Authors: C. J. Sansom
Sandy nodded slowly. ‘So, if I tell you everything about the mine, you’d get me out?’
‘Yes. We’d send you to England, and if you like we’ll train you up and get you work somewhere else where your talents might come in useful. Perhaps Latin America. We think it might suit you. It’d be good pay.’ Hillgarth leaned forward a little. ‘If you’re happy to carry on as you are, fine. But if you want to get out, we need to know everything about the mine. Everything.’
‘That’s a promise?’
‘A promise.’
Sandy put his head on one side, swirling the whisky in his glass. Hillgarth went on, his voice steady and slow. ‘It’s up to you. You can come in with us, or go back to your gold mine. But that’s a dangerous game, however profitable it might have looked once.’
To Harry’s astonishment, Sandy threw back his head and laughed.
‘You’ve actually been spying on me and you haven’t realized. Oh, Jesus. You never twigged.’
‘What?’ Harry asked, puzzled.
‘What?’ Sandy mimicked. ‘Still a bit deaf, or was that just a cover story?’
‘No,’ Harry said. ‘But what do you mean? Twigged what?’
‘There isn’t any gold mine,’ Sandy said then, quietly but with withering contempt. ‘There never was.’
Harry jerked upright. ‘But I saw it.’
Sandy looked at Hillgarth, not Harry, as he answered. ‘He saw a stretch of land, some equipment and huts. Oh, the land’s the type that might bear gold deposits, only there aren’t any.’ He laughed again and shook his head. ‘Have any of you heard of salting?’
‘I have,’ Hillgarth said. ‘You take a sample of the right type of soil and put fine grains of gold in it, to make it look like ore.’ His jaw dropped. ‘Jesus Christ, is that what you’ve been doing?’
Sandy nodded. ‘That’s right.’ He took out another cigarette. ‘Christ, it’s almost worth being betrayed by Brett to see your faces.’
‘I’ve worked in mining myself,’ Hillgarth said. ‘Salting’s a difficult job, you’d need to be a skilled geologist.’
‘Quite right. Like my friend Alberto Otero. He worked in South Africa, he told me some of the stunts that have been pulled out there. I suggested it might work in Spain, the government’s desperate for gold and the Ministry of Mines is full of Falangists seeking to increase their influence. He scouted out a suitable spot and we bought the land. I already had some useful contacts in the ministry.’
‘The man de Salas?’ Tolhurst asked.
‘Yes, de Salas. He’s had a difficult time keeping Maestre at bay. He thinks the mine’s real too. He thinks it’s going to help Spain be a great Fascist nation.’ He turned back to Hillgarth with a smile. ‘We use our labs to distribute fine gold dust within the ore, the breccia, then we send it off to the government labs. We’ve been doing it for six months. They keep demanding more samples and we supply them.’
Hillgarth’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’d need a fair bit of gold to do that. The black-market price is fantastic. Any sizeable purchases would get talked about.’
‘Not if you’re on a committee that helps poor benighted Jews
escaping from France. They’re only able to bring what they can carry and most bring gold. We relieve them of it in return for visas for Lisbon, then Alberto melts it down, turns it into tiny grains. We have as much gold as we need and nobody’s any the wiser. The Jews were my idea actually.’ He exhaled a cloud of smoke. ‘When I heard that French Jews were turning up in Madrid fleeing from the Nazis, I thought I might help them. Harry might not believe it but I felt sorry for them, people who can never seem to do anything right, always sent wandering. But to get visas for them I needed money and all they had was gold. That set me talking to Otero about how gold is always valuable, always makes men’s eyes light up. That’s where the idea came from.’ He smiled at Hillgarth; still he seemed reluctant to look at Harry.
So it was all a trick, Harry thought. All this, the work and the betrayals and Gomez’s death, it was all for nothing. Smoke and mirrors.
Hillgarth looked at Sandy for a long moment. Then he laughed, a loud guffaw.
‘By Christ, Forsyth, you’ve been bloody clever. You had everyone fooled.’
Sandy inclined his head.
‘What were you going to do, wait till the company shares rose enough, then offload them and disappear?’
‘That was the idea. But someone in the Ministry of Mines has been putting the word about that the company’s likely to be taken over. Their latest tactic to get control. Crafty bunch of bastards.’ He laughed again. ‘Only they don’t know it’ll be control of nothing, just a couple of useless farms. But then Maestre put his spy in down there. He had keys to the offices – if he had anything about him he’d have found out the truth.’
‘So you could find yourself penniless.’ Hillgarth’s eyes were cold as stones. ‘Maybe with a price on your head.’
‘At any moment. Or stabbed down a dark alley. I don’t like having to watch my back all the time.’
‘You’ve been playing a very risky game.’
‘Yes. I thought Harry could be an asset.’ Still he wouldn’t look at him. ‘I knew he had money and if we put more capital in and bought
more land it would make us look stronger, harder to buy out. Harry would have made a big profit, too. I’d have seen to that, told him when to sell. Then when we learned about Gomez we were terrified he’d found out the whole thing was a fake, but he can’t have because nothing more happened. Gomez wasn’t very bright. But Maestre’s still scheming to get hold of the gold. It’s time to get out now.’
Then Sandy did turn to look at Harry. His face was expressionless, but his eyes were full of pain and anger. ‘I trusted you, Harry, you were the last person in the world I still trusted.’ He smiled thinly. ‘Never mind, eh? It’s all turned out for the best.’ He sat back for a moment, reflecting. Harry noticed a tiny twitch above his left eye. He felt ashamed, too ashamed to reply despite what Sandy had done. Sandy turned back to Hillgarth. ‘You’re the Alan Hillgarth who used to write adventure novels, aren’t you?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And now you’re doing it for real, eh? I used to read your books at school. Harry didn’t like them but I did. Adventures. You’re like me, you like adventures.’
Hillgarth didn’t reply.
‘Though you romanticized things. Remember that one set in Spanish Morocco? You didn’t show what the colonial wars were really like. The savagery.’
Hillgarth smiled. ‘What it was really like wouldn’t have got past the censor.’
Sandy nodded. ‘I dare say you’re right. There are censors everywhere, aren’t there, making us believe the world’s better and safer than it really is.’
‘Let’s get back to business, Forsyth. I think you could still be useful to us. Someone who could pull off a stunt like that, Jesus. But if we rescue you from this mess, it’ll be on our terms. To start with, you’ll need to tell this to people in London. We’ll escort you back on a plane. Understand?’
Sandy hesitated a moment, then inclined his head. ‘Perfectly.’
‘Right. Come to the embassy at ten tomorrow. You’re living with an Englishwoman, aren’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘How much does she know about the mine?’
He gave a cynical half-smile. ‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’ He looked at Harry again. ‘Barbara’s as innocent as a babe in the woods, isn’t she, Harry?’
Hillgarth grunted. ‘You’ll have to tell her something about why you’re going back to England.’
‘Oh, I think she’ll just be pleased to be going home. Besides, I doubt we’ll be together much longer. She’s not a factor.’
‘Good.’ Hillgarth rose and looked down at Sandy. ‘That’ll do for now. I think you’ve the makings of a good agent, Forsyth.’ He smiled at him. ‘But don’t piss us around.’
Sandy nodded. He stood up, extending a hand to Hillgarth. He shook it.
‘What about your house?’ Tolhurst asked.
‘Rented from one of the ministries. Rent free, actually.’ Sandy extended his hand to Tolhurst, who hesitated a moment, then rose and shook it. Harry got up too. Sandy looked at him for a second, then turned away and walked to the door. Tolhurst followed him out.
Hillgarth stared at Harry. ‘Christ, he’s a cool customer. That mine, Jesus, the work we’ve put into it. I suppose he couldn’t’ve been lying?’
‘I think he was telling the truth,’ Harry said quietly.
‘Yes. If the bloody thing was real it would’ve been a big bargaining counter and he’d have used it. I suppose that’s why he confessed it was all faked straight away. He’d guess it was probably only a matter of time before the truth came out.’ Hillgarth thought a moment.
Tolhurst came back and sat down. ‘Sir Sam will go mad, sir. All these resources, Maestre alienated, all for a mine that never existed. My God.’
‘Yes, I’ll have to pick the right moment to tell him.’ Hillgarth shook his head and laughed. ‘Screwing Franco himself. Well, Forsyth’s got balls, you have to give him that.’ For the first time he looked at Harry sympathetically. ‘Sorry your role had to come out, but there was no alternative if we were to discuss the mine.’
Harry hesitated. Then he said, ‘It’s all right, sir, nothing surprises me any more. I’m not even surprised any more at the Knights of St George, the government going in for mass bribery of the Monarchists.’
‘Harry,’ Tolhurst said uncomfortably. Hillgarth raised his eyebrows. Harry went on, it was all over and he didn’t care any more.
‘Only I wonder why it was necessary to bribe them,’ he added bitterly. ‘They don’t want to go to war against us, they know we don’t mind what they do to the people here.’
Harry expected Hillgarth to lose his temper, part of him wanted him to, but he only gave a little contemptuous smile.
‘Go away, Brett. Get yourself sorted out with your girly, then you can go home. Leave Spain to people who understand what needs to be done.’
T
HAT EVENING
B
ARBARA
sat at home, nursing a cold. She really did have one – it had come on the day before, and with her running nose and red eyes it had been easy to exaggerate the symptoms and pretend it was flu. She had suggested sleeping in one of the spare bedrooms to reduce the risk of Sandy catching it and he had agreed. He seemed more preoccupied than ever, he hardly seemed to notice what she said now.
He had told her he wouldn’t be back until late. She had spent the afternoon in her bedroom, keeping up for Pilar the pretence of having flu. She listened to the radio, trying to get the BBC, but reception was bad. Then she sat by the window, looking out over the snowy street. After a while she became conscious of a dripping sound somewhere. She opened the window. The air was distinctly warmer and meltwater was dripping from the trees. Already a green patch had appeared under the elm in the front garden. She felt a surge of relief. If the snow was going, that would make Bernie’s rescue easier.
Tomorrow she was taking Harry and Sofia to her final meeting with Luis. They had agreed she would meet him alone first; Barbara feared if she came in with two other people Luis might take fright and flee. After she had explained matters to Luis, the others would arrive. She didn’t see how he could object. Sofia was right: having her and Harry there could only help their chances. She was grateful to them but still felt betrayed by Harry; what complexities there had turned out to be under that quiet surface.
Her reflections were interrupted by a knock at the bedroom door. She jumped up and closed the window. As she crossed to the door she blew her nose loudly and tried to settle her features into the tired look of an invalid. Pilar stood outside, her face surly, her hair under the little cap frizzier than ever.
‘May I have a word,
señora
?’
‘All right. Come in.’ Barbara’s tone was curt. The girl could hardly expect otherwise; she and Sandy had hardly bothered to hide what they had been doing. She stood in the centre of the room and faced Pilar.
‘What is it?’
Pilar crossed her hands over her white apron. There was sullen anger in her eyes. People always hate those they’ve injured, Barbara thought. She supposed it kept guilt at bay.
‘I would like to give my notice, señora.’
That was a surprise. ‘Oh, yes?’
‘I would like to leave at the end of next week if that is convenient.’
It wasn’t much time to find someone else but Barbara would be glad to see the back of her. The daily would cope. She wondered what had happened. Had Pilar and Sandy had a row?
‘This is very sudden, Pilar.’
‘Yes,
señora
. My mother in Zaragoza is ill, I have to go to her.’
It was an obvious lie: Barbara knew her parents came from Madrid. She couldn’t resist a dig.
‘I hope you haven’t become unhappy, working for my husband and me.’
‘No,
señora
,’ Pilar replied, still looking at her with angry half-closed eyes. ‘My mother in Zaragoza is ill,’ she repeated.
‘Then you must go to her. Go tonight if you like, I’ll pay you till the end of the week.’
Pilar looked relieved. ‘Thank you,
señora
, that would be good.’
‘You’d better go and pack. I’ll sort your money out.’
‘Thank you.’ Pilar curtsied and walked quickly out of the room. Barbara took the key to the bureau where she kept her money. Good riddance, she thought.
P
ILAR WAS PACKED
and gone within an hour. From her window, Barbara watched her walk away up the path with her heavy battered suitcase, her shoes leaving deep footprints in the fast-melting snow. She wondered where the girl would go to. She went down to the kitchen. It was a mess, dishes piled in the sink and the floor unswept.
Barbara supposed she ought to do something about it but she couldn’t be bothered. She sat there, smoking and watching the dusk fall. Then, to pass the time, she made a
cocido
for dinner.
It was past nine when she heard Sandy’s footsteps. He went into the
salón
. Barbara walked quietly up the basement steps, hoping to get to her room without him hearing, but he called out from the partially open
salón
door. ‘Barbara, is that you?’
She paused on the steps. ‘Yes.’
‘Come in a minute.’
He was standing by the unlit fire, smoking, still in his hat and coat. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked. He sounded a little drunk. There was a dull, sad look in his eyes she had never seen before.