Tapestry of Fear

by Margaret Pemberton

  “But if they’ve been shot they won’t be fit to travel.”

  “They will have to be,” the little priest’s voice was firm.

  “But the coastguard?”

  “The launch is crewed by Germans. If they are stopped they are tourists, their passports are in order. Jose and Luis will be hidden. It is a risk but it is one that has to be taken. If they are found …” he shrugged.

  “And is this the best you can come up with?” Miss Daventry asked.

  “A lot of money has been spent securing the use of the boat and the men. The plan is as good as any other.”

  There was a general feeling of unease. The priest locked his fingers together. “It is the only way. It must be tried.”

  Miss Daventry frowned. “We will do our best then. But from what Carmen says the journey could be the death of them.”

  “If they stay,” Father Calzada said quietly. “It will be the death of them.”

  The cottage sheltered in splendid isolation beneath the bare and shining peaks of the mountains. Miss Daventry rapped on the door and two chaffinches flew off with a flutter of wings and a trill of reproach. Nothing happened. There was no sound of movement.

  “It’s obvious they won’t answer unless they know who is knocking,” I said at last. I put my mouth as near the door as possible.

  “We are friends. Carmen and Pedro have sent us with food and medical supplies.”

  Still there was no response. I tried again: “We are English, but we want to help you. We have come for Luis and Jose Villada.”

  As my words died away I could hear a slight movement from inside. Miss Daventry smiled with satisfaction. We waited expectantly. Heavy bolts at top and bottom slid back and then the door swung slowly inwards.

  “What do you want?”

  He was about nineteen with dark curly hair and a sullen expression on his face which did nothing to detract from his fierce good looks.

  “We are friends of Carmen’s. We have food and bandages.”

  He opened the door wider, calling over his shoulder: “ Do you hear that, Jose?”

  From the dark interior came a low reply and then he was ushering us into the cottage. Miss Daventry smiled triumphantly.

  I was just about to speak to her when my arms were wrenched behind my back and someone unseen pulled me tightly against them. I cried out, and as I did so his hand covered my mouth. Unbelievingly I struggled, kicking with all my might, twisting to free myself from his grasp. I have a vague recollection of the look of stunned amazement on Miss Daventry’s face, and then the boy who had opened the door to us, had his hand tightly over her mouth, pinioning her arms, dragging her out of the room.

  From his gasps and curses it was obvious that Miss Daventry was not going easily and neither for that matter, was I. In a blind sea of rage I wrenched myself round, trying to unbalance him, anything, anything at all.… He swore viciously and then his hand let go of my mouth as my efforts to bite him succeeded. For one brief second I screamed and then his hand came down hard on the side of my head, sending me spinning across the stone flagged floor and smashing into the wall. My head split with pain and as I fell dizzily to the floor I saw, with distorted vision, my attacker slump down lifelessly opposite me.

  Chapter Three

  My head swam and the next few moments were a blur of pain and shock. I was dimly aware that there were only the two of us in the room, and that my attacker was lying unconscious and helpless. I pressed my hands against the floor, willing myself to stand, to move.…

  The inner door swung open, and the young man, minus Miss Daventry, staggered, limping, over to the apparently lifeless body. Dazedly I watched him, trying to gather my wits and my strength. I raised myself gingerly to a sitting position and he spun round.

  “You stay there, understand? If you do not move you will not be hurt.”

  “What have you done with my friend? Is she hurt, is.…”

  The boy said sourly. “She is not hurt. Not yet.”

  “You are being very silly,” I said, as the blinding pain in my head eased a little. “ If you will just listen to me a minute.…”

  “Be quiet!” he hissed, propping his brother against the wall, steadying him as his eyes slowly opened. Hazily they focused on me and he tried to move.

  “My friend is very old. What have you done with her?”

  He touched his face fleetingly and I could see deep scratches gouged the length of his cheek. Miss Daventry had certainly put up a fight, but there was no sound from her now, and a new, dreadful fear engulfed me. I called out loudly: “Miss Daventry, are you all right? Can you hear me? Miss Daventry.…”

  The boy limped angrily across the room towards me, his face white with pain. “Silence! Not another word.…”

  “Miss Daven.…”

  He seized my arm viciously and I was too dazed to wriggle free.

  “If you promise to be quiet I will show you your friend is unharmed, right?”

  I nodded, and he allowed me to rise shakily to my feet, then, still held in his grip, he propelled me towards the inner door. With my heart in my mouth I stared into the dimness beyond.

  Across a rough stone floor stood an iron bed, and dumped down upon it, straw hat askew, hands and feet tied with sheeting, and firmly gagged, sat the glowering figure of Miss Daventry. Heedless of the boy’s protests I ran across to the bed, pulling at the hastily tied knots of the gag, saying: “Don’t scream, it’s going to be all right.…”

  “Just what, my dear Alison,” she said as the rag fell from her mouth, “is happening?”

  “They are not as joyful to see us as you anticipated.”

  “Haven’t you explained?” she asked as the boy eyed us warily.

  “I haven’t had a chance.… I’ve just had my head smashed against a wall.”

  “I am sure he did not mean it,” Miss Daventry said optimistically. “We probably hurt them more than they hurt us.”

  “They were supposed to be helpless and at death’s door.” I said, feeling the back of my head.

  “Carmen’s exaggeration. I am sure he will apologise. They must have had a dreadful night. The swim ashore would have been bad enough and then the journey here … and both of them injured …”

  I tried to feel suitably sympathetic and failed.

  “And now young man,” Miss Daventry said, turning to the boy who had been listening to us in growing bewilderment. “Please undo these knots. I cannot do anything for your leg trussed up like a Christmas turkey.”

  Mesmerised, he took out a knife from his belt and did as he was told. Miss Daventry smiled with gratification, then she nimbly swung her legs off the bed and rubbed her wrists.

  “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Miss Daventry, my friend here is Alison Russell, we are staying at the inn owned by Pedro Triana in Miguelou.” He backed away nervously. Miss Daventry continued undeterred. “Carmen told us of your predicament. She could not come back herself as the police have taken over the village and she was frightened she would be followed. Apparently one of your half drowned friends gave your names when arrested, and as your bodies have not as yet floated ashore they would like to meet you.” She rammed her hatpin firmly through the back of her boater. “ You must be Luis, the sooner you introduce me to your brother and we get to work on that wound, the better. It is festering already.”

  Her violent attacker had metamorphosied into a round-eyed boy, he backed away into the shadows of the other room. Miss Daventry tutted impatiently and followed. Feeling as if I were in the middle of particularly bad and bizarre dream, I moved after them. His brother, fully conscious though breathing with difficulty, said weakly: “What, in God’s name, is happening?”

  It was, I thought, a sensible enough remark.

  “This old …” began the boy, but Miss Daventry interrupted him and introduced us both afresh. While she was talking she had taken off her hat and put it, together with her camera and binoculars, on the floor, and was now rolling the sleeves of h
er blouse up.

  “Luis,” Jose said. “Boil some water.”

  “Mother Mary,” Luis said devoutly. “ You are not going to take any notice of her, are you? The woman is a maniac, and a foreign maniac at that, she.…”

  “Do as I say,” his voice was rasping. Briefly Luis hesitated, then, full of misgivings he picked up a large metal pan and limped away with it. Jose leant back, exhausted, against the white-washed wall.

  His black hair curled thickly over his head, and under straight brows were fine eyes, golden-brown, that despite his weariness were still bright and keen, vivid under the black lashes. I could understand Carmen’s anxiety for him.

  Miss Daventry began to remove the blood stained bandage from his shoulder. “All the medical things are wrapped in a towel on top of the basket, could you be getting them ready for me, Alison? The sooner we see to these bullet wounds the better.”

  I did as she asked, and then dropped down onto my knees beside her. She had removed the make-shift bandage and the wound lay ugly and exposed. I tightened my stomach muscles as she scrubbed her hands vigorously, then, her sleeves rolled up, she turned towards Jose. I averted my head, staring out through the window, unshuttered now to give her as much light as possible. Bees hummed, darting in and out of the shade and I stared with undue concentration on scarlet begonias that massed the window bottom. There was a quick intake of breath and Miss Daventry said reassuringly: “There, that’s done. You have been lucky. The bullet simply ploughed through the flesh, another inch to the right and it would have shattered the bone.”

  Silently I passed improvised swabs across to her as she cleaned the gaping wound and then bound it with bandage. No-one spoke. Luis watched every movement of Miss Daventry’s deft fingers, and said, subdued: “Thank you … we are … I am sorry. You will accept my apologies?”

  “On one condition,” Miss Daventry said briskly, turning towards him. “And that is that you behave yourself while I see to you.”

  He nodded, paling visibly as she began to tear the trouser away from his leg and I saw that what I had thought was rust was congealed blood. A faint tinge heightened his cheeks and he clenched his hands into fists as Miss Daventry probed for the embedded bullet. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead and then he gave a gasp as Miss Daventry triumphantly withdrew the bullet. He closed his eyes as she finished cleaning the ripped flesh, bandaging it firmly. Miss Daventry leant back on her heels, saying briskly: “Now all you need is some food, and we have plenty of that.”

  I began to unpack a large loaf of bread and thick wedges of cheese and one of Maria’s tarts.

  “When do we leave?” Jose asked as Miss Daventry passed him a bottle of wine.

  My heart sank. It was a question I had been dreading. It seemed impossible that either of them would be able to keep the rendezvous with the boat.

  “A boat!” Jose rasped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Are they all fools? After last night a boat will stand no chance!”

  “It belongs to a German tourist and is crewed by Germans.” I said, sounding more hopeful than I felt. “ You and Luis will be hidden in case of a search.…”

  “In case of a search,” he stared at me as if I were mad. “There is no doubt of a search … and do you know how much room there is to hide on a small boat? None. None at all. The whole thing is suicide!”

  “Father Calzada says it is suicide to remain here.”

  He swore angrily. Even Miss Daventry seemed deflated. I wondered wryly what the prison sentence was for helping Basque terrorists … and how on earth I had got myself into such a mess.

  Chapter Four

  As dusk fell we helped Luis out to the car. Jose seemed much fitter, his shoulder not giving him any trouble, but there was a dark sticky patch beginning to ooze through Luis’s trouser leg and his face was pale.

  The road curved down the mountainside and through a scattering of villages to the coast. All that could be seen in the darkness was the white flecked foam of the sea pounding against the cliffs. We rounded a corner and looked down upon the bay, sheltered between a sharp headland on the west and a ridge of cliff to the east, the wide sweep of sand, golden and inviting by day, was now nothing but a black, blank void. The wind was coming in flying gusts, whipping the Atlantic into white horses that plunged and reared up the distant shingle.

  “Take the car as near the sea as possible,” Jose said.

  I could hear Luis’s sharp intake of breath as I swung the car off the road and onto the rough turf, jolting inch by inch closer and closer to the luminous line of pale foam that showed where the sea ended and the sand began. The wheels began to sink and clog and I stopped.

  “It’s no use. If I go any further out I’ll never get the car back.”

  “Come on,” Jose said to me brusquely. “ Let’s walk down to the tide line and see if we can see anything from there.”

  Jose was breathing heavily and I wondered if his shoulder was giving much pain, and how he would manage to swim out to the boat with the sea running so high. We felt our way along the shingle traversing the full curve of the bay till we reached the barrier of the headland. Here the sea beat noisily, creaming against the smoothness of the rocks, deep and inhospitable. He drew me to a halt. “Can you hear anything?”

  I shook my head. Gripping my arm once more he set off back, this time towards the eastern arm of the bay. For a few brief minutes the moon sailed from behind the banks of cloud and we could see the sand, firm and pale. This time we walked faster, and in ten minutes had reached the ridge of cliff that jutted out starkly into the ocean. The breeze was growing stronger and there was the spit of rain in the air. Nervously I waited as he stood, straining his senses for any sound or sight of the promised boat.

  The sea drummed and surged, filling up the dark air around us, the white horses growing higher and wilder.

  “If the boat does come,” I whispered. “You won’t be able to swim out in this.”

  “Ssssh,” he said angrily. “ Listen!”

  Faintly I heard another noise. A humming and then, suddenly, I saw a pinprick of light flash on and then off.

  “There!” he said sharply. “That’s it.”

  Tugging me behind him he began to run across the sand, towards the black shape of the car. Luis was already struggling to stand, leaning heavily against the bonnet. Then we saw it, shrouded in deep darkness, laying low in the water, rocking and plunging just inside the arms of the bay.

  “That’s it!” Luis’s voice was exultant. “They’ve come!”

  “But they are not coming any nearer.” Jose said grimly.

  I felt my throat tighten as he dropped his jacket to the ground and kicked off his shoes.

  “My dear boy!” Miss Daventry said, the wind tugging at her straw hat, blowing wisps of hair across her face. “ Surely you can’t swim so far out in a sea like this? Not with an injured shoulder!”

  “There is no choice. The boat is waiting for us and it is not coming any nearer to the shore. If anything should happen before I get back, do not wait for me, take Luis immediately back to the cottage, understand?”

  “Yes, but …” she broke off in alarm. “Alison! What on earth are you doing?”

  “I’m going with Jose. As you said, he can’t swim out alone in a sea like this.”

  Jose did not hear me, he was already sprinting down to the sea. Heedless of Miss Daventry’s protests I raced after him, my dress and sandals lying scattered at her feet. He was already waist deep, and then, as the icy cold of the water numbed my feet and legs, he disappeared amongst the waves, his arm rising ghostlike in the darkness as he struck out towards the boat. The silky water submerged me and then I was swimming steadily after him, shaking my hair out of my eyes as I tried to keep him in sight. The wind was blowing in strong gusts now and the waves grew higher, a holacaust of tumbling water, the foam crashing over my head drowning me for whole seconds at a time. Jose’s voice sounded thinly over the roar of the sea.

  “What t
he hell.…”

  I swam up to him. “I’m all right.” I yelled. “ Keep going!”

  He blasphemed viciously and then turned, heading once more straight out to sea. Another five minutes and I was beginning to wonder if my rash impulse had been justified. If Jose were in difficulty I had no strength left to do anything about it. He was treading water now, staring into the night.

  “Where the devil has it gone to?” he gasped.

  Breathlessly I swam beside him, all around us the sea swelled and heaved and far back in the distance I could see the faint silver line where the waves were crashing on the shore. It looked far, far away.…

  We were too low in the water to see clearly. If they would only flash their lights again, anything to give us an indication of which way we should go … but the inky blackness that enveloped us remained impenetrable.

  The solid mass of the rock stacks showed where the curve of the bay ended and the open ocean began. We were now parallel with them and the roar of the sea filled the night air, loud in my ears, drowning all other sounds.…

  Jose shouted. “The boat was inside the arms of the bay. We must have passed it.”

  I blinked the foam from my eyes, nodding in agreement, deeply thankful that he had no intention of swimming any further out into the vastness of the indifferent sea. Hanging there in the black water I was experiencing fear, real fear, for the first time. I wondered which way the currents were running, if they would be against us as we swam back.… I pushed the thought away from me, struggling to remain calm.…

  Jose took a deep breath and plunged away to the east. I swam after him, wondering if he had seen the boat, if it was near.

  Suddenly there came a new sound, the distant throb of an engine. Jose was treading water now, gasping for breath. As I joined him I could see the black shadow of the boat low in the water, bobbing silently at anchor not twenty yards away from us, and I could hear the engines coming nearer.