Hillgarth looked irritated by the interruption. He leaned forward. ‘Forsyth wouldn’t have known any Spanish before coming out here, would he?’

‘No, but he would have picked it up quickly. He’s smart. That was one reason the masters hated him at school; he was bright but he wouldn’t work.’

Hillgarth raised his eyebrows. ‘Hated? That’s a strong word.’

‘It got to that, I think.’

‘Well, according to our man he’s got in with the state mining agency. Does wheeler-dealing for them; negotiating supplies and so on.’ He paused. ‘The Falange faction dominates the Ministry of Mines. They’d love Spain to be able to pay for food imports, instead of begging us and the Americans for loans. Trouble is, we’ve no hard intelligence in there. If you could get directly to Forsyth it could be of incalculable help. We must find out if there’s anything in these gold stories.’

‘Yes, sir.’

There was a moment’s silence, the oily swishing of the ceiling fan suddenly loud, then Hillgarth went on. ‘Forsyth works through a company he’s set up. Nuevas Iniciativas. It’s listed on the Madrid Stock Exchange as a supply procurement company. The shares have been going up, Ministry of Mines officials have been buying in. The firm has a little office near Calle Toledo; Forsyth’s there most days. Our man hasn’t been able to get his home address, which is a blasted nuisance – we just know he lives out in Vigo district with some tart. Most days at siesta time he goes for coffee to a local cafe. That’s where we want you to make contact with him.’

‘Does he go by himself?’

‘Apart from him there’s just a secretary at the office. He always takes that half-hour by himself in the afternoon.’

Harry nodded. ‘He used to like going off alone at school.’

‘We’ve had him watched. It’s bloody nerve-racking – I worry Forsyth might spot our man.’ He passed Harry a couple of photos from a file on the desk. ‘He took these.’

The first photograph showed Sandy, well dressed and tanned, walking down a street talking to an army officer. Sandy had bent to catch his words, his face solemnly attentive. The second showed him striding carelessly along, jacket unbuttoned, smoking. There was a confident, knowing smile on his face.

‘He looks prosperous.’

Hillgarth nodded. ‘Oh, he’s not short of money.’ He turned back to the file. ‘The flat we’ve got you is a couple of streets from his office. It’s on the fringe of a poor area, but with the housing shortage it’ll be credible to house a junior diplomat there.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Your flat’s actually not bad, I’m told. Used to belong to some Communist functionary under the Republic. Probably been shot by now. Settle in there, but don’t go to the cafe yet.’

‘What’s it called, sir?’

‘Café Rocinante.’

Harry smiled wryly. ‘The name of Don Quijote’s horse.’

Hillgarth nodded, then looked steadily at Harry. ‘Word of advice,’ he said with a smile, his tone friendly though his eyes were hard. ‘You look too serious, like you had the weight of the world on your shoulders. Cheer up a bit, smile. Look on it as an adventure.’

Harry blinked. An adventure. Spying on an old friend who was working with fascists.

The ambassador gave a sudden harsh laugh. ‘Adventure! Dear God preserve us. There are too many adventurers in this damn country if you ask me.’ He turned to Harry, his face animated. ‘Listen, Brett. You sound like you’ve got your head screwed on, but be damned careful. I agreed to your coming because it’s important we find out what’s going on, but I don’t want you upsetting any applecarts.’

‘I’m not sure I understand, sir.’

‘This regime is divided in two. Most of the generals who won the Civil War are solid sensible people who admire England and want Spain kept out of the war. It’s my job to build bridges and strengthen their hand with Franco. I don’t want it getting to the Generalísimo that we’ve got spies nosing round one of his pet projects.’

Hillgarth nodded.

‘I understand,’ said Harry. Hoare doesn’t want me here at all, he thought. I’m in the middle of some bloody piece of politics.

Hillgarth rose. ‘Well, I’ve got this ceremony for the Naval Heroes of Spain. Better show the flag, eh, ambassador?’

Hoare nodded and Hillgarth rose, Harry and Tolhurst following. Hillgarth picked up the file and handed it to Harry. It had a red cross on the front.

‘Tolly will take you to your flat. Take Forsyth’s dossier, have a good look, but bring it back tomorrow. Tolly will show you where to sign it out.’

As they left, Harry turned to look at Hoare. He was staring out of the window, frowning at the airmen who had started to drift back into the yard.

OUTSIDE THE AMBASSADOR’S ROOM Tolhurst smiled apologetically. ‘Sorry about Sam,’ he said in a low voice. ‘He wouldn’t normally be in at a briefing for a new agent, but he’s nervous about this job. He’s got a rule: intelligence gathering is allowed, but no espionage, no antagonizing the regime. Some socialists came a few weeks ago to try and get help for the guerrillas fighting against Franco. Bloody dangerous for them. He sent them packing.’

Harry hadn’t liked Hoare, but was still slightly shocked by Tolhurst calling him Sam. ‘Because he wants good relations with the Monarchists?’ he asked.

‘Exactly. After the Civil War they hate the Reds, you can imagine.’ Tolhurst fell silent as they stepped into the street, the civiles saluting as they passed. He opened the door of the Ford, wincing at the heat of the handle.

He renewed the conversation as they drove away. ‘They say Churchill sent Sam here to get him out of the way,’ he confided cheerfully. ‘Can’t stand him, doesn’t trust him either. That’s why he put the captain in charge of Intelligence; he’s an old friend of Winston’s. From his days out of government.’

‘Aren’t we all supposed to be on the same side?’

‘There’s a lot of internal politics.’

‘You can say that again.’

Tolhurst smiled sardonically. ‘Sam’s a bitter man. He wanted to be Viceroy of India.’

‘The in-fighting can’t make anyone’s job easier.’

‘Way things are, old boy.’ Tolhurst looked at him seriously. ‘Best you should know the score.’

Harry changed the subject. ‘When I was at school I remember some adventure books by an Alan Hillgarth. Not the same man, I suppose?’

Tolhurst nodded. ‘The very same. Not bad, are they? Ever read the one set in Spanish Morocco? The War Maker. Franco comes into it. Fictionalized, of course. The captain admired him, you can tell.’

‘I haven’t read it. I know Sandy Forsyth liked them.’

‘Did he now?’ Tolhurst said with interest. ‘I’ll tell the captain. That’ll amuse him.’

They drove through the centre into a maze of narrow streets of four-storey tenements. It was late afternoon and the heat was starting to lift, long shadows falling across the road as Tolhurst steered carefully over the cobbles. The tenements had had no attention for years, plaster was falling from the brickwork like flesh from skeletons. There were several bombsites, heaps of stone overgrown with weeds. There were no other cars around and passers-by glanced at the car curiously. A donkey pulling a cart shied away into the pavement as they passed, nearly unseating its rider. Harry watched as the man steadied himself, mouthing a curse.

‘I was wondering,’ he said, ‘how I was recruited.’ He kept his tone casual. ‘Just interest. Never mind if you can’t tell me.’

‘Oh, that’s no secret. They were hunting up Forsyth’s old contacts and a master at Rookwood mentioned you.’

‘Mr Taylor?’

‘Don’t know the name. When they found you knew Spain they were in seventh heaven. That’s where the interpreter idea came from.’

‘I see.’

‘Real piece of luck.’ Tolhurst skirted a crack in the road by a bombsite. ‘Did you know, the embassy here was the first piece of British soil to be hit by a German bomb?’