The next few days followed the same pattern as those before Eve met Alex. Mendoza wasn’t needed to drive, so he went into the city to keep tabs on the German party as they went about Madrid. Eve began taking Nati with her to interpret any request to take photographs of the flowers in private courtyards. They were always back in the hotel by the time the sun became unbearable, and Eve spent the hot hours resting or relaxing on her balcony, poring over the prints that Nati collected from a little specialist studio. Certainly the work was very good. These prints and what Eve gleaned from reference books drew her into a more genuine interest in the subject, so that it was not boring to spend so many hours at the Ritz.
Before dinner she had a drive out with Mendoza, but neither of them had much information to exchange.
The Germans, however, seemed to be having a high old time. Beautiful women in expensive clothes came and went and were often taken for drives in the big black cars. Theirs was as much a routine as her own and Mendoza’s.
What were they all waiting for?
Was it really only to be on hand if the wayward ex-King of England should choose Spain when he fled his luxurious bolt hole?
But that was exactly why they were there: waiting to persuade him to declare his support for the Third Reich, as he had done before Britain and Germany went to war with each other. Behind closed doors on both sides, it was believed that given half a chance he would try to make a pact for peace which would leave France, Poland, Belgium and Holland in the hands of Nazi Germany. If he was returned to the throne, civil war could easily break out in Britain, giving Germany good cause to step in and become the peacemaker. Hitler would have won the war that he’d started with hardly any cost to his people.
What a waste of resources. What a self-centred, self-indulgent couple the Windsors were. Old enough to be her parents and behaving like spoiled brats.
It couldn’t be long now before they knew one way or another what they were going to do. The supposedly impenetrable fortifications protecting France had remained impenetrable – the German army had skirted round them and pressed on, towns and cities capitulating as it went.
Just a matter of time.
Occasionally, when she saw one of the Germans leave, Eve would grab her camera bag and follow in the direction he went. Mostly – as Mendoza too had discovered – they went to a place in the old town which was festooned with flags and swastikas, a propaganda office where Eve presumed they could send and receive messages with impunity. She did not hear from Alex, nor see the Espanol Suissa motorcar.
One day Eve was preparing to go out when Nati answered a knock on the door and said that Señor Quixote himself was asking to see her.
Señor Quixote was obviously extremely pleased with himself. ‘Señorita Anders, there is an important emissary, Señor Hernandez, who is asking for you.’
‘Oh?’
‘Señor Hernandez is an official of the General’s household in Madrid.’
Eve guessed that emissaries didn’t come more important than that, so she asked that he be brought up. ‘Coffee, juice maybe, Señor Quixote? I leave it to you.’
‘Of course.’ He bowed out, obviously very impressed that Eve should have such a visitor.
The visit was short and sweet and quite formal – no coffee or juice – just an invitation for Señorita Anders to view the restoration work of the gardens of the General’s Madrid home that was being carried out under the supervision of the General’s wife. Señorita Anders would probably wish to bring some cameras and film.
‘That’s wonderful, Señor Hernandez. Please say that I am honoured and will be delighted to see the new gardens.’
‘It will be the General’s pleasure to send a car for you. When is the best time – I mean for the favourable light?’
‘Morning is best. Some flowers fade in the sun.’
‘Would tomorrow be convenient to you?’
‘It would.’
‘Thank you, señorita. Tomorrow at seven?’
‘Seven would be fine.’
Soon after the emissary left, Eve received a telephone message that her driver had brought her car up and was awaiting her. Mendoza had instituted this himself, so she went quickly down, festooned as usual with her photographic equipment. Mendoza sped away, taking a road to the south where they had not yet been, and, at a suitable place, parked.
‘You apparently heard about my invitation.’
‘No, what is that?’
‘To photograph in the General’s garden.’
‘When did this happen?’
‘Just before I learned that you were waiting. I thought that’s why you arranged this drive.’
‘That is excellent. I think you will not need me any longer. Bureau contact is working. I have orders to return to Lisbon.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know, probably because I have given you a good report. I would not expect to know. The English do sometimes tend to treat their non-British agents with less understanding than they might.’
‘How about the way I’m being treated? I didn’t know a thing about them moving you. What are they doing, chucking me in at the deep end?’
‘You may not have experience in the field, but you have been well trained. Your performance is excellent. I do not know anything about your true identity but Miss Anders is everything that she is supposed to be. You are not in at the deep end, as you say; you have been swimming very strong, and will continue to do so when I am gone.’
‘Why do you think they’re pulling you out?’
‘It is possibly to do with the lady in the sports car. She mixes in the new high society. She has been forgiven her old ways. She is reformed and a friend of the new State. And she’s one of the Bureau’s trophies, I would think. It is probable that Miss Povey is a sleeper. You know what this is?’
‘An agent who does nothing until they are awakened for some special work?’
‘It is possible that London thinks that I am superfluous because they have awakened her – so I am recalled to Lisbon.’
‘OK, but I’ve been glad to have you as a guardian angel. Out of curiosity, Mendoza, how have you been receiving your orders here?’
‘You have an aunt in Ireland, I have a grandfather in Portugal. He is old and sick. I telephone him at night to make sure that he is no worse, and there is a mail delivery.’ He gave her a flicker of a smile.
‘What do you do when you are not being a Bureau person?’
‘I am always a Bureau person. At home, we have a family business, taxi and car-hire. It excuses me when necessary. Also a bar – quite nice, respectable, an excellent place for exchange of information.’
‘Why do you do it?’
‘For God and my people. Fascists are anti-Christ. We, my family, believe in an old-fashioned ideal that Jesus of Nazareth preached: one world, one people, equality. He was the first Communist. I believe that. I live by that. What else is worth anything?’
‘Should you be letting me know so much about yourself?’
‘No. But there are times when one must put down a marker and let one other person know: this is me, this is where I stand, this is what I would die for.’
‘Thank you.’
‘And now, Miss Anders, you must dismiss me for some misdemeanour. I am to leave the car for you. Will you be able to drive it?’
‘I could drive a tank given the chance.’
‘Good. I think that you should drive yourself back to the hotel, make a show of anger, leave the car for the porter to take to the garages and stomp off in great indignation to change your clothes, because you will – or I will – have spilled coffee over them. You will not want to talk about what happened, only that I am dismissed. As far as you are concerned, I shall disappear, and you will not know or care.’
‘OK.’ And without warning she jumped out of her seat and into the road, sending the flask flying out of his hand with the coffee spilling over both of them.
He jumped back and saved the flask from falling. ‘Well done, Miss Anders – without spilling a drop on the Buick’s upholstery.’
‘That would have been desecration.’
She drove back into the city and did not see Mendoza again.
The expedition to the General’s gardens was a start to something Eve could never have instigated herself. Having spent a couple of hours being taken around the lovely grounds of the house, and photographed so many exotic climbing plants that she could have based a book on them alone, she was invited to join the aide to the General’s lady, who was taking coffee on a beautiful veranda shaded with lush vegetation.
Here she was, in the lion’s den. Supping with the devil.
That morning she had looked at herself in the mirror and wondered how she could do this. She hated everything the General and his regime stood for – their self-importance and arrogance in believing that they had an absolute right to rule. When Spain had gained democracy, the generals, bishops, judges and aristocrats had taken their wealth and abandoned Spain. The war had been about them – about their wanting to put an end to Spain’s young democracy. And, with the aid of the fascists, it had happened.
Eve apologised for not having learned enough Spanish to converse, but the aide said that he did not mind because he liked to practise his English. When Eve was asked why she had chosen to stay at the Ritz and not the Hotel Royale she replied that she’d had no preference, other than that she had stayed in the Ritz in London.
‘But the Ritz is out of fashion, not a very jolly place for such a pretty young woman, Miss Anders,’ insisted the aide.
‘Actually, I’m supposed to be working.’
‘You must have parties. Too much work will give you lines before you are old. Maybe you British are too sober?’
Eve laughed. ‘Señor, I’m not British, but Irish.’
‘No? But as far as I can judge, your English is very good.’
‘We speak English in Ireland, and I was brought up in England.’
‘Ah, is Ireland then not part of Britain? I am quite an ignoramus beyond my own country. Only Portugal I know.’
Of course. Portugal was where many of the old families fled when Spain became a republic.
‘No, señor, it is not. The part I come from is not.’ Here Eve’s subconscious helped her to steer clear of the word ‘republic’. ‘Irish people love parties. We call them ceilidhs and we hold ceilidhs at the drop of a hat.’ The setting up of a tripod camera to photograph the veranda was the most useful prop to hide behind. ‘“At the drop of a hat” means that we will take any excuse to enjoy a party.’
‘Then you would like the Royale. There are always parties there.’ Eve almost heard an invitation coming, which is what she had been hoping for since her arrival. It was obvious now that the Ritz was intent on keeping its dignity, whilst the Royale provided for a less stodgy clientele. ‘I often hear the band playing.’ Eve laughed to show how much she enjoyed the music.
Janet McKenzie had said Eve was a good actress because she could get inside the character. I am, she thought. I’m living this part. Loving it. If he starts talking politics, I will agree with him.
‘Germans too will have parties “at the drop of a hat”. This evening I shall be hosting a small cocktail party for the various visiting internationals. I think you would like it, if you care to come. Just cocktails, but we do like to… What shall I say? Men love their uniforms and the ladies their fine dresses. In recent times Madrid has seen no such occasions.’
‘I love to dress up. Thank you, señor, I should really like to attend.’
‘Then you shall receive an invitation. Probably the first of many.’
And so it was that at six o’clock, Eve, dressed to kill by Nati, and accompanied by her, walked the short distance between the two hotels. Almost the first person she saw on entering the lounge where the chatter was only outdone by the laughter, was Alex Povey. She looked stunning, wearing a shade of blue that offset her glittering necklace and drop earrings – sapphires, every one. Nor were Alex’s jewels alone in the room; they were in the good company of diamonds, emeralds and rubies. Eve’s rented fiery opal drops, as with her plain cream-coloured, short, flimsy chiffon frock, were all the more noticeable in comparison to the gaiety of the dresses worn by other women. She stood out as very modern.
Alex was the only person there who could have seen the slightest resemblance between the Eve of Barcelona and this one. In any case, it wasn’t likely that any of this company had even been in the country at that time. These were people who had fled with their wealth, or been kicked out of the Republic. This was the new, same old gang of the right-wing.
McKenzie’s voice in Eve’s head turned her detestation to delight. A party… a party. A challenge… a challenge.
As the smart equerry who had called upon her at the Ritz came forward to welcome her, she took in the entire room. Her training came into its own: she fixed all the main points in her mind, especially the German military in resplendent uniforms.
This cocktail hour was not going to be easy, but it would be exciting, even fun.
‘Miss Anders.’
‘Señor Hernandez, good evening.’ Then the aide who had escorted her on the tour of the Franco gardens approached, and a waiter appeared with a tray of drinks. Eve chose an ungarnished pink gin, sipped it and nodded her appreciation of the flavour. London gin. The best. David Hatton had been the one to teach her about the many and varied gins, long ago and far away, when she’d been living another fantasy quite as bizarre as this, and entirely carefree.
‘Let me introduce you to a few people. We Spaniards are very sociable people, we want visitors to enjoy our country. A young lady such as yourself must have a social life whilst you grace our city.’
Grace our city? It was all so Ruritanian and musty.
‘To be working in Madrid, as I am, should be enough. It is so beautiful.’
Conducting her through the glittering gathering, the aide stopped at a group who were obviously dressed to go on to some grand occasion. ‘Miss Anders, may I introduce Baron von Pfitzer.’ The baron took her fingers as Eve had seen actors do in films set in old Austria, and barely brushed them with his lips. Von Pfitzer was as handsome as hell. Contempt for his politics was no protection against sexual response. She saw his eyes lower to her breasts.
The baron undertook to introduce Señorita Anders to some of his many acquaintances. Eve having apologised for understanding neither Spanish nor German, he said that they would start with only those with whom she could exchange gossip.
‘Baron, I have no gossip.’ She smiled prettily. ‘I am a hardworking woman. I have a deadline to keep.’ This he translated into German for a grand and mature lady as, ‘Frau von Mentz, may I introduce Miss Anders, from Ireland. She says that she is a working lady who does not speak any language but her own.’
Observing that this was someone special, Eve gave a tiny bob of a curtsy, inches short of what a duchess or princess would expect but sufficient to acknowledge that this woman had status.
‘I speak some English, Miss Anders.’ Frau von Mentz had a very clear and beautiful voice; perhaps she had been or was a singer. ‘I vass in England many times when I vass a girl.’
‘Did you like England?’ Eve put two fingers over her lips in an innocent or apologetic gesture. ‘Or maybe I shouldn’t ask such a question now that we are at war with them.’ That ‘we’ had come as inspiration. If Eire was not at war with Britain, it was not supporting it.
Frau von Mentz raised her eyebrows and pointed conspiratorially at Eve, leading her away from the group she had been with, taking en route another aperitif and indicating that Eve should do likewise. ‘You don’t tell no one. In the old days I loved it. When I vass young. You guess what my profession was?’
‘Frau von Mentz, what do you mean, when you were young? If you don’t mind me saying so, your complexion is wonderful and your figure very lithe.’
It was true. Only the confident way she held herself and took command gave her that air of maturity Eve had responded to.
‘My dear working lady, how sweet of you to pay such compliments – you who have the face of an angel and the figure of Venus – well, a Venus that a woman might have painted or chiselled. Have you noticed how so many of these marble women have the thick, heavy body of the male with a delicate head and pudding breasts as an afterthought?’
‘Oh yes, I’ve always wondered whether Greek sculptors preferred male bodies or had never studied a woman’s body.’
Frau von Mentz’s laugh was so hearty that it drew glances. ‘My dear Miss Anders, I can see that you and I will get along famously.’
You and I, von Mentz, most probably will. You, Frau von Mentz, will be a safer entree into Madrid society than Alex Povey, Eve thought. As far as Eve could judge, Alex had not once glanced in her direction. She was in a circulating group who, by the amount of banter that seemed to be going on between them, looked on pretty friendly terms.
‘I am told by the General’s lady that you are interested in flowering trees?’
‘Flowering climbing plants, actually, but really anything that is exotic and unknown back home.’
‘Perhaps you would care to see my collection. Not climbing, but mountain and desert flowers grown in pottery.’
‘I should like that, thank you.’
‘Not that such plants would have much success in your country – so damp and green.’
‘Gardeners like to look at what they cannot have, and they try. Many Victorian ferneries have been turned into cold houses for growing alpine plants. I can see those same people wanting to adapt with heat and light.’
‘I will tell my husband that you are to be sent for at your convenience. I rise very early, if you would like to be out in the cool air of morning?’
‘It has always been a time of day I like, even though mornings back home can be black and wet and cold. There is something about being up before the world starts turning.’
‘I have never thought of it in those terms, but that is how I feel also. Perhaps you would like to join me very early one morning, and we could watch the sun rise?’
Hell! I could really like this woman, Eve thought. The liking appeared to be mutual. Useful to have a foot in the enemy camp. What could she do with it? She had, at present, not much idea.
Frau von Mentz looked around. ‘The General’s lady is not here.’
‘I thought that it was her party.’
‘It is, but not always is she able to leave the house. A pity.’
Why not always able to leave the house? Eve was keen to gather more information about the circle of high society she was infiltrating. If the Windsors did flee to Madrid, then this was the very society for them, and with the friendship of Frau von Mentz she could be well established by then.
‘Have you worked out what I was doing in England all those times?’
‘Are you a singer?’
‘You are almost correct. I was a Shakespearean actress from when I was sixteen. Ophelia at almost her true age.’
‘You gave it up?’
‘I thought that I should before I was being offered the part of one of the witches.’ It was a joke. Eve smiled. ‘In fact I married the man who financed many of the productions. It was true love. I was soon widowed and I miss him.’
‘How dreadful for you, and you so young.’
‘He, alas, was not. A marriage of spring and winter, people said. We were very happy… and I have my present husband, who I would not miss quite as much. Come, my dear, let us join this noisy little crowd.’
The group was of mixed nationalities – two of them Italians, apparently adherents to Mussolini’s cause – same brand of fascism, different coloured shirts.
This little group bewildered Eve, as only one of them spoke anything that she could understand, so she wandered out of that circle but away from Alex.
Frau von Mentz came up behind her and said, ‘I know who would like to meet you. She does not live in the city, but she is an English woman. Come.’ She took Eve’s hand.
‘Miss Povey, I have brought you this intelligent and delightful speaker of English, I have taken a great liking to her, and so, I am certain, will you. Miss Eve Anders. I will not tell you about her – you must discover that for yourself – but I tell you, she knows a good statue when she sees one.’
Alex, who was standing with a group of fair and dark men, threw up her hands, one holding a cigarette, and kissed Eve on both cheeks. ‘Ah, we meet again. Frau von Mentz, this young lady I knew when she was a titchy little thing learning to ski. Two days ago, she wanders into the English tearoom, a grown woman. I recognised her at once.’ To Eve: ‘I thought you would have moved on by now.’
‘No, no. Look at this place – why would I want to move on? And, Frau von Mentz has invited me to watch the sun rise.’
‘So, Miss grown-up Anders, tell us all. How did you come to impress Frida von Mentz with your knowledge of art?’
‘Neither of us care for Venuses with the shoulders of discus throwers.’
‘You hear that, Mikos?’ She glanced at the short dark man beside her. ‘Mikos is Greek. I could tell you the names of the rest of them, but you won’t remember them – sauerkrauts and spaghetti.’ She poked one or two of the men clustering around her in the chest.
They liked it, responding to her outrageous stereotyping. One, pointing back at her, said, ‘And what are you then, Miss roast biff of England?’
‘No, darling, I am an English crumpet. Don’t you dare, Tietze, I said crumpet.’
Tietze asked if Eve spoke any Spanish at all. Alex replied for her. ‘We aren’t good at languages. We wait for you to learn ours. If you don’t, hard luck, you’ll never know what we are talking about. From now on, I shall talk to Miss Anders in our own tongue.’ She captured a passing tray. ‘Have another glass of wine, darling. It’s the best. I’ll bet you thought the Spanish can’t make wine. They can, they do, but it doesn’t travel. Spanish wine should be drunk only in this country. As you can see, Eve, these lads have been confirming this for an hour.’ She raised her glass, ‘To Señorita Anders, who must be welcomed into our circle because she knows a good statue when she sees one.’
Eve couldn’t tell whether Alex was really tipsy, or was playing up to it. Then from behind Eve’s back came a man’s voice that stopped them all in their tracks. In Spanish, with an accent she did not recognise, he said, ‘Stop it, Ladybird!’ A sinewy, suntanned hand in a ribbed white cuff within a sleeve of fine black cloth reached across and removed Alex’s glass from her hand. ‘Excuse me.’
Eve was so unnerved, not only by the autocratic demand, but by the look on Alex’s face, that she did not turn round, but side-stepped back into the company of von Pfitzer, who smiled warmly.
‘Ah, that man, he is outrageous,’ he said.
Somebody said something in Spanish about gypsies. A split second of icy silence was almost at once covered by the urbane Hernandez, chiding a little perhaps, who said in English, ‘Señorita Povey’s companion is a noted Argentinian horse-breeder. Spain welcomes him for that.’
As Eve allowed von Pfitzer to offer her a cigarette, she could still overhear Alex’s whispered tirade: ‘You’ve got a bloody cheek. I drink what I bloody well like, and as much as I bloody well like.’
‘You know that you’re going to be sorry. But you’ll do as you please, like always.’
Eve didn’t dare turn round for fear that Alex’s horse-breeder might actually turn out to be Duke Barney, so entirely did this sound like him. If not very likely, it wasn’t beyond the bounds of possibility. Life was always a series of coincidences.
The cocktail hour was over, so Eve dismissed Nati, who was waiting discreetly to chaperone her across the road, and allowed von Pfitzer to escort her back to the Ritz, where she left him as politely and quickly as she could.
Duke Barney again. The idea that he had leaped so clearly into her mind shook her because she believed that her complex feelings for him had, in Janet’s terminology, been ‘dealt with’.
If she could just have a few minutes with Janet McKenzie…
But that wasn’t possible. Janet had helped in teaching Eve how to be calm in a crisis, but if all their work at The House by the Sea had not suppressed Duke Barney, better accept that he had greatly influenced her and that her first lover was still laying in wait round every corner.
Well, that was all right. She decided that the best treatment now was to enjoy a spectacular dinner with a great wine, and take her unquenched passion for Duke Barney to bed with her.
The maitre d’hotel was at his best when a guest asked him to suggest every course.
Quite late, as she was drifting off into sleep, the answer suddenly came to her. Duke! The Duke of Windsor. It was this one who must be playing with her subconscious.
It was a pleasant feeling to know that she had resolved something ‘deep’ on her own. She would let Janet McKenzie know when she got home.
Over the next days, Eve began to exchange her photographic project for the social life of Madrid, which was often centred around the Royale. This suited her purposes perfectly, as the people she was keeping watch on were very much part of that glittering socialising – the same people meeting one another at various venues. The baron took it upon himself to escort her if she needed an arm. Formal dinners, rather bohemian parties, which the Germans loved, even opera – Señorita Anders was included in everything that went on in Madrid.
Then, one day in July, her ‘aunt’ in Ireland telephoned her.
‘Eve, darling, I’ve heard that the Castles are thinking of holidaying in Spain. I’m sure that you remember them.’ ‘The Castles’ – Edward and Wallis Windsor.
‘Of course I do, Aunt. Do you know where they are thinking of staying?’
‘No, darling, but it was dear Bazil who told me, and you know Bazil – he’s the first with all the gossip.’
So, now that the German army was closing in on the Cote d’Azur, the troublesome ex-king had chosen Spain.
Nati came up from the maids’ quarters full of the gossip. The King of England was taking over several rooms at the Ritz, and storage space was being made ready for his belongings.
‘He is coming here?’
‘Yes, Señorita Anders, it is true. I have seen the porters making some secure space with locks. You think he has jewels to bring?’
‘Probably.’
‘They say that he is king, but his wife is not queen – is that correct, señorita?’
‘He used to be king, but he is not now. He left England and went to live in France. His wife is not queen because she is American, and she has been married before. Kings can’t marry divorced women.’
‘But England is not a Roman Catholic country.’
‘It’s not, but the English bishops don’t like divorced women any more than the Pope.’
‘Thank you for explaining. You like more bath towels before the King takes all of those?’
Eve laughed aloud. What a good idea, to have a stock of towels against the invasion of the Windsors. ‘I think I would like that, Nati.’
‘Madame? You speak ingles, but you are Irish. Is that correct?’ Eve nodded. ‘Then what is your king’s name?’
‘There is no king of Ireland… not now.’
Nati continued almost obsessively with the neatness of the pile of towels. ‘Then, señorita, is it that your country is a state… or maybe republic?’
Eve hesitated, momentarily curious as to Nati’s response. ‘Yes, it is a republic.’
‘Spain was a republic for too little time. Then there was war.’
Eve’s natural instinct was to respond to the young woman, to say something to show friendship. But who knew who or what this woman might be? There may be points to be won for snippets of information about guests. ‘Oh yes, I know that, Nati, but that’s all over now. Now do get on with those towels, and go and see if you can get in a stock before the honoured guests arrive.’
The Duke and Duchess of Windsor arrived in a huge motor – a Buick, same year as Eve’s, but black bodywork and no retractable hood. The thin, peaked-face couple looked to Eve as small children do when playing at being big grown-ups in their daddy’s motorcar. However, the proportions of motor to luggage went the other way, the vehicle being weighed down with leather valises, hatboxes and other cartons. In addition, there was a van, which appeared laden too.
It didn’t seem that they were willing for any of it to be taken through the trade entrance.
The Duke’s voice could be heard at a distance, high and petulant, whilst the Duchess’s was unexpectedly soft for an American socialite. As it rose to where Eve was seated on her balcony, she stood to lean against the balustrade, indulging her curiosity about the new arrivals.
Across the way, she saw others do the same. Some of the Germans, now drinking long drinks and smoking cigarettes on a ground-floor veranda, she had got to know. Baron von Pfitzer appeared and waved to her; she waved back and picked up her camera. Planning to take the initiative and not wait to be invited, she went over to the Hotel Royale, passing the Duke and Duchess, standing by their car, discussing or arguing about which boxes should go where. The Duchess kept saying, ‘We mustn’t lose sight of them, David.’ To which he replied in variations of, ‘Of course not.’ Neither of them took the slightest notice of Eve.
All the Germans stood formally as she walked into their territory. ‘Baron, I know it’s a bit of a cheek, but you have a much better view from here, so would you mind if…’ She indicated her camera. The men shuffled chairs so as to give her the best position. At once she took several shots of the Windsors.
‘May I?’ Von Mentz held the camera tenderly. ‘The very best.’
‘Is it really? I hope so.’
‘German, of course. Precision made.’
‘Oh, then it must be the best. I asked a friend to choose. He said there was none better. Would you mind… ?’ She pointed the lens at the group of high-ranking Germans she had seen arrive in uniform. They affably closed ranks by moving their chairs closer and posed cheerfully.
Then von Pfitzer asked her to take his seat so that he could photograph her with his friends. This was tricky, making her feel nervous, but being a flirty girl she wouldn’t say no. She hoped that none of them noticed that when the flash bulb went off she moved her head so that the picture would be blurred. You never knew who might one day see it.
Eve’s first time in the company of the famous couple was not in the Ritz, but at a formal dinner given in their honour. It was almost a matter of course that she was invited and was partnered by the baron. It was the most glittering occasion Eve had ever known in the short time she had been a visiting socialite in Madrid.
The jewellery she had brought with her was paste which, as Peter Follis had said, was acceptable for a woman travelling abroad; no wealthy woman would trust her real diamonds to a foreign bank, even less to a foreign hotel. The long-skirted gowns were adaptable, jackets and blousons could be swapped around, fashionable long scarves transformed. The colours were neutral: cream, ivory; the styles simple, which suited her spare figure and her near-white hair, which she usually controlled in a French pleat. She could never be accused of attempting to outshine the complicated fashion that cost the earth, but she could be charged with elegance.
The occasion was very formal, and seemed to Eve as stodgy as usually only the British and French could do, the latter with a touch more style. But now that Spain was being reformed as a dictatorship, the Spanish too were in the running for obsessive protocol. And like that of the Germans, because there was no democracy to temper them, the unwritten rules of the new regime were sinister.
A hush fell over the guests when Edward and Wallis entered the room, and all Eve’s old feelings about the monarchy began to surface. If she had been twelve again, she would have gone and banged on her headmistress’s door and told her it wasn’t fair. But, oh, how well she had learned in those years. Now she could direct her protestations into a productive conduit. But it still wasn’t fair that such a self-indulgent man should be able to hold more power than the people. Parliament could not declare war, but must tell the monarch that it needed permission to do so; only the monarch had the power to decide whether or not the country should be defended – and against whom.
Had he been crowned king, who could guess what kind of pact he might have wanted made with Hitler? Even the present king was cousin-close to Germans.
The baron, on whose arm Eve’s hand rested, patted it and said, ‘You are very silent, Miss Anders. You are nervous?’
‘I am. I haven’t ever been to such an important occasion.’
‘And to meet the man who was once your king.’
‘No, Baron, not my king.’
‘Of course… but I am afraid that I have never been able to know one of those provinces from the other – what is British, what is Irish.’
‘I should need paper and pen to explain. Anyhow, he’s not anybody’s king now.’
‘I should like to know what he is doing here.’
I’ll bet you would! she thought. Did he think he might prompt some speculation from her? She feigned ennui. ‘Because this is a neutral country?’
‘Then why not Switzerland?’
Now that Eve was in Spain for a real purpose, she was even more alert to every possibility, even that the playboy baron might be – what? An informer? A collaborator?
‘Don’t ask me, Baron. I’m not the type that takes much interest in that kind of thing. I leave that to you men.’
‘You are a very beautiful and charming lady, Miss Anders – it is enough.’
‘How sweet of you.’ She gave him a lovely smile.
So, here at last was the purpose of the previous weeks of waiting with nothing to report but high-ranking Germans and Italians racketing and – she supposed – plotting.
And here was the man whose love life had caused her country so much trouble and expense. Seeing him in the flesh, it was hard to believe that he had had the guts to stand up to so many powerful people, not least of whom were his imperious and cold mother and aloof father.
To put it kindly, he was not a substantial man, nor a man who looked at ease. His features were boyish – no wonder he liked to dress in impressive military uniforms.
The Duchess was very thin, perfect for the bias-cut, long-sleeved gown of sapphire blue. Artful gathers from neck to below the bosom gave Wallis a femininity that surprised Eve. As Wallis Simpson, the seducer, divorcee, snatcher of kings, she had been given hell by the newspapers. But Eve didn’t see this now; the Duchess had a warmth in her eyes that revealed a very different woman from the harlot. Maybe Eve warmed to her because they had both chosen to wear the most simple of dinner gowns, and wore their hair stretched back so as to reveal the bones of the face. Hers were strong. As she passed by, the Duchess turned and nodded formally. This woman was no fool – Eve guessed that she had taken in every detail of the cream gown and white hair – and the paste earrings.
Seeing the couple here being feted with such energy, the thought suddenly occurred to Eve that instead of castigating Wallis Simpson for her part in destroying her husband as king, the British people should acknowledge her as the woman who saved them from a fascist monarch.
Seeing the wooing of this couple in real life, she understood why the Germans would move heaven and earth to persuade him to be their trophy. Now she understood how important her role was.
That evening was the first of many when she was in close contact with the celebrated couple. They adored parties. And so did Señorita Anders, who was never short of an invitation or an escort.
It was soon accepted that the reason she hardly touched alcohol – except a little champagne – was that it ruined a woman’s complexion. Certainly nobody minded; she was no less fun without it. She allowed people to teach her a little Spanish, which she picked up amazingly well. All in all, Eve had become part of the social set.
Being entertained was all that she now knew.
Her refuge was the suite at the Ritz, and her growing like of Nati.
Nati was a wonderful source of information. Gossip it may have been, but Eve, who as a girl had worked with dozens of other girls, knew that a snowball of gossip was always centred around a stone of fact.
‘Madame, you know what it is said about these people you know… this royal people?’ Nati said one afternoon while Eve took her siesta and Nati manicured her nails.
‘Oh, Nati, do tell. Is it scandalous?’
‘Not in such a way as naughty bad, but not so easy to believe. These guests are making a fuss about – you will not guess.’
‘Not in a million years.’
‘Is about sheets, bed things.’
‘Bed things? The linen here is excellent – always fresh and clean. What can they have to complain about?’
‘No, Señorita Anders, not the hotel linen. You know that the auto they arrive in is really so big, but even so, it could not take any more things… they have their clothes and all that stuff… so they must leave behind them damask sheets and covers. The Duchess is very, very cross; she is shouting and telephoning and calling people names. The King too, he has made some English important people come to their suite and tells them that they must rescue the linen.’
Eve was fascinated; servants seldom got it wrong. She had known old ladies who had been in service. ‘If you’re there in the room adding coals to the fire, or handing round tea, they don’t even notice you.’
‘Juicy gossip, Nati, keep me up to date. The story of the missing sheets is fascinating.’
‘Señorita Anders, I hope you will not be offended if I say this. As with the King and his wife, I too was forced to run – when the war was here. I ran with my children to my mother and father who live here. I could bring nothing; but, you know, it is good enough that we are not killed by bombs. We are alive. Sheets! Hey, what for do they want sheets? They can buy more.’ Eve Anders could have agreed. Not so Señorita Anders. This rich lady would have more in common with Edward and Wallis than with Nati. Nati had aroused her curiosity and she wanted to know what had happened here after she and Dimitri had escaped, but she had to show only casual interest. ‘Where is your husband, Nati?’ She concentrated on Nati’s buffing of her nails.
‘I don’t know. It is possible that he is in a prison camp.’
‘What did he do?’
‘Julio was a soldier.’
‘But the war finished ages ago, didn’t it?’
‘Not so long, señorita.’
‘But surely, if he is in prison, he will eventually be freed, when he has served his sentence? What has he done that is so bad?’
‘There is no sentence, Señorita Anders. He was a soldier, a leader. He is a danger to our new government.’
‘Nati, nobody is imprisoned for ever. Come on, look on the bright side, he might walk in at any time.’ It was hateful to Eve to talk in such a shallow way, when she knew that a leader who was a danger to the Franco government had a slim chance of walking anywhere.
‘I am sorry, madame, I should not talk about any of this.’
‘Nonsense, Nati. I really do want to hear about you. Please tell me. Who knows, maybe I can ask somebody about him?’
Nati suddenly went pale and wide-eyed. ‘No, Señorita Anders, no. Please do not. Please, I have already said more than is sensible.’
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 wait 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.