Señora Maestre nodded. ‘And what do your family do?’

Harry was taken aback by her directness. ‘I’m from an army background.’

She nodded happily. ‘Excellent, just like us. And you are a lecturer at Cambridge?’ Her eyes were keen, probing.

‘Yes. In peacetime. Only a fellow, not – senior.’

Maestre nodded approvingly. ‘Cambridge. How I loved my time there, as Señor Brett knows. It was there I got my love of England.’

‘You must meet my daughter,’ Señora Maestre said. ‘She has never met an Englishman. Only Italians, and they are not a good influence.’ She raised her eyebrows and gave a little shudder.

‘Yes, you young men go with Elena,’ Maestre added. As Harry passed him he touched his arm and spoke softly, his keen brown eyes serious. ‘You are among friends tonight. No Germans here, and no blue shirts, except for Millán Astray and he is an exception. He has little to do nowadays, we invited him as a kindness.’

Harry and Tolhurst followed Señora Maestre as she cut a path through the crowd, skirts swishing. At the far end three girls stood together self-consciously, nursing tall crystal glasses of wine. Two wore flamenco dresses; the third, short and plump like her mother with olive skin and a round face with heavy features, wore an evening dress of white silk. Señora Maestre clapped her hands and they looked up. Harry remembered for an instant the flamenco singers who had danced in El Toro when he and Bernie were there nine years before. But those had been dressed in black.

‘Milagros!’ Señora Maestre said. ‘You should talk to your guests. Señor Brett, Señor Tolhurst, my daughter Milagros and her friends, Dolores and Catalina.’ She turned quickly to a man who was passing by. ‘Marque«s! You came!’ She took the man’s arm and led him away.

‘Are you from London?’ Milagros asked Harry with a shy smile. She seemed nervous, ill at ease.

‘Near there. A place called Surrey. Simon’s from London, aren’t you?’

‘What – oh, yes.’ Tolhurst had gone red and was starting to perspire. A lock of fair hair fell over his forehead and he brushed it away, almost spilling his drink. Milagros’s friends exchanged glances and giggled.

‘I have seen pictures of your King and Queen,’ Milagros said. ‘And the princesses, how old are they now?’

‘Princess Elizabeth’s fourteen.’

‘She is very pretty. Don’t you think so?’

‘Yes, yes she is.’

A waiter passed by, filling their glasses again. Harry smiled at Milagros, delving for something to say. ‘So, you are eighteen today.’

‘Yes, tonight I am launched on the world.’ She spoke with an undertone of regret, for her childhood perhaps. She studied Harry for a moment, then smiled and seemed to relax. ‘My father says you are a translator. Have you been doing that for long?’

‘No. I used to be a university teacher.’

Milagros smiled again, sadly. ‘I was not clever at school. But now that time is over.’

‘Yes,’ one of her friends said cheerfully. ‘Now it is time for her to find a husband.’ They giggled and Milagros flushed. Harry felt sorry for her.

‘I say,’ Tolhurst broke in suddenly. ‘Your name, Milagros. And yours, Dolores. They sound very strange in English – Miracles and Sadness. We don’t have religious names for girls.’ He laughed and the girls looked at him coldly.

‘There’s Charity,’ Harry said awkwardly.

‘Are you a little hot, Señor Simon?’ Dolores asked maliciously. ‘Would you like a cloth for your brow?’

Tolhurst reddened even further. ‘No, no, I’m all right. I—’

‘Look, Dolores, there’s Jorge,’ Catalina said excitedly. ‘Come on.’ Giggling, the two girls walked off to a good-looking young man in a cadet’s uniform. Milagros looked embarrassed.

‘I am sorry, my friends were a little impolite.’

‘It’s all right,’ Tolhurst said awkwardly. I’ll – uh – go and get something to eat.’ He walked away, head lowered.

Harry smiled ruefully. ‘I don’t think he’s been to a big occasion like this for a while.’

The girl produced a fan and waved it gently in front of her face. ‘Neither have I, there have been no parties since we came back to Madrid last year. But now things are getting back to normal a little. But it feels rather strange after so long.’

‘Yes. Yes, it does. It’s my first party too, for – for a while.’ Since Dunkirk. Harry felt oddly apart, as though there was a glass wall between him and the partygoers. On his deaf side it was hard to make out any words in the cacophony of noise.

Milagros looked at him seriously. Harry turned his head so that his good ear was towards her. ‘How I hope Spain can stay out of the war in Europe,’ she said. ‘What do you think, señor?’

‘I hope so too.’

Milagros studied him again. ‘Forgive me asking, but are you a soldier? My family have been soldiers for generations; we cannot help noticing when a man stands awkwardly, like your friend. But you stand like a soldier.’

‘That’s clever of you. I was in the army until a few months ago.’

‘Papa was in Morocco when I was young. It was a terrible place. I was so glad to come home. But then the Civil War came.’ She smiled, making an effort to be cheerful. ‘And you, señor, were you in the army for long?’

‘No. I only joined up when the war started.’

‘They say the bombing of London is terrible.’

‘Yes. It’s a difficult time.’ He remembered the bombs falling.

‘It is so sad. And London is so beautiful, I hear. Many museums and art galleries.’

‘Yes. They’ve taken the pictures away for the war.’

‘In Madrid we have the Prado. They are putting the pictures back there now. I have never seen them, I should like to go.’ She smiled at Harry, encouragingly but a little embarrassed, and he thought, she wants me to take her. He was flattered but she was so young, scarcely more than a child.

‘Well, I’d like to go too, though just now I’m very busy …’

‘That would be so nice. We have a telephone, you could ring my mother to arrange it—’

Catalina and Dolores reappeared with a group of cadets crowding round them. Milagros frowned.

‘Milagros, you must meet Carlos. He has a medal already, he has been fighting the Red bandits in the north—’

‘Excuse me,’ Harry said. ‘I’d better find Simon.’ He made his escape, puffing out his cheeks with relief. She was a nice child. But just a child. He collected another glass from a passing waiter. He’d better watch how much he had. He thought of Sofia, as he had several times since the day before. She had seemed full of life, energy. He had said nothing to Hillgarth about the spy. He would keep his promise.

Tolhurst was standing in the middle of the room, talking to Goach, who was looking at him with slight distaste through his monocle. Poor old Tolly, Harry thought suddenly. With his big frame Tolhurst should have looked impressive but there was always something slouched and drooping about him.

Goach cheered up as Harry joined them. ‘Evening, Brett. I say, you’d better watch out. The general and his wife are looking for a good catch for Milagros. The general’s brother told me. Monsignor Maestre.’ He nodded to where the priest was talking to a couple of older women. Harry could see a resemblance to Maestre in the thin face, the authoritative manner.

‘You know him, sir?’

‘Yes, he’s quite a scholar. Expert on Spanish church liturgy during the Reconquista period.’ Goach smiled and bowed as the monsignor, hearing his name, came over.

‘Ah, George,’ the monsignor said in Spanish. ‘I have been getting some more subscriptions.’ His eyes flicked over Harry and Tolhurst, quick and sharp as his brother’s.

‘Splendid, splendid.’ Goach made introductions. ‘The monsignor’s head of an appeal for rebuilding all the burned-out churches in Madrid. The Vatican’s been a great help but it’s a huge task, needs a lot of money.’

Monsignor Maestre shook his head sorrowfully. ‘Indeed it does. But we are getting there. Though nothing can replace our martyrs, our murdered priests and nuns.’ He turned to Harry and Tolhurst. ‘I remember, during the darkest time of our war, some English churches sent us their church plate to make up for what we had lost. It was a great comfort, made us feel we were not forgotten.’