BARBARA HADN’T WANTED to go and meet Harry. He had been kind to her three years before and it had been good to see a friendly English face, but seeing Bernie’s best friend felt somehow like tempting fate. She had considered telling Harry but he seemed so friendly with Sandy. And he had changed: there was an angry unhappiness about him that had not been there three years ago. She had to keep everything secret. Harry was here now and Sandy had taken a shine to him, so she must brazen it out and deceive Harry too. A second person to deceive, and Bernie’s best friend this time.

On Saturday she had heard on the BBC about a big German raid on Birmingham. Nearly two hundred people had been killed. She had sat by the radio, aghast. She hadn’t told Sandy; he would have comforted her but she felt she couldn’t stand that, she didn’t deserve it. She worried for two days but that morning a telegram had arrived from her father, saying they were all well, the raids had been in the town centre. She had wept with relief.

She was due to meet Luis again in two days. She feared the money from her bank in England might not come in time. Doubtful of Luis’s story though she had been after their first meeting, now she was more inclined to believe him. If he turned up at the cafe with proof, that would settle it. She cautioned herself that it was what she wanted to believe, she mustn’t hope too much. And if it were true? Helping Bernie escape from a prison camp, getting him to the embassy? And what if Sandy found out? What would he do? Lately she had come to realize that among the complex of emotions she felt for Sandy, there was an element of fear, fear of the ruthlessness she knew was part of him.

The previous evening she had done something that only a few weeks ago she would have found inconceivable. Sandy had been out with some of his cronies and she had gone into his study to try and find out what money he had. She told herself she would never steal from him, but if her savings did not arrive in time perhaps she could get money from him with some lie. If he had enough. Like most men, Sandy didn’t think money was something women should know about.

Her heart beating fast, feeling she was crossing some sort of boundary for good, Barbara had hunted for the key to Sandy’s desk in his study. He kept it in the bedroom, in his sock drawer – she had seen him put it there sometimes when he came to bed after an evening’s work. She found it right at the back, inside a folded sock. She looked at it, hesitated again for a moment, then went to his study.

Some of the drawers were locked, but not all. In one she found two bank books. One was an account with a local branch of a Spanish bank containing a thousand pesetas; the records showed regular payments and withdrawals that she guessed covered their expenses. To her surprise the second was with a bank in Argentina. There were several entries but no withdrawals, and the balance was nearly half a million Argentine pesos, however much that was. Of course, there was no way of getting the money out herself: the accounts were in Sandy’s sole name. She felt oddly relieved.

She left the study, pausing at the door to make sure Pilar was not around. Putting the key back, she felt that something steely was entering into her, something she hadn’t known was there.

SHE HAD ARRANGED to meet Harry in a restaurant near the Royal Palace, a quiet little place that served good black-market food. She was late. The daily maid had been in a state because she had been stopped by the civiles on the way to work and had forgotten her papers; Barbara had to write a letter confirming she worked for her. Harry was already sitting at one of the little tables reading a newspaper. A few businessmen and well-to-do couples occupied the other tables. Harry rose to greet her.

‘Barbara, how are you?’ He looked pale and tired.

‘Oh, not so bad.’

‘It’s cold.’

‘Yes, winter’s nearly here.’

The waiter took her coat and hat and laid menus in front of them.

‘Well, how are you?’ she asked brightly. ‘How’s the embassy?’

‘A bit boring. Interpreting at meetings with officials mostly.’ He seemed nervous, ill at ease.

‘How are your people? All right?’

‘My uncle and aunt are fine. Down in Surrey you’d hardly know there was a war on. My cousin’s family had it a bit rough in London though.’ He paused, looked at her seriously. ‘I hear Birmingham’s been hit.’

‘Yes. They sent me a telegram, they’re all OK.’

‘I thought about you when I heard. You must have been terribly worried.’

‘I was, and I expect there’ll be more raids.’ She sighed. ‘But you’ve had them much longer in London, haven’t you?’

‘There was one when I was there last month, with my cousin Will. But he’s safe in the country now, some secret work.’

‘That must be a relief.’

‘Yes.’

Barbara lit a cigarette. ‘I think my parents are just trying to carry on, same as everyone. What else can they do? Mum and Dad don’t say much in their letters.’

‘How’s Sandy’s father? The bishop?’

‘Do you know, I haven’t the faintest idea. They haven’t been in touch since Sandy came out here. He never talks about his father, or his brother. It’s sad.’ She studied Harry. He did look different, very tense. He had been quite good-looking when she met him three years ago, though not her type. Now he looked older, fleshier, with new lines around his eyes. She thought, a whole generation of men is ageing fast. She hesitated, then asked, ‘How are you these days? You look a bit tired.’

‘Oh, I’m OK. I had shell shock, you know,’ he added suddenly. ‘I used to get bad panic attacks.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘But I’m much better now, haven’t had one for a while.’

‘At least you’re doing something useful at the embassy.’

He smiled, a tense smile. ‘You look very different from the last time we met,’ he said.

Barbara blushed. ‘Yes, all those tatty jumpers. I didn’t care how I looked then, I was in such a state.’ She smiled at him warmly. ‘You helped me.’

He bit his lip, staring at her with his earnest blue eyes so that for a second she thought, oh God, he’s guessed something. Then he said, ‘What’s it like, living here? Madrid seems in a terrible state. The poverty and misery, all the beggars. It’s worse than during the Civil War.’

She sighed. ‘The Civil War wrecked Spain, especially Madrid. The harvest’s been bad again and now there’s our blockade, limiting the supplies they can bring in. According to the papers anyway. Though I don’t know.’ She smiled sadly. ‘I don’t really know what to believe.’

‘It’s the silence I can’t stand. Remember how noisy Madrid used to be? It’s as though all the energy and hope has been sucked out of people.’

‘That’s war.’

Harry looked at her seriously. ‘You know what frightens me? We stopped Hitler invading England this year, but if he tries again next year we might lose. We’d fight like hell, fight on the beaches and in the streets like Churchill said, but we could lose. I imagine Britain ending up like Spain, a wrecked, ruined country ruled by corrupt fascists. This could happen at home.’

‘Could it? I know discipline’s harsh, but there are people like Sebastian de Salas who really do want to rebuild the country.’ She stopped, passed a hand across her brow. ‘Oh God,’ she said. ‘I’m defending them. Everyone I know is on their side, you see.’ She bit her lip. She should have known if she met Harry all her confusion and fear would come to the surface. But perhaps it was good for her to face some things. So long as they kept off the subject of Bernie.

‘What does Sandy think of them?’ Harry asked.

‘He thinks Spain is better off than if the Reds had won.’

‘Do you agree?’

‘Oh, who the hell knows?’ she said with sudden emotion.

Harry smiled. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve been going on. Let’s change the subject.’