himself. ‘Señorita Anders, there is an important emissary, Señor Hernandez, who is asking for you.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Señor Hernandez is an official of the General’s household in Madrid.’

  Eve guessed that emissaries didn’t come more important than that, so she asked that he be brought up. ‘Coffee, juice maybe, Señor Quixote? I leave it to you.’

  ‘Of course.’ He bowed out, obviously very impressed that Eve should have such a visitor.

  The visit was short and sweet and quite formal – no coffee or juice – just an invitation for Señorita Anders to view the restoration work of the gardens of the General’s Madrid home that was being carried out under the supervision of the General’s wife. Señorita Anders would probably wish to bring some cameras and film.