THE NEXT MORNING Harry and Sofia walked down the Castellana, towards the embassy. Harry would have liked to put his arm in hers but there was a pair of civiles nearby.

Overnight the weather had turned colder again; there were patches of black ice on the pavements, frozen slush in the gutters. People going to work were huddled into their coats. But there had been no snow and the morning sky was a clear electric blue.

‘You’ll be all right?’ Harry asked.

‘Yes.’ Sofia smiled at him. ‘It is just a matter of filling in forms and Spaniards are used to that. I got through the political questions yesterday.’ There were some documents to prepare for the marriage ceremony; this morning she had an interview with the embassy lawyer. The man wanted to see her on her own but she would come to Harry’s office afterwards.

‘This time tomorrow we’ll be on our way to Cuenca,’ he said.

‘Are you quite sure the ambassador will send Bernie back to England?’

‘He has to. He can’t act illegally.’

‘They would here. They do it all the time.’

‘England’s different,’ Harry said. ‘It’s not perfect but it is different that way.’

‘I hope so.’

‘Get reception to call me when they’ve finished with you. I’ll show you my office. The hours are going to go pretty slowly today. When are you due at the dairy?’

‘Twelve. I’m on the afternoon shift.’

‘I’ve had a letter from Will. He’s rented a house for us. It’s on the outskirts of Cambridge, it’s got four bedrooms.’

Sofia laughed, shaking her head at the idea of such luxury.

‘We can move in when we like. Then I’ll see about a teaching job and getting a doctor for Paco.’

‘And I will take English lessons.’

He smiled at her. ‘And see you behave yourself. Don’t cheek the teacher.’

‘I will try.’ She looked around her, at the tall buildings of the Castellana, the high blue Madrid sky. ‘It seems so strange, in a couple of weeks we shall be so far away.’

‘You’ll find England odd at first. You’ll have to get used to how formal we are, how we don’t speak our minds.’

‘You do.’

‘I do to you. Well, there’s the embassy. See the flag?’

He signed her in and waited with her till the lawyer appeared. A bluff friendly man, he introduced himself and shook their hands before leading Sofia away. As Harry watched them go another door opened and Weaver appeared.

‘Hello, Brett, not coming to the Spanish Academy do? Better buck up or we’ll be late.’

‘I’m on standby.’

‘Oh yes, I forgot. So many parties this time of year. You’ve got tomorrow off, haven’t you?’

‘Yes. I’ve booked a car, going for a spin in the country.’

‘Bit cold for that, isn’t it? Oh well, have a good time. See you next week.’

TOLHURST WAS at his desk, a pile of files beside him. Sheets of paper were covered in calculations in his neat round hand.

‘Agents’ expenses?’

‘Yes, have to get these all done before Christmas. Are you coming to the American embassy reception tomorrow? Should be a good do.’

‘No, I’ve got the day off. Taking Sofia out for a ride in the country.’ Harry felt a spark of the old affection for him. ‘Listen, Tolly, about the wedding. I’m grateful for your help.’

‘Oh, that’s all right.’

‘I’m sorry things didn’t work out with Forsyth.’

Tolhurst folded his hands over his plump stomach. He was getting fatter.

‘Oh well, at least we know they’ve no gold.’

‘Any more news on that?’ Harry asked diffidently.

‘According to the captain, Sam was thinking of telling Maestre the mine was a fake. He’ll know how far we’ve been involved, but at least he’ll have been given some information he could use. Let the Falangists make fools of themselves.’

‘I see.’ Harry didn’t care any more.

He smiled at Harry. ‘You’re off soon, I hear.’

‘Yes, after the wedding.’

Tolhurst looked at him for a moment. ‘Got a best man?’ he asked.

‘We’re asking Sofia’s brother.’ Harry realized Tolhurst had been hoping to be asked. Tolhurst, his watcher. Harry was grateful for what he had done over the wedding but he hadn’t even considered that.

‘Are you going back to England for Christmas?’ he asked to change the subject.

‘No,’ Tolhurst replied huffily. ‘Staying on duty. Sitting around in case any problems come up with our agents.’ The telephone rang. Tolhurst picked it up and nodded. ‘That’s reception. They’ve finished with your girly. She says everything’s OK and she’s waiting for you downstairs.’

‘I’ll get off then.’

He looked at Harry. ‘By the way, have you seen anything of Miss Clare? Forsyth’s girl?’

‘I met her for coffee yesterday,’ Harry said carefully.

‘Forsyth seems to have cleared out properly. I suppose the woman will go back to England now.’

There was a knock at the door and an elderly, frockcoated secretary came in. He looked anxious. He peered at Harry though gold pince-nez. ‘Are you Brett?’

‘Yes.’

‘The ambassador would like to see you in his office.’

‘What? What about?’

‘If you could just come with me, sir. It is urgent.’

Harry glanced at Tolhurst but he only shrugged, looking puzzled.

Harry turned and followed the secretary down the corridor. He was on the verge of panic. Had they somehow found out about Cuenca?

The secretary ushered Harry into Hoare’s office. He had not been inside the luxurious room since the day he arrived. The ambassador was standing behind his desk, dressed in a morning suit, his thin face pink with anger. He frowned at Harry.

‘Is he the only one here?’ he snapped at the secretary.

‘Yes, ambassador.’

‘I cannot believe all the translators were allowed to go to that reception.’

‘Mr Weaver’s just left, sir, he was the last. I’ve tried phoning the Spanish Academy but their phones are down.’

Hoare gave Harry an icy look. ‘Well, you’ll have to do, Brett. Why aren’t you at the reception?’

‘My fiancée’s here, getting the documentation for our wedding.’

Hoare grunted. He waved the secretary irritably away. ‘Where’s your morning suit?’ he snapped at Harry.

‘At home.’

‘Then you’ll have to borrow one from here. Now listen. I’ve been trying to get an interview with the Generalísimo for weeks. He keeps me waiting, refuses to see me, while von Stohrer and the Italians are in and out of there every five minutes.’ Hoare’s voice was full of petulant anger. ‘Then out of the blue I get a message he’ll see me this morning. I must go, there are important matters to raise and I need to make my presence felt.’ He paused. ‘I read Spanish of course, but I’m not quite fluent.’

Harry wanted to laugh, with relief that it wasn’t trouble and at Hoare’s posturing; everyone knew he spoke barely a word of the language.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘So I’ll need a translator. I’d like you ready in half an hour, please. We’re driving out to El Pardo. You’ve translated for junior ministers, haven’t you?’

‘Yes, sir. And some of Franco’s speeches.’

Hoare shook his head irritably. ‘Don’t refer to him like that. You mean Generalísimo Franco. He’s the head of state.’ He shook his head.

‘This is why I needed an experienced man. Go and get ready.’ He shooed Harry away, like a troublesome insect.

IT WAS A LONG drive out to the palace in the north of the city that Franco had appropriated as his residence. The car drove out into the countryside, the road following the Manzanares river as it flowed cold and grey between high wooded banks of skeletal trees. Sitting in the back with Hoare, Harry glanced up at the sky; it was still cloudless, icy blue. He hoped desperately there would be no more snow before tomorrow.

Harry had borrowed one of the spare morning suits they kept at the embassy and returned to Hoare’s office, then walked with the ambassador to reception. Sofia, sitting waiting, looked at them with astonishment. He went over and explained quickly where he was going while Hoare glared at him impatiently. When he mentioned Franco’s name, Sofia’s mouth tightened. As they left the embassy he felt her eyes on them.