Eight days, Barbara thought, another eight days. ‘Can’t we do it sooner?’

‘That will be a good day. Christmas celebrations will be beginning; things will be getting lax at the camp and in the town. Agustín does not want it to happen too soon after his return, and I agree that might look suspicious. And with luck the snow will be gone by then. A man running would stand out against the snow.’

‘Surely it will be gone by then. Heavy snow’s not usual this early.’

‘We must hope so.’

‘Is it going to be how you said? An escape from a working party?’

‘Yes. Señor Piper will pretend to have diarrhoea, Agustín will go into the bushes with him, he will hit him on the head, hard enough to cause a bruise, and Señor Piper will take Agustín’s keys and free himself. Then he will run downhill towards Cuenca. Your friend will get some distance away, hide in the bushes and trees among the hills until it is quite dark, then make his way to the town.’

‘Won’t they look for him in Cuenca? Won’t they know that’s where he’ll go?’

‘Yes. In fact, it is the only place he can go; in the other direction it is all wilderness and mountains. So yes, they will be looking for him in the town.’ Luis smiled. ‘But we have a place there for him to hide.’

‘Where?’

‘There are some bushes and trees on the road by the gorge, near the bridge, on the other side from the town. He will hide there until you arrive with some clothes for him to change into.

Barbara took a deep breath. ‘All right.’

‘You must drive to Cuenca on the fourteenth, be there by three in the afternoon. It is important you arrive there before it is dark – a woman walking alone in the town might be questioned. There is a place outside the town, a secluded place, where you can leave your car.’ He looked at her seriously. ‘Agustín has spent all his days off tramping the streets in and around Cuenca, to make sure everything is right.’

‘So I wait in the town until it is dark?’

Luis shook his head. ‘No. We have a place where you can wait, a place you can say you have come to visit if anyone asks questions. The cathedral. It is there you should take your friend afterwards. Once he has changed in the bushes, you walk across the bridge, a pair of English tourists who have come to see the cathedral. In there he can shave – he has a beard – and clean himself up.’

‘What if someone is there?’

Luis shook his head. ‘There will be no visitors to the cathedral on a Saturday in winter. And there will be someone there to help you.’

‘Agustín? Will he be there?’

‘No.’ Luis smiled wryly. ‘But he sometimes goes to the services in Cuenca Cathedral on Sundays. It is his excuse for going into town – they think he has become religious. There is a watchman there, employed by the church to keep an eye on things. He has offered to help us.’

‘A church employee?’ Barbara asked sharply. ‘Why would he help?’

‘For money, señora.’ Impatient anger flashed in Luis’s face for a moment. ‘He has a sick old wife and no money to pay for a doctor. So he will help you for the same reason that we are helping. He wants three hundred pesetas.’

She took a deep breath. ‘All right.’

‘So, you drive to Cuenca on the fourteenth, get there by three. Leave the car where I will tell you and go to the cathedral. The old man, Francisco, will be expecting you. Wait there until dark and then go to the hanging houses. You know where they are?’

‘Yes. I’ve been studying a map and guidebook. I could probably find my way around blindfold.’

‘Good. Bring some clothes for your friend, a suit if you can get one.’

‘All right. I’ll get a large size. Bernie’s tall, quite a strong build too.’

Luis shook his head. ‘Not after three years in the camp. A suit for a thin man will do. And shaving materials.’

‘What about a hat? With a wide brim to hide his face and his fair hair?’

‘Yes. That would be good.’

‘I can get the clothes,’ Barbara said. ‘I can pretend I’m doing Christmas shopping. The car might be difficult, my – my husband might be using it.’

Luis frowned tensely. ‘You must deal with that, señora.’

‘Yes, yes, I will. Somehow. What do I do when I get to the hanging houses?’

‘At the foot of the Tierra Muerta is a river gorge. It is very deep, you cannot scale it. On the other side of the gorge is the old town, which leads to the road to Madrid. There is a big iron bridge across the gorge, for pedestrians. On the town side are the hanging houses, and on the opposite side a road. A little way along the road is the clump of trees where your friend will be waiting.’

‘What if they’ve put guards on the bridge? If they know a prisoner’s escaped?’

‘That is possible. The camp will have rung the town. If that happens, wait in the cathedral. Señor Piper will cross the gorge further down and make his way there. Then go back to your car, pretend to be an English couple who have driven out to Cuenca for the day. And remember they will be looking for a prisoner, not a clean-shaven man in a suit. With luck there won’t be roadblocks, they won’t be expecting him to leave in a car.’ Luis looked at Barbara with his deep, hard olive eyes. ‘Your wealth will be your best disguise, señora.’

‘How far is Cuenca from the camp again? Eight kilometres?’

‘Yes.’

‘Will he be fit to walk that far?’ Barbara asked, a tremor in her voice.

‘He should be. With the cold a lot of people are ill in the camp but so far your friend is well. And it is all downhill.’

‘What if they find him on the way down?’

‘Let us just hope they don’t,’ Luis said flatly. He took another cigarette from the packet on the table. ‘We must hope for no snow and no moon.’ He lit up and took a deep drag. ‘He will know to move carefully, keep to the shadows.’

Barbara was suddenly overcome with doubt. ‘If he’s caught—’

Luis looked into her eyes. ‘This is what he wants, señora.’

‘Yes.’ She bit her lip. ‘Yes, he’d take the chance, I know. I have to do this for him.’

Luis looked at her curiously. ‘When you have him, what will you do?’

Her face set. ‘I’ll take him to the British Embassy. He’s a British citizen; they’ll have to take him in. They sent all the other International Brigaders home.’

‘And you?’

‘We’ll see.’ She wasn’t going to tell him her plans.

‘I trust you to pay me the rest of the money when you return.’

‘I’ll meet you on the sixteenth,’ Barbara said. ‘Here, at noon.

What if there has to be a change of plan, if Agustín’s rota is changed or Bernie’s ill or something?’

‘Agustín will get a message to me and I will telephone you at home. I will need your number.’

‘That’s risky.’ She thought a moment. ‘If I’m out, say you’re the baker phoning about my cake for Christmas and will ring again. Then I’ll come straight here. All right?’ She wrote the number on the packet of cigarettes and passed it to him. He smiled, always delighted to have the cigarettes, then looked suddenly weary.

‘You have planned this well,’ she said. ‘You and your brother.’

He avoided her eyes. ‘Do not thank us,’ he said. ‘Please do not thank us.’

‘Why not?’

‘We have done this for money. We must have money for Mama.’ That look of weariness again in his face. They were silent a moment.

‘Tell me,’ she asked, ‘do you ever hear from that journalist? Markby?’

Luis shook his head. ‘No. He contacted me through a friend, he was going to do an article on the camps but I heard no more. I think he has returned to England.’

‘I tried to ring him several times but he was always away somewhere.’

‘Journalists. They are rootless people.’ Luis looked round the cafe, then coughed. ‘Señora …’

‘Of course.’ Barbara opened her handbag and passed him a thick envelope under the table. He took it, sat very still for a moment, then nodded. Barbara noticed that the shoulders of his threadbare jacket were wet; she realized he had no coat.