by Betty Burton
If Nati was a hotel informer, then Eve must be extremely careful that Nati was not working towards an exchange of confidences. After all, Eve’s position here was not invulnerable. It would not take too many telephone enquiries to demolish her cover. But the mere suggestion that Eve would try to help had put a bolt of fear through the woman. Nobody could fake that.
Eve didn’t show any further interest in Nati and Julio for the moment, but left it for a few days until a morning when Nati was massaging almond oil into Eve’s shoulders. ‘Nati, tell me about Julio. I too have had my heart broken because my man has gone.’
‘He is dead?’
‘No, but as good as to me. He has found someone else.’
‘He must be un imbécil.’
‘Thank you, Nati, I am glad you agree. Never mind, I’m much better off without him.’
‘You will find a better man.’
‘But there isn’t a better one for you than Julio.’
‘No. We have two children together.’
‘That must be a great comfort.’
‘Except that mi padre… my papa wants to take them from me.’
‘Why?’
‘Because of Julio. I fell in love with him. He fell in love with me. I was a student teacher in Barcelona. Julio is socialista, a lawyer – I think that is the right English name?’ Eve just murmured, not wanting to break the intimate spell. ‘Our home was in Barcelona, it was bad, but it was our home. I thought that if I stayed there with the children, we should not get lost from one another. You understand?’
‘I think so. Julio might not know where to find you?’
‘It was terrible chaos. How could I say where we were? I did not know where he was fighting. Everyone knew that the end of the Republic had come. One day Julio telephones me. “Nati,” he says, “the people are leaving. Go to Madrid. Your papa will protect you for the sake of the children.”’
The people are leaving.
Four words that for a moment plunged Eve back into that same city of Barcelona. The tension as the battle-front came to the very outskirts of Barcelona, then the depression of defeat and the end of Spain’s few years of democratic government. The people are leaving, and Eve had been one.
‘Didn’t Julio say anything about himself?’
‘Of course not, Señorita Anders. If I do not know what he is doing, I cannot tell. My husband was good lawyer; he would have enemies.’
‘So why are you not teaching? Why work as a maid?’
‘Believe me, señorita, it is only because my father has friends who have obligations that I work at all. My father believes that if Julio is against the General, then I shall be also. My father is CEDA – which is the Catholic confederatión. In my country everyone joins a party, even a religious one. This causes trouble, as with Julio and my papa.’
Eve could feel the harsh and the gentle emotions through Nad’s massaging fingers. At the mention of CEDA her fingers became rigid. Then, as she mentioned her children, she wiped the oil away gently. ‘Please turn to lay on your back.’
It was hard not to put arms around the worn-out woman. ‘Tell me about your children, Nati.’
‘My children are boys, two. My father will keep them with him to continue the Alcane name – not Julio’s name, but my father’s. And what can I say? I have nothing, I need to work. The confederatión cares for its own. I married a man who loved the Republic and would fight for it. My father? He wanted the old days to return. And so…’ she shrugged resignedly, ‘they have returned – and I can no longer be a teacher. My father gets me work as a personal maid. I am better off than many.’
‘You can do better as time goes on.’
‘True, I am a useful English interpreter, am I not? Which is why Señor Quixote let me work here. I also know German and some French. I think Spain will keep out of European war. If my country is neutral, it will be useful to all sides… as you can see now. The English king comes to Ritz and Germans entertain him to dinner at Royale. Maybe we shall prosper with the war all around us.’
Eve sat up, pulled the bath sheet around her, and perched on the edge of the bed, her ‘not fair’ attitude barely under control. Eve the socialite was a strait-jacket. She disputed with Eve the feminist, who disputed with Eve the undercover agent. The three Eves compromised with a mildly spoken question. ‘Is it all right for you to tell me about Julio? For goodness’ sake, sit down or I’ll rick my neck.’
Nati looked down at the knuckles of her hands, clasped in her lap. ‘Julio would approve, señorita. My father was proud Catalonian, always opposed to the Republic. My father has olive presses, is petit bourgeois. He cannot help what he is, he cannot change, he was Falange.’
‘What is that?’ Eve knew the Falange all right. They had been the fifth column – clandestine, sniping, picking off their neighbours whilst they waited for the old order to return.
‘Opposite way of thinking from Julio. When my husband was a student, he was against all that. You will not know of FUE – Federatión Universitaria de Estudiantes, but it was union of students to be against dictatorship.’
A silence fell between them.
‘Señorita Anders, I did say that I do not need help, but, truthfully, I must know about Julio. It is hell…’ Nati’s voice began to break, but she cleared her throat and continued. ‘It may not make sense to you, but if I know what happened to him, no matter what it is, I can think of the future for my children and for me too. Children need to know about their father.’
‘Yes… yes, I understand that.’
‘Do you, madame?’ Her tone was sceptical.
‘Yes, Nati, I do. My father… I really don’t see how I could… I mean, if Julio is in a prison camp, how can I…?’
‘Maybe you could ask a friend.’
‘I don’t have that kind of friend here.’
Nati drew breath, and said exhaling, ‘You do, madame. The señora wearing the big hat you sat with at the English tearoom, if she knows the woman with no tongue, perhaps she could—’ Eve’s stomach turned in fright. Nati thinks Alex could… She made herself calm down.
‘What do you mean, the woman with no tongue?’
‘Carla. She is the one. Her tongue is gone.’
‘The woman who runs the tearoom?’
‘You did not know that? I thought that you must know.’ She paled and covered her mouth with her hand.
‘Nati, this is hard enough as it is. What in hell’s name are you talking about?’
Nati hesitated, then plunged in. ‘Carla! You went to Carla’s and you met the other lady, the English one. I could see that she knows Carla very well. I too know Carla.’ Nati indicated with a fingernail zipped down the centre of her own tongue. ‘Her man, he split Carla’s tongue as she had split the Party and she could no more make speeches.’
Eve looked stunned.
‘I see that you did not know this?’
No, Eve did not know this.
She was now confronted with a dilemma. If Nati suspected that she had gone to the English tearoom intending to meet Alex, and Alex knew Carla, then she, Eve, was not who she appeared to be. Cover blown.
She had to think quickly if she was to divert Nati from the truth of what she had seen. ‘No, Nati, all that I know about the woman you say is Carla, is that the other woman, who I did know from when I was a girl, said I should say hello to the woman who made the cakes. How should I know about what was done to her? I just assumed she was being polite. I just thought… Oh hell, Nati! I thought she didn’t speak because she couldn’t understand what I was saying, or was being polite or something.’
The telephone rang and Nati jumped to answer it. ‘There is a gentleman who asks to see you, señorita. He does not give his name.’
‘Ask Reception to say that I am not available, but will be in thirty minutes, though I don’t see why I should be if he won’t give his name. Go down and ask if he would care to wait, and what he wants.’
When Nati returned she said that the man would wai
t in the writing room.
‘What do you make of him, Nati?’
‘Only that he has very good looks. Dark. Maybe he is from across there – Cairo, North Africa… His accent is bad. He is very correct and polite – but not stiff like the baron.’
‘Wipe off the oil and help me get dressed. I’ll have a think about what you’ve said, but honestly, Nati, I don’t see what I can do.’
Nati looked very nervous and anxious.
‘It’s all right, Nati, don’t get yourself in such a stew. You don’t have to be afraid. But what is all this about at the English tearoom.’
‘Señorita, forgive me, I have made a mistake. It seemed so clear that if your friend knows Carla so well, then maybe there is a way to discover about Julio – because of the connection, you see?’
‘Not really, Nati.’
‘What is the English phrase – “holding on to straw”? I think that is what I am doing. I am forever thinking up devious ways of getting information. My father is once important in political affairs, but he would not move an ant to find Julio. He has Julio’s sons – he does not want Julio.’
Eve was full of compassion for Nati, but as Señorita Anders she was supposed to be a stranger here.
‘Nati, I wish that I could help you. I have to see who this man is who doesn’t mind waiting. We can talk about this another time.’ She took some notes from her purse. ‘It is so sad for you, Nati. Will you buy your little boys something with this? Or will you have to explain to your father?’
‘No, madame, he will be pleased that I am well thought of.’
‘Good. You may go now. Take the rest of the day off – I will fix it with Señor Quixote. I’ll get straight and go down to see who this mysterious man is.’
As soon as Nati had gone, Eve dressed, poured herself a large gin and tossed it off quite quickly, enjoying the woosh of the alcohol through her bloodstream, washing away the stress of the last half-hour. Then, picking up her pochette and camera, she went out to see who was calling.
10
Bazil Faludi, David Hatton and Dimitri Vladim were in Scotland, at the secret code and cipher department where Dimitri had a small section of his own, known as the Polish Sector.
‘I have just heard from the PPS,’ Faludi said. ‘His Minister is very concerned. He’s saying this is not something his Minister could possibly countenance; he means: “Fuck the Russians. They can’t have their soldier back.”’
Neither David nor Dimitri liked the joke – David because of the dozen possible repercussions, and Dimitri because he knew that, if he had really been discovered to be in Britain, the Russians would go to any lengths to make him return, whereupon he would be shot as a traitor or, if he was lucky, sent off to the Urals to dig for whatever dangerous mineral needed to be extracted.
Faludi said, ‘I told the PPS that whatever the Minister says, I say, for the record, and with respect, that I don’t care that we haven’t got a leg to stand on.’
David didn’t actually know whether Faludi was capable of being so forceful to a Minister’s representative, but the matter was serious.
‘There is no way that the bloody Russians are going to get their hands on a code-breaker as valuable as Major Vladim. He is the Polish Sector. Possession being nine-tenths of the law, he’s ours. He’s pumped full of information about The Bureau, he’s loaded with our techniques and secrets and he has developed his own system… and in any case they have no real evidence that he ever came here. Last heard of, he was crossing the Spanish / French border, only to be lost in the fog of bureaucracy. They’re fishing, Hatton; trying it on to see if we bite. He’s not here, never was. Our answer is, “Never heard of him.”’
‘What concerns me, sir,’ said David, ‘is what if the Russians were to become our allies? An incident like this might blow up in our faces… not ours but in the FO’s faces.’
‘Is there anyone at the Foreign Office who expects them to come into the war on our side? Be sensible, Hatton. Germany and Russia are already winking at one another. Next thing you know, they’ll be in bed together.’
David was becoming angry. Faludi had ordered him to come up to Scotland, not a clue what it was about, only to find Vladim already in the ante-room waiting, as ignorant of what was going on as himself.
Dimitri had sat through all this as though he wasn’t one of ‘the bloody Russians’; but now his heavy voice intruded. ‘You gentlemen are… arse’oles, I think is the word. What do you think is on this chair, something you brought into the room on your shoe? Something you are ignoring? Do I smell? Am I an embarrassment to you? This pat-ball you are playing is with me. All that you have said is “Good morning”. Lieutenant Hatton asked me why I was here. I have said that I did not know, and that is all we have said.’
Faludi looked disconcerted. ‘I say, Major, no offence intended. It’s just our way of getting down to things.’
‘Is it so? Is not my way; I am courteous.’
‘It is simply that speed is of the essence here.’
‘Can you not be quick and courteous? I can be.’
‘We are concerned for you, for your safety and welfare.’
‘You are concerned for The Bureau, and not so much for this man here. I am valuable to you. I hold information you cannot get anywhere. In few months I have set up the Polish encoding and decoding section, now I work with others on encryption. I am not “bloody Russian”. I have been senior officer in army, I was two years trained by GPU. In your country you have nothing like GPU. You are amateurs. Not worth the name secret agent, special agent, undercover operator.’
‘You’re right, Vladim, damn bad manners. It is because we do value you that we are pulling out all the stops to see that you cannot be used to bargain with. Now, I apologise. Let’s start again. You have the gist of it from what has been said.’
‘Gist of it? Why do you think I want a gist? I want entire information. How did this happen? Who has been loose with information? Only few people know who is Major Vladim. To all others, I am Lec Podsadowski, Polish refugee.’
David Hatton said, ‘Look, Dimitri, I think the boss is right. Your people are just fishing. They will know by now that you went to Australia – we found you fairly easily – and I suspect that they’ve been fishing there too. They’ve nothing to lose by saying that they know where you are. I suspect that they don’t.’
‘Because I will not go back there does not mean that you people have hold on me. I am man who makes his own mind. I did not have to leave Spain as refugee, I made up my own mind. I know that when Lieutenant Hatton asks Eve to return, it is not so much her that you come fishing for, it is ex-GPU officer. A major in the Red Army with secret service training is a big fish for British. I know how it works, you see. It is what I would do myself. Shall I tell you?’
‘Please do, Major,’ Faludi answered.
‘You know that the English woman and the Russian have close relationship. And you, Lieutenant, know her nature; you know she is idealistic woman; she has rules for herself which she cannot break. She would not leave those children to their fate – she could not. It is not in her nature to do so. Do you know what she had with her when she left Barcelona with the children? Some bread and a piece of fat meat – and she had a long kitchen knife that she had sharpened like a razor.’
Faludi and David let cigarette smoke drift through their fingers unnoticed as they pictured this young woman trying to escape from the awful dregs of the lost war, taking with her a disturbed girl and carrying a sick baby. What would she have done with that knife?
‘One of the rules which she cannot break is that she must be loyal to her own people – I mean people with same beginnings as herself. She understands that my family in Ukraine is of high social standing – intellectuals… and accepts this has made me what I am now.
‘My family always argue philosphy; I join army with ideals – Communist ideals. A political commissar – as you know – is what I was in Spain, sees everything, knows everything. On the fasc
ist side, the Luftwaffe was practising blitzkrieg. On the side of Republic, my country was providing arms and some men, but we were stealing away raw materials. Spain needed those materials… May I have cigarette, please?’
The others hastily offered packets and lighters. Although there were files on the Russian, information was bald and speculative. But this narrative was like a newsreel; no, more than that, it was a reliving.
Faludi listened as the Russian continued, and for the first time saw how important to them all this man was. Red Army, GPU-trained, multilinguist, and disillusioned with the Stalinist brand of socialism – Vladim must be kept out of Russian hands at all costs.
11
‘Señorita Anders, your visitor has moved to the small sitting room, which is now cool and unoccupied. The afternoon waiter will take an order.’
Entering the room, she shivered, stopped in her tracks.
Duke Barney!
So different from the man of her dreams and day-dreams and memory. This Duke stopped her heart as much as he had when she saw him for the first time.
Adrenalin surged through her body, but she went gracefully towards him – dry-mouthed, pale, but steady on her high heels.
He stood as she approached. Well, he had learned some decent manners at last.
He took her hand. Then, cupping her face, he kissed her on both cheeks. ‘Hello, Lu,’ he said quietly, close to her ear.
Brief, formal kisses, his lips only just brushed her skin, yet all sensible thought and action was knocked out of her, as it had been that November night when she’d had her first experience of sex – passionate, lustful, greedy – better than anything she had known since.
Just as quietly she answered, ‘Hello, Señor Fuentes.’
A boy waiter hovered.
Duke asked her, ‘D’you want something to drink? Some juice or something?’
A deep breath. ‘I’d like some orange juice, in a tall glass, with ice and vodka.’
‘Bit early in the day, isn’t it?’
