THEY were stopped at the town gate by a blue-coated sergeant, whose white shoulder-straps gleamed with newly applied pipe-clay. He levelled a musket at them as they hobbled towards him, feigning exhaustion. ‘Identify yourself,’ he commanded Robert.
‘Lieutenant Philippe Santerre and Madame Santerre,’ Olivia said. ‘I speak for him.’
‘Oh, and what has taken his tongue?’ He stepped up to Robert, pushing the muzzle of the musket into the buttons of Philippe’s old coat and peering into his face. ‘My orders are to let no one in without the password.’
Olivia noticed Robert’s fists clenching and his jaw tighten and was afraid he would try and speak. ‘He cannot talk; he has been hanged and left for dead,’ she said quickly. ‘By the guerrilleros.’
Robert grinned lop-sidedly and ran his finger along the inside of the bandage round his throat, giving the soldier a glimpse of the rope marks.
‘The guerrillas?’ he queried. ‘And where did this happen?’
‘In the hills. I do not know exactly.’ Although he had spoken to Robert, it was Olivia who answered.
The sergeant turned to eye her, from her French army boots, up over her skirt and dust-covered white blouse to defiant green eyes. ‘And what were you doing in the hills?’
‘Hunting.’
‘And did you have permission to leave the town?’
Robert nodded and then stopped and put his hand to his throat, pretending pain. Olivia touched his arm. ‘Don’t try and talk, my dear, the sergeant understands.’ She turned to the soldier. ‘You do, don’t you? We were hungry and went looking for food. You know what these pigs of Spanish are like; they give nothing. The lieutenant is lucky to be alive at all. He needs rest. Let us go to our quarters, for pity’s sake. He can report to his regiment later.’
He looked from her to Robert, who opened his mouth to speak and then shut it again, then back to Olivia. ‘How did he survive?’
‘I cut him down. Please let us through. We will go to Colonel Clavier in the morning.’
‘Very well, but mind you do, for I shall report seeing you, so do not think you have got away with flouting the regulations and wandering about a hostile countryside on your own. This is no picnic, you know.’
‘We know,’ she said, as he waved them on.
They made themselves stumble agonisingly slowly past him until they were in a jumble of streets and lost among the townspeople and the thousands of soldiers who were quartered there and seemed bent on having a good time, for many of them were drunk.
‘Who does he think he is?’ Robert grumbled in a whisper as they quickened their pace. ‘In our army a mere sergeant would not be allowed to speak to an officer like that.’
‘He was only doing his duty.’
‘And not very well either,’ he said.
‘Perhaps not,’ she said. ‘But you would certainly not have been allowed through without me.’
‘Modesty is not one of your virtues, is it?’ He turned to grin down at her as they turned up a narrow thoroughfare where houses with iron-railinged balconies trailing geraniums crowded together, where women gossiped at the doors and children played on the cobbles. ‘I never met such a forward woman.’
‘You had better be quiet,’ she said sharply. ‘You can’t speak, remember?’
They walked side by side without exchanging another word until they came to a bakery, though there was little evidence of any baking being done, and here she led the way up a stone staircase which went up to an outside balcony with two doors along it. She pushed open the first and went inside. He followed.
The room was dim and cool. It contained a large bed, a chest of drawers, a cupboard and a few chairs. There was a rug on the floor and a thin curtain at the window; a poor enough lodging for an aristocrat like Philippe but better than many of his compatriots enjoyed. It was just as they had left it; a pair of boots stood by the hearth from which ashes spilled, a shirt hung over a chair and Philippe’s sword was propped against the wall. Robert strode over and picked the weapon up, balancing it in his hand appreciatively. The action seemed a kind of sacrilege to Olivia, a violation of Philippe’s privacy; it made her feel as if she had betrayed him. She hated the Englishman for making her feel so guilty, not only about the sword but about that kiss in the monk’s cell. It meant nothing, of course; it had simply been an expedient thing to do at the time, but she could not forget her own shameful reaction to it.
‘Put that down!’ she snapped.
He looked up from contemplating its beautifully fashioned hilt and stared at her in surprise, then slowly replaced the weapon against the wall. ‘His papers and belongings, isn’t that what you said? So that I can impersonate him.’
‘Yes, but not that, not his sword.’
‘Why not? I am an officer, I need a sword and he has no use for it now.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘Unless you claim to be as good a swordsman as you are a rifleman and want it for yourself. Is that it?’
‘No, I have never learned the art.’
‘Oh, blessed relief! I thought there was nothing I could do that you could not do better.’ He went to the window, which looked out on to a narrow alley between the rough-plastered houses. ‘Is it because you cannot bear to see your husband’s belongings in the hands of someone else?’ he asked, with his back to her. She did not answer and he turned to look into her face. ‘That’s it, isn’t it? You loved him — you loved the Frenchman, your country’s enemy.’
‘But not my enemy. You don’t understand. I can’t explain and you have no right to accuse me; you have too much to hide yourself. And just because I agreed to help you, it does not mean you can march in here and make free with Philippe’s belongings. You should not take for granted that you will have everything of his.’
‘No,’ he agreed, smiling at her vehemence; she appeared not to have understood him at all. ‘Now, if you would be so good as to hand over Lieutenant Santerre’s papers and his spare uniform and overalls, that would suffice.’ His tone was clipped. ‘I can always acquire another sword.’
She bent to pull a chest out from under the bed. ‘Then what?’ she asked. She had given no thought to what would happen after this moment. Had he supposed that taking her husband’s name entitled him to other rights? The idea of sharing the room with this too handsome, too confident, oh, too everything man made her tremble. She could not look at him in case her eyes betrayed her thoughts. ‘Now we are here, what are we going to do?’
‘We, my dear Olivia? You do not need to do a thing. I asked you to get me past the guard and into the town; your job is done, you need stay no longer.’
She was so taken aback, she could not speak. How wrong she had been! He had not even considered her feelings at all and was quite prepared to turn her out. ‘You ungrateful wretch!’ she exploded.
‘I did not say I wasn’t grateful, did I? I simply give you a choice, to stay or to go.’
‘Which is no choice at all. Do you expect me to turn right round and go out of the town again? What do you suppose our friend at the gate would say if he saw me leaving again so soon? And alone.’
‘I’ve no doubt you could find a ready tale; you seem to be able to do that at the drop of a hat.’
‘Then that is what I shall do. Goodbye, Captain Lynmount.’ She picked up a small bag of coins from the chest and put them in her pocket. Philippe’s clothes she flung at him, so that he was smothered and by the time he had extricated himself she had gone.
He cursed roundly and sank on to the bed with shirts, overalls, underdrawers and hose in his lap. Of all the inept fools! He had bungled what he had wanted to say and it was no wonder she had stormed out. The truth was that he did need her; only she could substantiate his story and make it convincing. She knew the ways of the French army and could prevent him from doing things he should not do, or failing to do things that he should do, which might give him away as an impostor. And he had to find out the number and disposition of the French forces. How many guns, how many wagons, how much ammunition, when they were going to march and where. Her help would have been invaluable for that; it had nothing to do with his personal feelings at all. He would not admit to having any.
But he had meant what he said about choice, even if he had not said it very well. It was unfair of him to expect the same degree of patriotism from her as he felt and he did not want her to think she had to stay with him if she did not want to. It would be dangerous and he had no right to insist that she share it with him. He smiled, remembering her courage. Danger would not put her off; she seemed not to acknowledge its existence. But that was dangerous in itself; overconfidence brought its own perils. Perhaps he was better off without her; at any rate he was not going to chase after her. He had run after a woman before and regretted it. If she came back on her own, then he might consider offering an explanation, but if she did not…
Of course she would return; where else would she go? She had pointed out herself how suspicious it would be if she left the town again so soon. She would do nothing to jeopardise his mission, would she? He stood up, threw the clothes behind him on the bed and paced the room. Could she, would she, inform on him? Just because she had been born English, that did not make her a patriot. And she had married a Frenchman. A woman did not marry unless she believed in the same things her husband did. Was she a danger to him? Should he go looking for her or should he forget about her help, leave now and find a safer hiding place? Or should he go to sleep, confident that when he woke she would have returned and he could trust her?
He fell back on the bed again and stared up at the cracked ceiling. She was an extraordinary woman, not exactly beautiful but with fine bones and expressive eyes and the figure of a goddess. She was down-to-earth, apparently fearless and always cheerful in spite of the blows that fate had dealt her. If she did not return, it was going to be hellishly difficult without her…
Olivia’s temper had cooled almost as soon as she reached the street. Perhaps she had been unreasonable, for how was Robert to know how she felt about Philippe? Not love exactly, but a kind of fondness which came of his kindness and her gratitude. You could not easily throw that aside. Seeing that room again and his belongings, so familiar to her, had made her realise what none of the past three days had done — that he had truly died, and not in battle, which was something she knew she could accept, but in a particularly cruel and unnecessary way. Whether she had been in love with Philippe or not was none of Robert’s business. His business was to spy, and the sooner he accomplished that, the sooner she could hold him to his end of the bargain — to take her safely home. And home was where she most wanted to go.
She walked past the castle with its crenellated keep and ivy-clad walls, patrolled by uniformed guards of Napoleon’s northern army, to a market-place where those few traders who still had goods to sell had set out their stalls. Quarrel or no quarrel, they needed to eat; she began bargaining with a stallholder over the king’s ransom he demanded for a cabbage. Three nights before she had taken one from a garden for nothing and feasted well on cabbage soup and stewed hare. Was that only three nights before? It seemed like a lifetime.
‘Twenty pesetas,’ the man demanded. ‘And cheap, considering it had to be brought in from the country and the hills are swarming with guerrilleros.’
‘They are your own countrymen.’
‘To be sure, but they do not hold with co-operating with the French — Afrancesado, they call me, but I have a wife and five little children…’
‘I understand. But twenty pesetas! That is altogether too much.’
If Philippe had been with her, he would have paid for the cabbage without a murmur, because wealth meant nothing to him, except its power to obtain the unobtainable. It was there for the spending and when his allowance ran out he simply wrote home for more. He could not have been more different from Tom, whose life had revolved around money, or, rather, the lack of it. Tom had begrudged a shilling for food when it meant he had less to gamble. He had always been convinced of being able to recoup his last losses on his next card game and make a fortune as well; it had always been the same. It was funny how she had reacted to Tom’s penny-pinching by being extravagant herself, and to Philippe’s generosity by being careful of his money. It was his money she was spending now and she felt badly about that, especially when one of the beneficiaries would be an Englishman, the enemy of all good Frenchmen.
‘Come, señora; if you don’t have it, others will, so make up your mind,’ the rough voice broke in on her thoughts. ‘I’ve cherries too, and honey, but they are for special customers.’
Special customers, Olivia realised, were those prepared to pay the exorbitant prices, but what choice did she have? She paid for cabbage and cherries and moved on, pushing her way through the crowds.
‘Next week, I heard the colonel tell the major.’ The man’s voice caught her attention. She turned to see a corporal and the sergeant who had stopped them at the gate, sitting on a shell-shattered wall, smoking filthy clay pipes and sharing a flask of wine, drinking it straight from the bottle. ‘The advance guard is to go and clear the way.’
Olivia walked past them and then turned in at a break in the wall and made her way along the other side of it, so that she could eavesdrop without being noticed. If she could return to Robert with some of the information he needed, then perhaps he would not dismiss her so lightly.
She was so busy planning Robert’s come-uppance that she failed to notice how close she had come to where they sat and that they had stopped speaking. One of them, alerted by her shadow falling across them, turned and startled her.
‘An eavesdropper, by heaven. Or were you thinking of something a little more diverting, my pretty?’
‘No, no.’ She backed away. ‘I was dreaming… wasn’t looking where I was going.’
‘Dreaming, eh?’ the sergeant said. ‘You are the one who came with the man with no voice, the man who was hanged.’ He turned back to his companion. ‘Hanged by the guerrillas, so she said. He had the rope marks on his neck so I suppose it is true; you couldn’t fake those.’
‘I must go back to him,’ she said.
He caught her arm. ‘No so fast. Where is this heroic fellow of yours?’
‘At home, resting.’
‘And where is home?’
‘Over Señor Antondan’s bakery.’
‘Has the lieutenant seen a doctor?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Nor reported to the colonel, I’ll wager.’
‘No.’
‘It had better be one or the other. Either the doctor gives him a note or he reports for duty; he should know that.’
‘He does. He’ll go when he has rested.’
‘Then I think you should see the colonel in his stead. A man left to hang and a woman with wit enough to wait until the hangmen have left and then cut him down and bandage him up is a story which will interest him. He will want to know where and when this happened.’
‘We will see him tomorrow.’
He jumped down from the wall and took her arm. ‘I think you should see him today. Now.’
‘I do not want to go now. I must go back. Ro… Philippe will be anxious about me.’ If he is still there, she thought, remembering their quarrel. ‘I came out to buy food…’
‘Food! I doubt he’s ready for food; you are wasting your time and pesetas. No, madame, you come with us.’ By this time the other soldier had stationed himself on her other side and there was no escape.
‘Very well,’ she said. ‘But let us make haste; I have much to do.’
They escorted her to a house close to the castle where Colonel Clavier had made himself comfortable in one of the wealthier citizens’ homes. As they entered, they passed a man coming out whose round, rather flabby face was vaguely familiar to Olivia, and she spent the next few moments wondering where and when she had seen him before. He was in civilian clothes and, because she had become so accustomed to the dark blue jackets of the soldiers, his brown wool coat and yellow silk cravat confused her memory. Was he a private citizen or a soldier out of uniform, a comrade of Philippe’s? Could he denounce Robert? Were the Englishman’s plans to be thwarted before he had even begun?
She stood to one side to allow the man to pass — a courtesy he took for granted, except that he smiled in a patronising way. He did not show any sign of having recognised her and she supposed she had been mistaken. She forgot him as a dig in her ribs reminded her that her escort was becoming impatient.
‘Come, madame, I thought you were in a hurry,’ the sergeant said, then to the guard who stepped forward to bar their way, ‘I’ve brought the colonel a tasty morsel for his dinner and she has a story to tell will set your hair a-curl.’
‘Is that what I am to tell Colonel Clavier?’ the guard demanded. ‘Jacques Mortand, you should come with a better tale than that if you want to disturb the colonel.’
‘This woman, wife of Lieutenant Santerre, has been up in the hills with the guerrillas; surely that’s a tale worth listening to.’
The guard conceded this and disappeared down a long hallway, then knocked on a door at the far end. A voice bade him enter and he disappeared, to reappear a minute later and beckon Olivia. ‘Madame Santerre, the colonel will see you.’
She moved forward slowly and entered the room, followed by the sergeant, who had no intention of missing the story if he could help it.
Colonel Clavier was a corpulent man whose uniform coat was stretched almost to bursting-point across his middle, held there, it seemed, by a quantity of gold braid. He was standing by the empty fireplace with a brandy glass in one hand and his other resting on the mantelpiece, where his plump fingers drummed a tattoo in the dust. He watched her for a moment, then left the hearth to sit at a desk which stood in the middle of the room. Olivia, facing him, hoped she was hiding the nervousness she felt.
‘Your name?’ he demanded.
‘Olivia Santerre, wife of Lieutenant Philippe Santerre.’
‘You are not French,’ he said, catching the traces of an accent.
‘No, Colonel. I came from England.’
‘English!’ His surprise was obvious. ‘What are you doing in Spain?’
‘When men go to war, their wives have little choice, and it matters not whose side they are on.’ She hoped her evasive answer would satisfy him. ‘I was English and now I am French.’
‘Is that so?’ He appeared to be amused.
‘So my husband told me when we were married.’
‘And you are loyal to France?’
She faced him defiantly. ‘Of course.’
‘You have been in the guerrillas’ camp?’
‘Yes.’
‘You know, of course, that the guerrillas are a source of some annoyance, like fleas, jumping and biting? They must be squashed, don’t you agree?’
‘Yes, Colonel, most decidedly. They tried to kill my husband…’
He waved her to a chair, while the sergeant stood by the door, apparently forgotten. ‘I think you had better begin at the beginning.’
She sat down on the edge of the chair, poised for flight, though she could not have escaped with the sergeant blocking the doorway. She told him about going hunting and being captured and Philippe being hanged, all of which had the ring of truth, and she did not have to pretend to be upset; the memory was still painful. ‘They left him for dead,’ she said.
‘Why did they not hang you too?’
‘I told them I was English.’
‘And they believed you?’
‘Yes, enough to have doubts about killing me. They just rode away, laughing. I suppose they thought I could not find my way down the mountain. After they had gone, I cut Philippe down.’
‘How? Did they leave you with a knife?’
She paused, wondering why she had not thought of that. She could hardly change her mind now and say she had shot him down. They would not believe that anyway; even those who had actually seen the frayed noose which had been about Robert’s neck had hardly credited it. ‘I found a discarded bayonet.’
‘And then?’
‘My husband was still alive, so I nursed him a day and a night until he was strong enough to move and then we found our way back.’
‘Where is this guerilla camp?’
‘In the mountains to the north-east, I think,’ she said evasively. ‘I do not know exactly. They blindfolded us.’
‘But you found your way home, it seems.’
‘We were lucky,’ she said. ‘I could not locate the path again and I think my husband was in too much pain to take note of where we were going.’
‘That is a great pity,’ he said, and she thought she detected a threat in his tone. ‘Because I want you to show us the way to this mountain hide-out.’
‘I cannot. All mountain tracks look the same to me.’
‘Then your husband will take us…’
‘He is weak, Colonel, and he cannot talk. His neck is lacerated and his voice has gone…’
‘He can write, can he not? And ride? He is an officer, not an ignorant peasant.’ He turned to the sergeant. ‘Fetch him.’
The sergeant obeyed with alacrity and Olivia dared not protest. Her only hope was that Robert would maintain his silence and do nothing to arouse suspicion. She realised with a growing awareness that now her tale had been told and she had claimed Robert as her husband she was in the subterfuge so deeply there could be no extricating herself. She had to play the role to its end. She had thought herself in a scrape when Philippe died, when she was fleeing from the guerrillas and trying to find her way back to the British lines; now she was in a worse one, and still it was her own fault.
Why did she let such things happen to her? No sensible, well brought-up young lady, English, French or Spanish, would allow it; they would be branded as unacceptable to society if they did. She would never be able to hold up her head in a London drawing-room again. Not that she set much store by that; here, in Spain, was the real world, here was life in the round, the living and the dying. But she did not fancy the idea of dying just yet.
‘Tell me all about yourself.’ The colonel pulled up a chair close to where she sat and smiled at her in a way which left her in no doubt what he was thinking. ‘You have courage and beauty too, worthy of something more than a mere lieutenant. How did you meet him?’
‘In Oporto,’ she said, remembering what Robert had said about the English colony there. ‘My father was a wine merchant. Philippe used to come to our house when he was quartered in the town. My father liked him.’
‘Even though he was French?’ He reached out to touch her arm. She pretended not to notice, wishing she felt a little cleaner and tidier; it was difficult to behave with any hauteur in the circumstances.
‘Why not? Philippe was…is…a good man, and my father was anxious I should marry. He wanted to see me settled; he was dying, you see.’ She buried her hands in the folds of her skirt and crossed her fingers to ward off the retribution for all the lies. She was amazed at how easily they tripped off her tongue. She prayed Robert would say and do nothing to contradict her.
‘Did you not want to return to England?’
‘No. I had left it as a child; what was there to go back to?’
‘But a mere lieutenant! Surely you could have had your pick of half the officers in the French army.’
She smiled at his flattery. ‘Colonel, Philippe Santerre comes from a very distinguished and noble family. The fact that he is a lieutenant is only a matter of short duration. He would have been promoted before now if he had not been wounded at Talavera and his regiment all but wiped out.’
He threw back his head and laughed. ‘Well said, madame, well and loyally said. We shall have to see what we can do about this lieutenant of yours. A post at headquarters, I think, eh?’
‘Colonel…’
‘No need to thank me now,’ he said, smiling and putting up a chubby hand to touch her cheek; it felt cold and moist on her skin. ‘Once he is on my staff, you will be able to show your gratitude in the proper manner. We can ensure that he is kept busy and you are, shall we say, entertained.’
Olivia took a deep breath. ‘Colonel, you flatter me. I am sure I would be a great disappointment to you; my English upbringing…’
‘Englishwomen are cold, you mean?’ He laughed again and reached out to grasp her thigh. ‘What is it they say? “Still waters run deep…”’
She shot from her seat and backed away from him. ‘I am not still waters, Colonel, I have a vicious temper. I throw things…’
‘Better and better.’ He laughed and sat back in his chair to look up at her, appraising her bright cheeks and angry eyes, letting his glance rove down to her trim waist and over her dusty skirt to her boot-clad feet. ‘You are hardly in a position to act the innocent, are you? Don’t you want a decent pair of shoes and a gown that does more for you than that rag you are wearing?’
‘They are practical.’
‘They are enough to put a man off his dinner…’
‘Good!’ she retorted.
He rose and took a step towards her. She backed away, looking round for a way of escape, but there was none. ‘No,’ he said, laughing again. ‘You are certainly not still waters; you are a turbulent ocean with heaven knows how many hidden currents. Navigating them will be a source of great enjoyment.’
Mercifully they were interrupted by the arrival of the sergeant with Robert, who wandered in behind him as if he were being made to attend a rather boring tea party, except that his eyes were alert and took in the scene at a glance — the colonel with his hands on Olivia’s shoulders and, judging by her high colour, they had not been exchanging the time of day. He was surprised how angry it made him feel.
The colonel turned and looked him up and down. ‘Is it true?’ he demanded. ‘Is it fact that your wife has a fiery temper?’
Robert looked from Olivia, who was trying to convey a message with her eyes for him to agree without actually nodding her head, then to the colonel. Robert smiled and opened his mouth to speak, but all that came from his throat was a hoarse whisper. The colonel turned to Olivia. ‘What did he say?’
‘He said, “Truly remarkable,”’ she translated for him. ‘I told you he could not speak. I must do the talking for us both.’
Colonel Clavier drew paper, pen and ink from his desk drawer and signalled to Robert to sit at a small table by the window. ‘You will draw a map of where the guerrillas are hiding,’ he said.
‘We did not know where we were being taken,’ Olivia put in, as Robert took up the pen and dipped it in the ink. ‘I told you they blindfolded us.’ She watched in horror as Robert began sketching.
‘It seems your husband remembers more than you do,’ the colonel said.
‘He is making it up, to stop you interrogating him,’ she said. ‘He had enough of that from the guerrillas. He was much too ill after I had cut him down to mark the route we took coming back down the mountain.’
The colonel straightened up from looking over Robert’s shoulder and scrutinised her face. She felt herself going very red. ‘Why are you being so difficult, madame? One would almost think you wanted to prevent us from finding these bandits. I hope that is not so?’
‘Of course not. I want them found,’ she said quickly. ‘I was only thinking of my husband’s weakened condition…’
‘He does not look weak to me, madame. In truth, I think he is quite capable of reporting for duty.’ He turned to Robert. ‘That is so, is it not, Lieutenant?’
Robert, who had laid aside the pen and was waving the paper like a fan to dry the ink, nodded agreement.
‘Then I will arrange for you to be attached to my staff,’ the colonel went on, taking the rough map from Robert. ‘I can use you as a guide.’
Robert stood up, clicked his heels and bowed his head in obedience, then turned to take Olivia’s arm and escort her from the room.
‘Au revoir, madame,’ the colonel called after them. ‘You had better be on hand when your husband reports for duty — until he can talk again, that is.’
Olivia and Robert walked in silence along the tiled hallway, past the guard and out of the front door. The heat of the July sunshine reflected off the cobbles and rose to meet them, but both had become used to it and hardly noticed it. They were more concerned with hurrying away from any watching eyes in the house they had just left. As soon as they were well away and in one of the many narrow alleys which criss-crossed the town, Olivia let out her breath in a huge sigh of relief. ‘Now what are we going to do?’ she demanded. ‘We will be under the eye of that lecherous monster all day, every day.’
‘He is evidently very taken with you. What did you do to him?’
‘What did I do?’ she squeaked. ‘You think I like being mauled by that fat pig?’
‘You didn’t seem to be trying very hard to stop him.’
‘How could I? If he had any idea who you really are…’
‘You mean you endured it for my sake? I find that hard to believe.’
‘Believe what you like,’ she snapped. ‘It will not make a jot of difference in the long run; we’ll be found out, and I’d rather leave before that happens.’
‘What? With our mission unaccomplished?’
‘Our mission! Not two hours ago, you were telling me I did not need to stay.’
‘That was two hours ago.’
‘What is different now?’
‘My appointment to the colonel’s staff and his evident attraction to you.’
‘All the more reason to go. We’ll never keep up the deception.’
‘We will. We have to. And you can deal with him, I’ll lay odds.’
‘Even if I can, you will never carry it off. I do not know what madness made me agree to help you. Let’s leave now and go back to our own lines…’
‘Our own lines, my dear Olivia? Where might they be?’
‘Wherever General Craufurd is.’
‘How on earth should I know? Perhaps Don Santandos will tell us.’
‘Not he. He does not trust you any more than I do.’
She stopped walking to turn angrily on him. ‘Just what are you implying, Captain Lynmount? If I am not to be trusted, why did you encourage me to bring you here, right into the lion’s den? I could hand you over right now. The sergeant of the guard is over there. The one we met at the gate.’ She nodded her head towards a group of soldiers standing round a lone guitarist who sat on the edge of a broken limber singing a sad lament about a soldier leaving his love to go to war. ‘I could call him over.’
‘Do so, if you wish,’ he said laconically. ‘It will be interesting to hear how you explain away your previous story and why you did not denounce me when we were in the colonel’s office. Good as you are at telling a tale, I doubt you would be very convincing.’ He smiled but there was no humour in his hazel eyes. ‘And, of course, I could explain that you have never really thrown off your English loyalties, in spite of my generosity and kindness to you. I am Lieutenant Santerre, a loyal subject of Napoleon, remember?’
‘And how do you think you will manage to say all that when you are supposed to be unable to speak? I am your voice, or had you forgotten that little detail?’
‘Touché, madame.’ He laughed suddenly. ‘It seems we are inextricably bound together. It is worse than being married.’
‘And what do you know of marriage?’
‘Nothing, thank heaven.’
‘Then do not speak of things you know nothing about.’
‘And I suppose two husbands, both dead, makes you an expert on the subject?’
‘That was a cruel thing to say.’
He suddenly became contrite. ‘I am sorry, Olivia,’ he said softly, taking her arm. ‘That was unforgivable of me. I humbly ask pardon.’
‘Why is it,’ she mused, more to herself than him, ‘that whenever I decide to break free of you something happens to bind us even more surely? It is certainly not your charming manner.’
He roared with laughter and Olivia became aware that the group of soldiers had turned to look at them. ‘It’s not funny,’ she hissed. ‘You are making us conspicuous.’
His laughter turned to a lop-sided grin as they resumed walking. ‘Our being bound together, as you put it, is not of my choosing, Madame Santerre.’
‘Nor mine.’
He smiled down at her. ‘Then let us say it was an unkind fate, then we need not blame ourselves or each other. Let us accept the inevitable and make the best of it. The sooner I have done what I came to do, the sooner you can be released from an association you find so abhorrent.’
‘What have you come to do?’
‘Better you do not know the details.’
‘Why not?’ she demanded, then added, ‘Oh, I see, because I am not to be trusted.’
‘I trust you with my life; is that not enough?’
‘What did you draw on that map?’ she asked, changing the subject abruptly.
‘The way to the monastery.’
She was appalled. Telling the whole French army where they could find Don Santandos was tantamount to his murder. ‘How could you?’ She rounded on him. ‘They will all be killed.’
‘Why this sudden concern for a bunch of guerrilleros?’ he countered. ‘They killed your husband and they tried to kill me.’
‘That was before they knew who you were. They trust you now, at least enough to let you go. And they will have no mercy if you betray them. And Father Peredo has been set to watch us.’
He smiled wearily; trying to appease Olivia without putting her in any more danger than she was in already was an exhausting business and he wished he did not have to do it. ‘In war it is often necessary to do things which are distasteful,’ he said. ‘Sacrifices have to be made. It is vital that the French trust me…’
‘And so you sacrifice your allies. I hate it! I hate you! And even more I hate myself for betraying Philippe.’
‘He would understand,’ he said softly. ‘Believe me, Olivia, he would understand.’
She was silent. There seemed nothing that they could say to each other which did not rub them raw and, like it or not, they had to stay together, at least for the time being. They needed each other. England had never seemed more desirable than it did at this moment; she was surprised how emotional she felt about it. Angry with herself for her weakness, she turned from him so that he should not see her tears, and noticed the sergeant and his companions eyeing them with curiosity. She smiled weakly at them and grabbed Robert’s arm to alert him to the danger. He looked towards the men and grinned, just as they ambled over, drawn by curiosity.
‘This is the man the guerrillas cannot kill,’ the sergeant said to his companions. ‘He was hanged and yet he lives. Show my friends the mark of the rope, Lieutenant.’
Robert obliged them, pulling aside his bandage. The weals on his neck seemed as livid as ever and Olivia strongly suspected he had done something to make them seem worse than they really were.
‘My!’ one of them said.
‘How does it feel?’ asked another.
‘He cannot speak. His voice has been permanently damaged,’ Olivia said.
‘Is that so? How will he do his work?’
‘I am his voice,’ she said. ‘Where he goes, I go too.’
One of them laughed. ‘A man who needs a nursemaid is hardly a man for a battle.’
Robert grunted, grabbed him by the front of his uniform coat and lifted him clear of the ground.
‘Don’t!’ Olivia cried, fearing that Robert’s wrath would betray them both. ‘Let him be. He didn’t mean anything…’
‘No, no, I meant no disrespect,’ the man squealed helplessly. ‘Let me down, Lieutenant.’
Robert released him so suddenly that he fell to the ground, then glared round at the others, trying to convey his fury and a threat without speaking. Olivia marvelled at his control. Angry as he was, he had not uttered a word, either in English or French.
‘Best be off,’ she said to the soldiers. ‘The lieutenant may have lost his voice but he still has the power to punish you, if you cause trouble.’
They drifted away, but she was worried. Robert had gained a reputation he could well have done without. Instead of melting into the background of a busy garrison town — difficult enough with his great height — he had become notorious as the man who had escaped a hanging, the man who had to rely on his wife to communicate. She pulled on his arm, trying to make him leave the scene, where everyone seemed to be staring at them and, to her mind, could see right through their subterfuge.
‘You should have ignored them,’ she said, when they were safely away and walking down a quiet side-street towards the bakery. ‘All you did was draw attention to us and that is the last thing we want.’
‘Why? I do not intend to skulk in dark corners. That is not the way to gain intelligence, and Lieutenant Santerre has nothing to hide.’
‘But Captain Robert Lynmount has.’
‘Who is Captain Robert Lynmount?’ he queried, drawing her arm through his and smiling down at her. The changes in his mood were like quicksilver. ‘I know nothing of a Captain Robert Lynmount.’
‘Neither do I,’ she said tartly. ‘He is a stranger to me.
It was true. She knew nothing of him at all, nothing of his background, his family, his likes and dislikes, his loves and his hates. He had been in love, he had told her so, but he had never married. Had he been disappointed by a lady? Did that account for his less than chivalrous manner towards her?
Honesty made her smile to herself; she had hardly invited chivalry. How could a man feel protective of a woman who could shoot as well as he could, who rode a horse as well as he could and, worst of all, refused to admit to any feminine feelings like helplessness and fear? How could a man feel protective of a woman who wore a soldier’s boots? She looked down at her feet; how long was it since she had worn shoes? It had been at Toulon, when she and the wounded Philippe had gone home. His parents had been horrified by her appearance, and rightly so, and Madame Santerre had insisted on buying her a whole new wardrobe. But it had all been so ridiculously extravagant and she had known how useless the garments would be in Spain. She had left them behind when they returned. But it would be pleasant to be softly feminine now and again, especially now.
She stopped her thoughts abruptly. She was not out to impress this enigmatic man beside her and it would be folly to try. He looked on her as a comrade in arms, another soldier, a spy perhaps, but never a woman. That being so, she had best play her part well and then he would keep his promise to tak her home, and the sooner the better.
‘What are you thinking?’ His voice, still a little hoarse, broke in on her thoughts. ‘You have not spoken for at least five minutes and that is not in the least like you.’
‘How do you know what is like me? You know no more about me than I know about you.’
‘We ought to remedy that,’ he said, then spoiled it by adding, ‘For the sake of our story. You must tell me all about Lieutenant Santerre — his background and family and your life with him. I must do nothing that is out of character.’
‘You are enjoying this, aren’t you?’ she demanded, pulling her arm from his to face him squarely. ‘It’s like play-acting to you. You forget these are real people here, in this town, that Philippe was real and I am real. I think you want a new identity because you do not like your old one. Perhaps the disgrace of Captain Robert Lynmount is more than you can stomach…’
She knew she had gone too far when she saw the smile leave his face and his hazel eyes harden until they flashed an anger which made her tremble. She waited for the tirade, perhaps a denial, but nothing happened for fully a minute, while they glared at each other in animosity. Then he took her arm again and spoke so softly that she was taken aback.
‘One day you will regret saying that, Madame Santerre, but in the meantime let us go home and you can tell me all about Philippe and the ways of the French army. Your chances of surviving to go home to England are dependent on my success and, reluctant as I am to say this, I need you in order to achieve it.’
She turned her head away because there were tears streaming down her cheeks and the last thing she wanted was for him to see them. She did not know why she was crying; he had said nothing she did not know already, he had broken no promises to her and it was not his fault she was in the mess she was in.
She lifted her hand and surreptitiously brushed away the evidence of her misery. ‘You are right, of course,’ she said, her voice brittle with the effort of sounding practical. ‘I will do what I can. The sooner it is all over, the better.’