Winter in Madrid

‘We were lucky,’ Sofia said. ‘Some priests would have insisted on walking us back to the convent.’

‘If he’s going back there, he’ll find they’ve never heard of us.’

Sofia shrugged. ‘We will be gone by di

‘He seemed sad. Most priests look stern to me, but he looked sad.’

‘The whole of Spain is sad,’ Sofia said. ‘Come on.’

As they walked up to the bridge Barbara’s heart began pounding. Her mouth was dry. Images of Bernie filled her mind, Bernie as he had been. What would he be like now? She took hold of the metal strut at the end of the bridge and looked down at the walkway; wooden boards laid across iron meshwork. The far end of the bridge was a vague outline in the darkness.

‘You get back to Harry,’ she said to Sofia. ‘I’ll be back inside an hour, I hope.’

‘All right.’ Sofia hugged her quickly. ‘It will go well, you’ll see. Tell the brigadista a friendly Spaniard is waiting to meet him.’

‘I will.’

Sofia kissed her quickly on the cheek, then turned and walked back along the path. She glanced back once, then disappeared down the alleyway the priest had taken.

Barbara stood alone in the silent empty street. A pulse of excitement juddered at her throat. She stepped forward and took the handrail. The metal was cold. With her other hand she gripped the gun in her pocket. Be careful, she told herself. Don’t press the bloody trigger and shoot yourself in the leg. Not now. She stepped on to the bridge, moving slowly in case there was ice on the planks. Still she could not see the other side, only the bulk of the hill, a shade darker than the sky. She started walking. A light breeze, bitterly cold, ran down the river valley. Everything was silent, there was no sound from the river far below; looking down she could see only blackness, blackness underneath and all around the narrow iron bridge. For a moment her head spun with vertigo.

Pull yourself together! She took a couple of deep breaths and pressed on. She felt something cold on her cheek and realized it had started to snow lightly.

Then she heard footsteps, crossing the bridge from the other direction. She caught her breath. Could it be Bernie? Could he have seen her and Sofia from the other side and decided to cross and meet her? No, surely he would stay hidden till he could get rid of his prison clothes; it must be someone from the town.

The footsteps came closer; she could feel little reverberations through the wooden planks now. She walked on, gripping the rail hard, trying to force her face into a relaxed expression.

A tall male figure appeared, dressed in a heavy coat. He was walking down the centre of the bridge, not touching the handrail. Gradually she made out his face, saw the eyes staring fixedly at her. Her heart stopped for a second before thumping back into life.

Sandy stopped ten feet from her, in the middle of the walkway, one hand in his coat pocket and the other clenched in a fist at his side. He had shaved off his moustache and his face looked different, puffy and yellowish. He smiled, his old broad smile.

‘Hello, lovey,’ he said. ‘Surprised to see me? Expecting someone else?’

INSIDE THE CATHEDRAL the old man stood up and shuffled over to a switch on the wall. A loud click made Harry jump as an electric light came on above the altar, the white sodium glow bleaching the screen of its gold colour. He watched the old man trail back to his seat. He wished he had the gun, he had got used to its comforting feel. Like in the war. A picture of the beach at Dunkirk appeared in his mind, a vivid flash.

He stood and paced up and down to warm himself a little. If only Sofia would hurry, surely she should be back by now. It had been hard for her, finding her uncle’s name on the memorial.

He spun round at a creak from the door. It wasn’t Sofia, it was a tall red-haired priest who stood there. Harry dropped to the nearest bench, clasping his hands together and lowering his head as though praying. Between his fingers he watched as the priest walked over to the altar and knelt before it. He crossed himself then walked over to Francisco. The old man rose from his bench, looking flustered. Harry clenched his hands together. What if the old man panicked, betrayed them?

‘Buenas tardes, señor,’ the priest said quietly. ‘I am visiting the town, staying at the convent for two nights. I would like to pray here for a little while.’

‘Of course, señor.’

‘It is quiet tonight.’

‘There are few visitors in this weather.’

‘Ay, it is cold. But not too cold to pray.’

The priest walked over to the seats and took one a few rows ahead of Harry. He seemed preoccupied and appeared not to have noticed the other penitent in the gloom. Francisco sat down again.

His eyes darted between Harry and the priest, who had got down on his knees, burying his face in his hands.

The door opened again. Harry shot a glance at the priest but he went on praying as Sofia came in. Harry leaned round and pointed at the priest. To his surprise Sofia slipped quickly over to the ugly confessional box under the window and flattened herself against its side, concealing herself. Harry stood up, puzzled. His knee banged against the bench and he set his teeth at the noise and the sharp pain. He crossed to the confessional, trying to keep his echoing footsteps to a slow measured pace: the priest would surely look up if he heard anyone ru

‘What is it?’ he whispered anxiously. ‘Is Barbara safe?’

‘Yes. I left her at the bridge. But that red-haired priest, we met him. I told him we were staying at the convent, going straight back there. He mustn’t see me here with you. And when Barbara comes with Bernie—’

‘I’ll have to get the old man to get rid of him.’

Sofia shook her head rapidly, a frightened gesture. ‘He won’t tell a priest to leave the cathedral.’

‘He must.’ Harry squeezed her arm and walked steadily down the nave to where Francisco stood.

BARBARA STOOD stock still, clutching the cold rail.

‘Cat got your tongue?’ Sandy jeered. He smiled again, enjoying her astonishment. ‘Remember that call you had from the prison guard? I was listening in; I picked up the phone at the same time.’ His tone was mild, conversational. ‘Afterwards I opened that bureau of yours, saw all the details you had in there. The map with the bushes by the bridge marked.’

‘But how did you open it?’

‘I kept a key to the bureau when I bought it.’ He smiled. ‘I always keep a duplicate key for everything I buy with a lock. Especially if it’s for someone else. Old habit.’

Barbara said nothing, just stood looking at him, her breath coming in sharp stabs.

‘How long have you known Piper was alive?’ he asked. ‘How long have you been pla

‘A couple of months,’ she replied quietly. She studied his face. What was he going to do? His eyes were furious. Despite the cold there was sweat on his brow.

A muscle twitched in his cheek. ‘Was Brett in this too?’

‘No.’ Bernie didn’t know Harry was here. She looked at the hand Sandy kept in his pocket. There was a bulge there. Did he have a gun too?

‘They’ve been to the house for you,’ she said. Her heart was pounding; it was hard to keep her voice steady, but she must. ‘The police. They took everything from your office.’

‘Yes, I thought they would have by now. I’ve got a passport that’ll see me onto a ship at Valencia. Belonged to one of the French Jews but it’s got my face on it now. I thought I’d just stop off here on the way.’

She gripped the gun, working her fingers so they held the trigger. ‘Where’s Pilar?’ she asked. Her voice was steadier now.

‘Gone. I paid her off. She was just a little diversion. Nothing important, like the way you betrayed me.’ He hissed the word with sudden fury, then took a deep breath and continued in his bantering tone. ‘Well, the worm turned into a dragon all right. And to think I made you. I should have left you to rot in Burgos.’