Her mouth quivered slightly. ‘Yes.’

The old soldier was standing on the steps of the Prado, smoking and staring across the road at the Ritz. It was starting to get dark. He turned and this time he smiled at Harry.

‘Ah, right on time. Bueno. Did you have a good time, Milagros?’

‘Yes, Alfonso.’

‘You must tell your Mama all about the pictures you saw. The car is round the corner.’ He took Harry’s hand. ‘Perhaps I shall see you again, Señor Brett.’

‘Yes, Lieutenant Gomez.’ Harry shook hands with Milagros. She looked at him expectantly but he said nothing about meeting again. Her face fell and he felt guilty but he wasn’t going to string her along. He watched as they walked away. Why did she like him, they’d nothing in common at all. ‘Oh, hell,’ he said again, aloud.

HARRY WAS MEETING Tolhurst for a drink at the Café Gijón. He passed the ministry where he had met Maestre, the street patrolled by civiles with sub-machine guns. He pulled his coat collar up. It was cold again; after the baking summer and the failed harvest, it looked like a cold winter was coming.

Paseo de Recoletos was a broad, tree-lined avenue. The shops were reopening after the siesta, yellow light spilling on to the pavement. Even here the window displays were sparse. He had heard of the Gijón but never been there. Walking into the mirrored bar he saw people scattered about the tables. There were artistic types with beards and extravagant moustaches but no doubt they were regime supporters, like Dalí. ‘Fascism is the dream made real,’ a young man was saying enthusiastically to his companion; ‘the surreal made real.’ You can say that again, Harry thought.

Tolhurst was sitting with his bulk squeezed in behind a table against the wall. Harry raised a hand, then fetched a brandy from the bar and joined him.

‘How was the date?’ Tolhurst asked.

Harry took a slug of the brandy. ‘That’s better. Pretty awful actually. She’s nice enough but she’s – well – just a kid. She had a chaperone. Maestre’s ex-batman or whatever he is.’

‘They’ve got very old-fashioned ideas about women.’ Tolhurst looked at him. ‘Try and keep in with her if you can, it’s a link to Maestre.’

‘She wants to go for a drive in the Guadarrama.’

‘Ah.’ Tolhurst smiled. ‘Get you on her own, eh?’

‘With Gomez driving.’

‘Ah well.’ Tolhurst blew out his plump cheeks. ‘Oh God, I wish I was back home sometimes. I get homesick.’

‘Missing your family?’

Tolhurst lit a cigarette and watched the smoke curl up to the ceiling. ‘Not really. My father’s in the army, haven’t seen him for ages.’ He sighed. ‘I’ve always wanted to live in London, enjoy the high life. Never managed to – first it was school and then the diplomatic service.’ He sighed again. ‘It’s probably too late now. With the bombing and the blackout, all that sort of life must be over.’ He shook his head. ‘Have you seen the papers? They’re still saying how well Franco got on with Hitler at Hendaye. And Sam’s in appeasement mode; he’s told Franco Britain would be happy to see Spain take Morocco and Algeria from the French.’

‘What? As Spanish colonies?’

‘Yes. He’s playing up to Franco’s dreams of empire. Can see his reasoning, I suppose. The French are finished as a power.’

Tolhurst spoke of what ‘Sam’ was doing as though he was the ambassador’s confidant, as he often did, though Harry knew he was probably just repeating embassy gossip.

‘We’ve got the blockade,’ Harry said. ‘We could turn off their food and oil supplies like a tap. Maybe it’s time we did. Warn them off Hitler.’

‘It’s not that simple. If we left them with nothing to lose they could join the Germans, march in and take Gibraltar.’

Harry took another swig of brandy. ‘D’you remember that night at the Ritz? I overheard Hoare saying there mustn’t be any British support for special operations here. I remember a speech Churchill made just before I came out. Britain’s survival kindling sparks of hope in occupied Europe. We could help the people here instead of sucking up to the leaders.’

‘Steady on.’ Tolhurst laughed nervously. ‘The brandy’s going to your head. The Reds would come back if Franco fell. They’d be even worse.’

‘What does Captain Hillgarth think? He seemed to be agreeing with Sir Sam that night at the Ritz.’

Tolhurst shifted uncomfortably. ‘Actually, Harry, he’d be a bit annoyed if he knew he’d been overheard.’

‘It wasn’t deliberate.’

‘Anyway, I don’t know anything,’ he added wearily. ‘I’m just the dogsbody. I arrange things, debrief sources and query their expenses.’

‘Tell me,’ Harry asked, ‘have you ever heard the expression, “The Knights of St George”?’

Tolhurst’s eyes narrowed. ‘Where did you hear that?’ he asked quietly.

‘Maestre used the phrase when he was talking to Captain Hillgarth, the first day I went with Hillgarth to do some translating. It means sovereigns, Tolly, doesn’t it?’ Tolhurst didn’t answer, just pursed his lips. Harry went on, not caring any more what protocols he might be breaking. ‘Hillgarth talked about Juan March as well. Are we involved in bribing the Monarchists? Is that the horse we’re backing to keep Spain out of the war? Is that why Hoare doesn’t want anything to do with the opposition?’

‘You know, Harry, it doesn’t do to be too curious.’ Tolhurst’s voice was still quiet. ‘It’s not our job to think about – well – policy. And for fuck’s sake, keep your voice down.’

‘I’m right, aren’t I? I can see it in your face.’ Harry leaned forward, whispering intently. ‘What if it comes unstuck and Franco finds out? We’d be in the shit then, and so would Maestre and his pals.’

‘The captain knows what he’s doing.’

‘And what if it works? We’re tied to these bastards for good. They’ll rule Spain for ever.’

Tolhurst took a deep breath. His face reddened, his expression was angry. ‘Christ, Harry, how long has this been going round in your noddle?’

‘I only guessed what the Knights of St George might be the other day.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘Don’t worry, Tolly, I won’t say anything.’

‘You’d better not, if you don’t want a charge of treason. This is what comes of recruiting academics,’ he said. ‘You’re too bloody curious.’ He laughed, trying to put matters back on a friendly footing. ‘I can’t tell you anything,’ he continued. ‘You must see that. But the captain and Sam know what they’re doing. I’ll have to tell the captain you’ve twigged this. You’re sure you’ve told nobody else.’

‘I swear, Tolly.’

‘Then have another, and forget about it.’

‘All right,’ Harry said. He wouldn’t forget, but there was no point in sailing into trouble. He wished he hadn’t followed his impulse to ask Tolhurst.

Tolhurst heaved himself up, wincing as the corner of the table caught his belly. Harry stared into his glass. He felt a moment’s panic, his beliefs about the world and his place in it shifting under him again, like sand.