Winter in Madrid

She didn’t reply, just stood looking at him. He glanced back along the bridge.

‘He’s over there,’ he said, ‘waiting in some trees up the road. I saw him. I’ve been behind a tree up there, waiting. I was going to kill him. I wanted you to find him dead. But he heard me lighting a ciggy behind a tree and that put him on the alert, so I came here instead. After all, nothing’s more dangerous than a cornered man. I shouldn’t think he can see us at this end of the bridge.’ Sandy inclined his head towards his pocket. ‘I’ve got a gun, by the way.’

Barbara could just make out the clump of trees a few hundred yards up the road. Was Bernie really there? ‘Why, Sandy?’ she asked. ‘I mean, what’s – what’s the point now? It’s all over.’

Sandy’s voice was still low but it had turned cold. ‘He used to treat me like a piece of dirt at school, like my bloody father. He tried to keep Harry from me. And now he’s got you to betray me and get him out of prison. Well, I’ll have my revenge.’ He smiled again; a strange smile, almost childish. ‘I like revenge; it’s real.’

She stepped back involuntarily. There was something wild now, deranged, in his voice.

‘Don’t bloody look like that,’ he said. ‘Have I done anything worse than what Piper and all the other ideologues did to Spain? Eh? Have I?’

‘Bernie didn’t get me to do this, Sandy, it was my idea. He didn’t even know until a little while ago.’

‘I’ve still been betrayed,’ he said. ‘But I won’t let it happen again. I won’t be just cast out, discarded. If that’s my fate, I’ll fight it to the end. I will.’ His dark eyes were wild, bulging. She didn’t reply. They stood facing each other for a moment, the occasional snowflake drifting down. Sandy took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a second, and when he spoke his tone was conversational again.

‘How did you get here? Train?’

‘Yes.’ He didn’t know Harry and Sofia were here, he thought she was alone. But they couldn’t help her in the cathedral.

‘I suppose you’ve got a change of clothes for him in that rucksack.’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, I’ll tell you what you can do. You can turn round and go back the way you came. Go back to England. Then I’ll deal with him.’ He nodded at his pocket. ‘I’d like to kill you too but a shot from here might be heard.’ He leaned forward then, his face working. ‘Just don’t ever forget, for the rest of the life I’m letting you have, don’t forget I won.’ He almost hissed the words; he sounded silly, like a child. He gestured with the thing in his pocket. ‘Now, turn round and start walking.’

She released her hold on the rail, took a deep breath.

‘Go on.’ His voice rose. ‘Now. Or I will shoot you, damn it. Three years I spent building you up from nothing so you could betray me. Bitch. Turn round, start walking.’

Barbara put her hand in her pocket and drew out the Mauser. She took it in both hands and thrust out her arms, slipping the safety catch as she levelled it at his chest.

‘Throw your gun over the bridge, Sandy.’ She was surprised how clear her voice was. She spread her legs, concentrating on her balance. ‘Do it. Do it now or I’ll kill you.’ As she spoke she knew she could if she had to.

Sandy stepped back a pace. He looked astonished. ‘You – you’ve a gun?’

‘Take yours out of your pocket, Sandy. Slowly.’

He clenched his fists. ‘Bitch.’

‘Throw your gun off the bridge!’

Sandy looked into her eyes, then pulled his hand slowly from his pocket. She thought, what if he whips it out and shoots me. But she would get her shot in first. He wouldn’t get Bernie, he wouldn’t.

Sandy pulled out a large stone. He looked at it, then smiled at her and shrugged. ‘There wasn’t time to get a gun. I was going to brain Piper with this.’ He dropped the stone on to the bridge. It bounced and went over the side, disappearing into the void. There was no sound of it hitting the water, it was too far.

Barbara ran her eyes quickly over his other pockets. ‘Put your hands on your head,’ she said.

Sandy’s face darkened again, but he did as she ordered. ‘What are you going to do?’ he asked. There was fear in his voice now, something she had never heard before. She was glad; he realized she meant it. She thought quickly.

‘We’re going back across the bridge. To Bernie.’

‘No.’ His face seemed to crumple. ‘Not like this.’

She jerked the gun up, towards his face. ‘Turn round.’

He flinched. ‘All right.’ He turned and began slowly walking back the way he had come. Barbara followed, an arm’s length away in case he made a sudden grab for her. They walked to the end of the bridge and stepped on to the grass verge by the road. The snow had stopped and the moon appeared from behind the clouds.

‘Stop,’ she said. Sandy halted. He looked ridiculous standing there with his hands on his head. She had to think what to do now. She turned to stare at the clump of trees. Can Bernie see us? she thought. What are we going to do with Sandy? She knew she couldn’t shoot him in cold blood, but Bernie might.

Then she heard a patter of feet. She turned and saw Sandy ru

‘Stop!’

He began zigzagging from side to side. She tried to aim but it was impossible. She remembered what he had said earlier, a shot would echo all over the place. She lowered the gun as Sandy reached the other side of the road and began ru

She lowered the gun. Let him go, she thought, don’t risk a shot. He hadn’t a weapon and he wasn’t in a position to go into town and tell the authorities about her – they were looking for him too.

She walked quickly up the road, glancing continually up at the hillside, feeling alone and exposed. She looked across the gorge at the lights of the town, making out the dark bulk of the cathedral where Harry and Sofia would be waiting.

She found the clump of trees. It was dark and silent. Had Sandy been lying, was Bernie really there? She stood looking up at the bank for a moment, then began to climb. She realized she was still carrying the gun and slipped it into her pocket. Her feet slipped on the frosty grass. She looked back at the road and the bridge, both still deserted. She wondered how she had known to say those things, hands up and hands on your head? A decade of talkies, she supposed, everybody knew such things now.

‘Bernie,’ she called into the trees in a loud whisper. There was no reply.

‘Bernie,’ she called again, louder.

There was a sound of branches moving from inside the copse. She tensed and took hold of the gun again as a man appeared. Barbara saw a gaunt shape in a ragged old coat, a beard and an old man’s limp. She thought it was some tramp and reached for the gun again.

‘Barbara.’ She heard him cry out, heard his voice for the first time in more than three years. He stepped forward. She opened her arms and he fell into them.

THE OLD MAN Francisco had taken out a rosary and was turning it over and over in fretful hands. Harry bent over him, putting his lips to the old man’s hairy ear.

‘You must get the priest to leave. He saw my friends outside. They said they were going to the convent. If they come back and he sees them, there will be questions.’

‘I ca

‘You must.’ Harry stared into his eyes. ‘Or there will be danger for us all. And no money.’

Francisco ran a callused hand over the stubble on his cheeks. ‘Mierda,’ he breathed. ‘Why did I agree to this?’

The priest’s muttering had stopped. He had lifted his face from his hands and knelt looking at them. He couldn’t have heard their whispered words but the urgency in Harry’s tone might have carried. Hell, he thought, bloody hell. He whispered again.