‘Yes.’

‘It’s a hell hole. They treat the children like animals. That little daughter of Pedro and Inés, Carmela, she was brought in two days ago. She’d been living wild. I think the others are all dead.’

‘Oh God.’ Harry remembered the little girl looking solemnly at him as he tried to teach her English words. Her brother Antonio who had watched the Communists chasing the Fascist with him and Bernie; Pedro the big bluff father, Inés the tireless mother. ‘All of them?’

‘I think so.’ Barbara reached into her bag and pulled out the ragged woollen donkey, sewn up round the middle. ‘The old bitch who works with me pulled this out of the child’s hand and tore it. I think it was the last possession Carmela had. I promised I’d mend it but when I took it back this morning they said she kept trying to escape so she’d been moved to a special home for recalcitrant children. You can imagine what that means. The nun in charge wouldn’t tell me where it was, said it wasn’t my concern. Sister Inmaculada.’ There was a savage bitterness in her tone.

‘Can’t you find out?’

‘How? How can I if they won’t tell me?’ Her voice rose, then she sighed. Her mouth set. ‘I know, let’s leave Fernandito the donkey as an offering to the Lord. Maybe then he’ll take care of Carmela. Maybe.’ She got up and took the toy to the rail of the side chapel. She thrust it angrily on top of the flowers in front of the Cross, then came back and sat beside Harry.

‘I’m not going back to work at the convent. Sandy won’t like it but he’ll have to lump it.’

‘Are you and Sandy – ’ he hesitated – ‘all right?’

She smiled sadly. ‘Let’s leave that one, Harry.’ She shivered. ‘Come on, let’s get out of this mausoleum.’

He looked at her seriously. ‘Barbara, if ever you need – well – any help, you can always come to me.’

She touched his hand. An old woman walking by clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

‘Thanks, Harry. But I’m all right, I’ve just had a bad day.’ Harry saw the old woman catch the sleeve of a priest and point to them. ‘Come on,’ Barbara said. ‘We’ll get arrested for immorality on sacred premises.’

OUTSIDE, BARBARA felt angry with herself for her momentary dizziness. She had to stay strong.

After leaving the church she let Harry take her to a coffee bar. She asked what the latest word was at the embassy about Franco entering the war. Harry told her they thought Franco’s meeting with Hitler had gone badly. That was some comfort.

When she got home she made some tea and sat by herself in the kitchen, thinking and smoking. Pilar was out for the afternoon; Barbara was glad, she could never feel at ease around the girl. The weather forecast came on, the announcer promising more cold weather for Madrid and snow for the Guadarrama mountains. Barbara looked out at the rainswept garden and thought, that’ll mean snow in Cuenca too. And nothing to do now but wait for Luis’s brother to take his leave. She thought about Harry again. She wished she could have told him about Bernie, she hated letting him carry on thinking his old friend was dead and longed to tell him the truth, but he was Sandy’s friend too, and what she was thinking of doing was illegal. It wasn’t safe, it wasn’t safe to tell a soul.

After a while she went into the salón and wrote a letter to Sister Inmaculada, telling her in coldly polite tones that domestic commitments meant she couldn’t work at the orphanage any more. She was just finishing as Sandy came in. He looked tired. He smiled as he put down his briefcase. It made a chinking sound, as though it contained something metal. He came over and put a hand on her shoulder.

‘How are you, darling? Listen, I’m sorry I was bad-tempered at the office. I’ve had a hard day. Been at the Jews’ Committee for the last hour.’ He leaned over and kissed her neck. Once that would have melted her, now she was conscious only of the tickling hairs of his moustache. She pulled away. He frowned.

‘What’s the matter? I’ve said I’m sorry.’

‘I’ve had a bad day too.’

‘Who are you writing to?’

‘Sister Inmaculada. I’ve said I’m not going to the orphanage any more. I can’t stand how those children are treated.’

‘You haven’t said that in the letter, have you?’

‘No, Sandy, I’ve said domestic commitments. Don’t worry, there won’t be any trouble with the marquesa.’

He stepped away. ‘No need to be so snappy.’

She took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘So what are you going to do with yourself now? You need something to do.’

I need a month till I can get Bernie away and escape, she thought. ‘I don’t know. Maybe I could help with your refugees? The Jews?’

Sandy took a sip of whisky. He shook his head. ‘I’ve just been meeting some of them. They’re very traditional. Don’t like being told what to do by women.’

‘I thought they were mostly professional people.’

‘They’re still very traditional.’ He changed the subject. ‘What did Harry have to say for himself?’

‘We talked about the war. He doesn’t think Franco will come in.’

‘Yes, that’s what he told me. You know, he’s quite shrewd when it comes to business.’ He smiled reflectively. ‘More than I’d have expected.’ He looked at her again. ‘Look, lovey, I think you’re making a mistake about the orphanage. You have to do things their way. When in Rome – I’ve said that often enough.’

‘Yes, you have. But I’m not going back there, Sandy, I won’t be part of how those children are treated.’ Why did he always seem to provoke her to anger these days, just when she needed to keep things normal, on an even keel? Barbara knew he had noticed something was wrong. She even avoided love-making now, and when he persisted and she gave in, she couldn’t fake pleasure.

‘Those children are wild,’ Sandy said. ‘You’ve said so yourself. They need disciplining, not toy animals.’

‘God, Sandy, sometimes I think you’ve got a stone instead of a heart.’ The words came out before she could stop herself.

He flushed angrily and took a step towards her. His fists were clenched and Barbara flinched, heart thudding. She had always known he could be cruel, venomous when he was crossed, but until now she had never feared violence from him. She drew a sharp breath. Sandy checked himself and spoke coldly.

‘I made you,’ he said. ‘Don’t you forget it. You were nothing when I met you, a mess, because all you’ve ever cared about is what people think of you. All you’ve got for a heart is sentimental mush.’ He glared at her furiously and she saw clearly, for the first time, what he had always wanted from her, what their relationship had been about from the start. Control. Power.

She got up and walked out of the room.

WHEN HARRY RETURNED home after leaving Barbara he found two letters waiting for him. One was a hand-delivered scribbled note from Sandy. It said he had persuaded Otero and de Salas to let him visit the mine, and that he would collect Harry early on Sunday, in three days’ time, and drive him there. It was only a few hours’ journey, he said.

He opened the other letter; the address was written in a small, neat hand he didn’t recognize. It was from Sofia, and enclosed a bill for treatment and drugs from a doctor in the town centre, along with a letter in Spanish.

Dear Señor Brett,

I enclose the bill from the doctor. I know his charges are reasonable. Enrique is better already. Soon he will be able to work again and things will be easier for all of us. He sends his thanks, as does Mama. You saved Enrique’s life and we will always remember what you did with gratitude.

Harry felt disappointed by the letter’s formal tone, the hint of dismissal. He turned it over in his hands a couple of times, then sat down and wrote a reply.

I am so glad Enrique is better and I shall pay the doctor’s bill tomorrow morning. I would like to meet you to give you the receipt and also to buy you coffee. I enjoyed our talk and I meet few Spanish people informally. I hope you will feel able to come.