ON TUESDAY, Barbara went to meet Luis again. It was a fine day, still and quiet, leaves fluttering down from the trees. Barbara walked because the Castellana was closed to traffic; Reichsführer Himmler would be driven down it later on his way to meet the Generalísimo at the Royal Palace.

She had to cross the Castellana. Swastika flags hung from every building and were strung across the road, the scarlet banners with the hooked cross gaudy against the grey buildings. Civiles stood at intervals along the road, some cradling sub-machine guns. Nearby a parade of Falange Youth was lined up on the kerb, holding little swastika flags. Barbara hurried across and disappeared into the maze of streets leading to the Centro.

As she neared the cafe her heart was beating fast. Luis was already there, she saw him through the window. He was at the same table, nursing a coffee. His expression was gloomy. Barbara noticed again how down at heel he looked; he wore the same threadbare jacket, cheap rope-soled alpargatas on his feet. She took a deep breath and went in. The landlady nodded to her from beneath Franco’s portrait. She wished she could get away from the Generalísimo’s cold stare; it was everywhere, even on the stamps now.

Luis stood up with a relieved smile. ‘Señora. Buenos días. I thought you might not come!’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said without an answering smile. ‘I had to walk and it took longer than I thought. Himmler’s visit.’

‘It does not matter. A coffee?’

She let him fetch her a cup of the filthy coffee. She lit a cigarette but this time did not offer him one. She took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. ‘Señor Luis, before we discuss this further there is something I must ask.’

‘Of course.’

‘Last time you told me you left the army in the spring.’

‘That is correct, yes.’ He looked puzzled.

‘But you also told me you spent two winters out there. How could that be? Cuenca was in Red hands until the surrender last year.’

Luis swallowed hard. Then a sad smile settled over his face. ‘Señora, I said I had spent two winters up on the meseta, not at Cuenca. The previous winter I was in another part of it. A posting at Teruel. You remember that name?’

‘Yes, of course.’ It had been one of the war’s most savage battles. Barbara tried to remember exactly what words he had used.

‘Teruel is over a hundred kilometres from Cuenca, but it is still the meseta. High and cold. During the battle there men with frostbite had to be taken out of the trenches to have their feet amputated.’ He sounded almost angry now.

She took a deep breath. ‘I see.’

‘You were afraid I was not telling you the truth,’ he said bluntly.

‘I have to be sure, Señor Luis. I’m risking a lot. I have to be sure of everything.’

He nodded slowly. ‘All right. I understand. Yes. It is good you are careful.’ He spread his arms. ‘You must ask me anything at any time.’

‘Thank you.’ She lit another cigarette.

‘I went to Cuenca last weekend,’ he said. ‘As I promised.’

Barbara nodded. She looked into his eyes again. They were unreadable.

‘I stayed in the town and Agustín came to see me. He confirmed there is a prisoner in the camp called Bernard Piper. He has been there since it opened.’

Barbara lowered her head so Luis would not see how affected she was by the mention of Bernie’s name. She must keep calm, in control. She knew from her refugee work how desperate people would seize on any hope.

She looked up, gave him a firm stare. ‘You understand, señor, I will need proof. I need you to get your brother to tell you more about him. Things I haven’t told you or Markby, things you couldn’t know. Not that he’s fair-haired, for example, you could see that from the photograph.’

Luis sat back. He pursed his lips.

‘It’s not unreasonable,’ Barbara said. ‘Thousands of International Brigaders died in the war, you know how slim the chances are of his having survived. I need proof before anything else happens.’

‘And I am poor and could be making up a story.’ He nodded again. ‘No, señora, it is not unreasonable. What a world we live in.’ He thought a moment. ‘If I were to ask Agustín to tell me everything about this man, then, and give the details to you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Have you spoken with Señor Markby again?’

‘No.’ She had tried, but he was still away.

Luis leaned forward. ‘I will go to Cuenca again, though I cannot go too often to visit my brother or people may get suspicious.’ He looked strained now. He rubbed his brow with his hand. ‘I suppose I could say our mother has got worse. She is not well.’ He looked up. ‘But time may be important, Señora Clare. If you wish us to do something. You know the rumours. If Spain were to come into the war, you would have to leave. And your Brigader, if he was a Communist he could find himself handed over to the Germans. That is what has happened in France.’

It was true, but she wondered if he was trying to frighten her, hurry her.

‘If you were to do something,’ she repeated. ‘You mean – ’ she lowered her voice – ‘escape?’ Her heart began thudding, hard.

Luis nodded. ‘Agustín thinks it can be done. But it will be dangerous.’

‘How?’ she asked. ‘How could it be done?’

He leaned forward and lowered his voice. ‘Let me explain how the camp works. It is surrounded by barbed wire. There are watchtowers with machine guns.’ She shuddered involuntarily. ‘I am sorry, señora, but I must explain how it is.’

‘I know. Go on.’

‘It is impossible for someone inside the camp to get out. But labour details go out every day – to repair roads, lay pipes, and to work in a quarry up in the hills. Piper has been on the quarry detail for some time. If Agustín can get himself a place as a guard on that work detail, perhaps he could help your friend to escape. Perhaps he could make some excuse to escort Piper away somewhere; then Piper could pretend to assault Agustín and get away.’ He frowned. ‘That is as far as we have been able to plan as yet.’

Barbara nodded. It sounded possible, at least.

‘That is the only way we can think of. But when the escape is discovered, Agustín will be questioned. If the truth is found out, he will be shot. He will do it only for money.’ Luis looked at her seriously. ‘Let us be frank now.’

She nodded, trying to take deep breaths to still her heart without letting Luis see.

‘Agustín’s term of service ends in the spring and he does not want to have to renew it. There are some there who like that work but Agustín does not. He does it only to support our mother in Sevilla.’

‘How much, then?’

‘Two thousand pesetas.’

‘That’s a lot,’ she said, though it was less than she had feared.

‘Agustín has to risk his life.’

‘If I were to agree, I’d have to get the money from England. It wouldn’t be easy, with the exchange restrictions.’ She took a deep breath. ‘But if you can convince me Bernie is at that camp, then we’ll see.’

‘The money should be agreed, señora.’

‘No. I need the proof first.’ She drew on her cigarette, staring at him through the cloud of smoke. ‘One more visit to Cuenca won’t be risky. I’ll give you the money for the fare.’ And then, she thought, will I see you again?

He hesitated a moment, then nodded. Barbara thanked God for her years of negotiating with corrupt officials. Luis leaned back, looking tired. Barbara thought, he’s less used to this sort of thing than I am.

‘Did Agustín say anything about him – about Bernie, how he is?’ Her voice stumbled over his name.

‘He is well. But the winters are hard for the prisoners.’ He looked at her seriously. ‘If we do this, I think you will have to come out to Cuenca, get him away to Madrid, to the British Embassy. You have a car?’