A Dead Man in Barcelona (12 page)

He blew out his cheeks. ‘I think maybe he guessed that was how I would feel, because it was then that he went on to you, Miss de Lissac. Mentioned your name. Said he’d already talked to you about it and that you’d been very kind. Helpful, he said. And understanding. Well, I’m sure that’s true, Miss de Lissac, but, in my experience, that’s not the sort of thing Arabs would usually say about women. So I think he must have been really impressed by you. Understandably, of course. Understandably.

‘So I don’t think he would mind if – I’m sure he wouldn’t, since he’s spoken so warmly of you – and mentioned it in the first place – if I asked you to give me a bit of help.

‘I wondered if we could go round together and see him? Señor Vasquez, I mean. And you, too, old chap. I mean, the more the merrier. Or, no, I don’t mean that, I mean it would lend weight. And Abou would be pleased.

‘And if you could do the talking. Once I’d introduced you, I mean. The fact is, I wouldn’t really know what to say.’

‘I don’t think it is appropriate,’ said Chantale. ‘For us to be active in this. It is the family’s responsibility.’

‘Yes, but he hasn’t got any family here. Apart from Leila, that is, and he says she is angry with him and wouldn’t do it. And, in any case, is it a thing for women? You would know this better than I, Miss de Lissac. But Abou seems to feel that it is a man’s job. Or would be in Africa. To conduct the negotiations, I mean.’

‘Look, I don’t think it is going to get to negotiations. He’ll turn it down flat,’ said Seymour.

‘Yes, but . . .’ Hattersley wriggled. ‘All we can do is put it to him. And then find a way of letting Abou down as gently as possible. And you will do this so much better than I would. I feel that now he has asked me, I’ve got to do it. Have a shot, you know. Although I’m sure you’re right, it’s hopeless. Out of the question. But I’ve known the family for so long, the Lockharts, I mean, that I feel I need to do
something
. But without you, I’d be lost. I wouldn’t know what to do. Miss de Lissac, would you,
could
you, please . . .? And you, too, old chap. Because I need some support. By God, I do!’

Seymour and Chantale took the train to Tarragona. Hattersley, and Abou, would have to wait. There were more important things to do. Like seeing Farraj.

From the outside there was little to distinguish the house from all the others in this prosperous district of Tarragona. It was only when you got inside that you realized that this was an Arab house. The floors were tiled and uncarpeted. The carpets were on the walls, thick Persian ones with intricate geometrical decoration, which took the place of pictures. There were, too, some beautiful Persian vases, standing in niches, but otherwise the rooms contained few objects apart from beautifully worked leather cushions which took the place of chairs.

Seymour and Chantale were led, however, through to a tiny inner courtyard in the middle of which was a fountain, and scattered around the courtyard were orange trees in tubs, filling the courtyard with their sweet scent.

Farraj was sitting beside the fountain reading a book. He rose to his feet when Seymour and Chantale were shown in and bowed courteously.

‘Your name was mentioned,’ said Seymour, ‘as that of one who could help me.’

‘The Book tells us that if help is solicited, it should not be refused,’ said Farraj.

‘It is not asked for lightly,’ said Seymour.

He introduced Chantale as someone who was helping him. Farraj, who had deflected his eyes politely so as not to look at her directly, now registered her presence, again with the slight shock that she had noticed in the other Arab men she had met here. He recovered and bowed courteously.

‘And how can I help you, Señor?’

‘I am inquiring into the circumstances in which someone died. An Englishman. From Gibraltar. His name was Lockhart.’

‘I knew Señor Lockhart.

‘Well, I believe?’

‘Years ago, very well indeed. Of recent years less well. Since our move to Tarragona. We exchanged greetings regularly but seldom met.’

‘What I have to ask now is difficult. For me and perhaps for you.’

Farraj looked at him inquiringly.

‘It concerns your daughter.’

‘Aisha,’ said Farraj: neutrally but, Seymour fancied, guardedly.

‘Who, I understand, is no longer with you?’

‘She returned to Algiers. To get married.’

‘And is she married now?’

‘Happily, yes. To an old friend of mine.’

He looked at Chantale involuntarily. Chantale understood the look and didn’t mind. It wasn’t like the Chief of Police’s looks. This assumed that she was married and noticed only that it was not to an Arab.

She knew that it was improper, as a woman, for her to enter into the conversation herself, but couldn’t resist saying, ‘And are there children?’

She had half expected disapproval, or even reproval. Strangely, however, he seemed to seize on her question with relief.

‘We have indeed been blessed,’ he said. ‘She has two children already!’

‘And both boys?’ said Chantale, somewhat ironically, assuming, from the fact that they were blessed, that they must be boys.

‘One boy, one girl. I know what you are thinking, Señora, and I assure you I would have been nearly as happy if they had both been girls.’

‘This is, perhaps, the great blessing,’ said Chantale.

‘That is what Aisha would have said!’

Talking to Chantale, he seemed to relax.

‘I had feared – she was getting rather old, you see, and showed no inclination to get married. “There is time enough,” she said. But she was nearly thirty! And no one seemed to please her. It didn’t seem to bother her. “It is different here,” she said, and I think she relished her freedom.’ He shrugged. ‘But there came a time when it became expedient for her to go back to Algeria, and then I was able to arrange marriage for her. With some difficulty,’ he added. ‘Since she was so old and so . . . unbiddable, I was going to say, and that would not be right, because in the end she fell in with my wishes. Independent, shall I say, as young women here, in my experience, seem to be.’ He look at Chantale again. ‘And you, yourself, Señora? Have you children of your own?’

‘Not yet,’ said Chantale, feeling a bit uncomfortable, as if she was committing herself too far.

‘May you also be blessed!’

‘Your daughter left for Algeria shortly after Tragic Week, I gather?’ said Seymour.

‘That is so, yes.’

‘She was not involved in the events of Tragic Week herself?’

‘No, no, no, no! Certainly not!’

‘I wondered if her sympathies had been involved?’

‘Sympathies?’

‘I wondered what had driven her to try and smuggle a present to Lockhart in his cell.’

There was a long silence.

‘You know that, do you?’ said Farraj eventually.

‘Yes.’

Farraj sighed. ‘I was against it. But . . . she was persuaded.’

‘Who by?’

Farraj gave no sign of having heard the question.

‘It was little that she was asked to do. And she remembered Lockhart from the old days. He used to sit her on his knee. As a child,’ he added hurriedly. ‘As a child! “I know you don’t think it right, Farraj,” he used to say to me, “but in Scotland it
is
right!” And I didn’t mind. She was just a child. But she remembered those days, and she felt sorry for him. And, yes,’ he sighed, ‘I suppose she did feel for those involved in Tragic Week. It was hard not to feel caught up in it. Even I, even I . . .! And you must understand that we had friends in Barcelona. In the docks. I did a lot of business there. And when we heard the dock people were among those being shot down . . . So, yes, perhaps it was not too difficult to persuade her. Her sympathies
were
, as you say, involved.’

‘But she also had feelings for Lockhart, you said.’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘And so she would not have known what she was passing in to him?’

‘What
was
she passing in to him?’

‘What killed him.’

‘She certainly did not know that,’ said Farraj quietly.

‘And you, did you also not know that?’

Farraj looked at him levelly. ‘No. I suspected. Afterwards. When I heard that he had been poisoned. And heard the rumours. But not before, Señor, not before. And if I had, I would not have let her do it.’

‘Why, then, did you hastily send her to Algeria?’

‘Because she told me the little she had done. And I saw at once that she would be implicated. I did not want her to suffer. Who knows, with the Spanish police, what she might have had to undergo? And even if she was released, what she would still have to suffer afterwards? What hope would there be now of marriage? Better to get her out, and, fortunately, I was able to find an old friend who didn’t mind. Who was prepared for my sake to marry her.’

As they were leaving, Seymour said, ‘And you are not going to tell me who persuaded her to do it?’

Farraj shook his head firmly.

‘One does not betray one’s own kind,’ he said.

Back in the hotel, Seymour was sitting in the vestibule waiting for Chantale to come down so that they could go out to dinner. He heard footsteps on the stairs and looked up. It wasn’t Chantale, however, but Nina. She hesitated for a moment and then came over and sat down beside him.

‘My mother will be down in a moment,’ she said, as if this boldness needed explanation.

‘And so I hope, will Chantale,’ said Seymour.

There was a slightly awkward pause. Nina did not seem to invite conversation but he thought that this was awkwardness, shyness, perhaps, rather than hostility.

‘You have had a good day at school?’

‘Every day is a good day at school.’

‘You have found your vocation, clearly.’

‘Yes.’

There was another awkward pause.

‘It is a responsibility,’ said Seymour, ‘and a rather demanding one, I would think. Are there just the two of you?’

She fired up defensively.

‘We can manage,’ she said.

‘I am sure you can. Certainly the teaching. I have seen you, and am most impressed.’

She looked at him suspiciously.

‘No, I mean it. I certainly couldn’t do it.’

‘Men are less good at this sort of thing,’ said Nina forgivingly.

‘And what about the administrative side? Do you have to do that as well?’

‘We have a parents’ committee.’

‘We have a parents’ ‘And that is all?’

‘Anarchists do not believe in unnecessary administration. We are opposed to bureaucracy.’

‘Yes, of course. I was just wondering if you had any support from outside.’

‘We don’t need support from outside.’

‘I was thinking of the chance to share views, pool experience.’

‘Well, that might be wise,’ said Nina, considering. ‘But there aren’t any other anarchist schools near us.’

‘There are anarchists, though?’

‘Oh, yes. It is a growing movement.’

‘And do you have much contact with that wider movement?’

‘We are too busy, really. Perhaps we should.’

‘You sound very much on your own.’

‘Anarchists believe in self-reliance.’

‘Yes, of course. But sometimes ploughing a path of your own can be very lonely.’

‘Esther and I support each other. And we get support from the parents. Perhaps,’ she admitted, ‘not a lot of support. But Esther says that is always the case with parents.’

‘And your father, how did he fit in? Was he part of the wider movement or was he just, well, interested in the school? Because you were?’

‘Well, I think he was generally interested in anarchist education. He was interested in education of all kinds. Perhaps because he thought that, having been to an English public school, he had never had one. But, perhaps, yes, he was particularly interested in what we were doing because it was me.’

‘He didn’t put you in touch with anarchists outside?’

‘No, no. He didn’t really know many anarchists.’

‘You know, that surprises me. What about the fishermen?

Aren’t they anarchists?’

‘Well, they are and they aren’t. They have a lot in common with anarchists, they are against authority, for example, and very self-reliant. But they are not – not very theoretical. Well, you wouldn’t expect it. In fact, my father rather liked that. “They’re practical people,” he used to say. “They just get on with it.” I don’t think he talked much about anarchism with them. They’re not – not the sort of people to have that kind of conversation.’

‘Do you have that kind of conversation with them?’

‘Not really. They’re very conservative. They don’t really talk much to women they don’t know. They don’t talk to anybody much, really.’

‘So your father’s contacts with them were not really anarchist contacts but more a matter of business?’

‘Not just business. He liked them and tried to help them. He gave them money sometimes.’

‘And then, of course, there was the smuggling.’

Nina stood up.

‘Señor Seymour,’ she said, ‘I think you’re fishing for information.’

Chapter Twelve

‘Hmm,’ said Señor Vasquez, ‘I don’t know about this. He’s a nice man, I’m sure. I ran into him occasionally in Gibraltar. I’ve always got on well with him. But I don’t know how Carmen might feel. Or her mother, come to that.’

‘Well, that’s it,’ said Seymour.

‘It’s important how your daughter feels,’ said Chantale.

‘Well, it is. And she’s got a mind of her own. I don’t know, well, how she would take to it. I mean, it’s a fear, isn’t it? Their ways are not our ways – I don’t mean anything by that, Señor,’ he said hastily, turning to Chantale. ‘If they loved each other, that would be enough for me. But there’s always the worry, isn’t there, how things might work out? Marriage is difficult enough anyway without – without complications.’

‘I feel that, certainly,’ said Chantale.

‘Of course, if you knew him better . . .’ said Seymour. ‘The family, that is.’

‘Well, yes.’

‘Unfortunately, he’s going back to Algeria in a week.’

‘He is?’ said Señor Vasquez, brightening.

‘I think he was hoping to get some sort of agreement before he departed,’ said Hattersley.

‘Agreement?’

‘Or acknowledgement.’

‘Well . . .’

‘I told him that things could not be rushed,’ said Chantale.

‘No, certainly not,’ said Señor Vasquez. ‘In Spain there is normally a long courtship. That gives the couple a chance to know each other. And, of course, it eases some of the natural doubts of the families.’

‘A wise custom,’ said Seymour. ‘Provided it’s not extended for too long.’

‘Although there are risks in shortening it,’ said Chantale.

Señor Vasquez looked at her gratefully. ‘There are, Señora, there are! On both sides. For both families.’ He hesitated. ‘You are, if I am not mistaken, Señora, from appearance, not unconnected with the family yourself?’

‘Distantly,’ said Chantale. ‘Distantly.’

‘Distance sometimes gives perspective,’ said Señor Vasquez.

‘Of course, you yourself, Señor, I gather, from what you said, know him quite well?’

‘Well, not
that
well. As well as one knows anyone one meets primarily through business. And business is – well, rather different, isn’t it?’

‘It is. But did you not have an opportunity, while you were over in Gibraltar, of meeting his family? Seeing him in something of a family setting?’

‘I met his sister. Charming lady. Very businesslike. But –’ ‘And did he not sometimes come over here?’

‘To Barcelona? Yes. Yes, occasionally. The docks. We sometimes used to meet over business in the docks. The Lockharts have an office there. And once I invited him round to our place for lunch.’

Once, thought Seymour? Was the whole edifice of Abou’s hopes built on one casual visit only?

‘It seemed kind to. He always struck me as being rather on his own.’

‘He was probably feeling rather lost. Had he been to Barcelona before?’

‘Once or twice. But then he was here for a week or so just before Señor Lockhart died. Business was building up, I suppose. He was here during Tragic Week. You know about Tragic Week? It must have been quite a shock to him. But, of course, if you were doing business at the docks, that was just the time when you needed to be there. And then, of course, when poor Señor Lockhart died, he was here a lot. He had to step in for a considerable while.’

‘And when Señor Lockhart was in prison – you know he was put in prison?’

‘Along with a lot of other people.’

‘Yes, along with a lot of others. Was Abou about then?’

‘I never quite understood what happened during that week. Or what Lockhart was doing. They tell me he was out on the streets. In the middle of all that! It seems crazy to me. But I suppose he felt – felt that the bullet would not hit him. A dangerous assumption, that.’

‘But, of course, it didn’t. Or doesn’t seem to have done. He was just arrested.’

‘Well, I think he was lucky,’ said Señor Vasquez. ‘And, I am afraid, rather foolhardy.’

‘Was Abou in Barcelona at that point?’

‘I think he came over later in the week. The office probably sent for him. Well, there was business to attend to, down at the docks, and I don’t think Lockhart was paying much attention to that. Or perhaps that was how their manager felt, so he sent for help and Abou came over. Just in time. Because then Lockhart was arrested.’

‘Señor, Señor!’

It was the Chief of Police who was hailing him. He came up to Seymour and took him by the arm.

‘Señor, I have to speak to you. To correct an impression you may have received. It is a false impression, Señor. You know what women are! They talk, they talk, and they embroider. It was not like what she said to you the other day. It is not, believe me, the way she pretended it was. It is a game with her, Señor. She likes to tease me. What she said, however, was not true.

‘All the stuff about Señor Lockhart! It is true that she knew him. Well, she’d met him once or twice. But not the rest of it. About him and her. She says it sometimes, but that is just to provoke me. And so it was on this occasion. She was showing off to you, and trying to annoy me. I could hear what she was saying, and she was speaking loudly enough for me to hear. She
wanted
me to hear.

‘She does that. Makes comparisons. To my disadvantage. Romantic, she used to call him. “He has the spirit of a true romantic,” she said to me once. “He has the spirit of a true trouble-maker,” I said. “Unlike you, Alonzo,” she said. “You have no spirit of romance.” “I have better things to do,” I said. “Like sitting in a bar,” she said.

‘“Anyway, it’s not true,” I said. “I
have
a spirit of romance. I like the flamenco girls as much as anyone.” “This is quite different,” she said. “That is sex, not romance. At least, in your case. I never said you were without appetite, Alonzo. Performance may not always be up to scratch, especially after you’ve had a few drinks, but I have never said that you were without appetite. However, it is of the earth, earthy. Like the peasant that you are at heart, Alonzo. You do not lift your eyes from the furrows that you hope to plough, as in the case of the flamenco girls. Whereas Sam Lockhart –”

‘“– had an appetite, too,” I cut in.

‘“No doubt about that,” she said, laughing. “Well, you wouldn’t want a man without one, would you? Or where would women be? But the point is, a woman looks for something more than appetite. A man who brings colour into her life. A man who has dreams. A man whose horizons extend beyond that of the nearest bar.”

‘“If all men limited their horizons to the nearest bar,” I said, “there wouldn’t be half the trouble that there is.”

‘“And there wouldn’t be half the excitement that there is,” she said. “And the world would be a much duller place.”

‘“My job is to keep it dull,” I said.

‘“And mine, I think,” she said, “is to liven it up a little. You stand for order. But I am coming to think I have a little too much order in my life. I want to kick over the traces. I need a bit of disorder.”

‘“You have the spirit of a
cabezudo
,” I said.

‘She laughed. “You know,” she said, “I think you could be right. The trouble is, you want to put all the
cabezudos
in jail.”

‘“Well, I do. The world would be a better place without them.”

‘“Well, thanks!” she said.

‘“But not you, Constanza,” I said quickly. “I make an exception for you.”

‘“You may be wrong in that,” she said.’

In the little harbour the boats were busy. They would soon be putting out to sea for the night’s fishing. The fishermen were checking their nets. Seymour walked round apparently casually but listening carefully.

They were all talking Catalan. It was as he had expected. Nevertheless, he went near to each one, near enough to hear. Then, when he had finished, he went up to the fish market, mostly deserted now, but with some people washing down the tables. He listened there, too, but it was the same. They were all speaking Catalan.

He tried the café, sitting at a table with Chantale, and slowly drinking coffee. This was the quiet time of the day for them and the waitresses, in their rough, casual jerseys, were just chatting.

At last he heard a voice which was plainly not Catalan. It belonged to an older woman, tired and thin, perhaps the wife of one of the fishermen about to go out, supplementing his earnings by a little casual work on her part. He waited for a chance when he could catch her on her own and then said quietly:

‘I’m looking for Ramon’s widow. Can you tell me where I can find her?’

She gave a little jump.

‘Ramon?’ she said.

‘You know of him?’

‘Ah, yes,’ she said. Then she started to turn away. ‘I cannot help you,’ she said.

‘It is for the family,’ said Seymour.

‘Are you police?’

‘I’m from outside,’ said Seymour. ‘I’m English. Can’t you hear?’

‘Why do you want to know?’

‘It is for the family, as I said.’

She still hesitated.

‘Did you know Lockhart?’

‘
Si
. I know of him. I know he gave her money.’

‘Well, then.’

She looked around. ‘They do not speak of Ramon around here.’

‘Just the wife. A word. I mean no harm to her or to anybody here.’

‘Very well, then.’ She gave him an address. ‘It’s just up from the harbour. Next to the shop with the nets.’

A careworn woman opened the door.

‘Señora Ramon?’

She looked at him apprehensively, but then was reassured when she saw Chantale.

‘Can I have a word with you? It is not about Ramon but about another man. An Englishman. His name was Lockhart. I am English, too, and want to know about him.’

‘He helped us,’ she said. ‘He gave us money.’

‘Why?’ said Seymour.

‘Because he was like that. He helped many people.’

‘Fishermen?’

‘Yes.’

‘And yet he helped you. Was not that a surprising thing to do? In view of what had passed? Was he not close to the fishermen?’

‘He was, yes.’

‘And had many dealings with them? Let us not say what the dealings were.’

‘He had much to do with them, yes.’

‘Was it not surprising, then, that he should go out of his way to help you?’

‘Perhaps,’ she said. ‘But . . .’

‘But what?’

‘I think he felt sorry for us,’ she said.

‘About Ramon?’

‘Yes.’

‘He wasn’t with the fishermen on this?’

‘He felt they had gone too far. That it wasn’t necessary. They could have just warned him off, couldn’t they?’ she said bitterly. ‘It is not just the man who is punished but the family.’

‘Would he have heeded the warning?’

She hesitated.

‘He was stubborn,’ she said. ‘And we were desperate. He doesn’t come from these parts. He’s from Andalusia. They wouldn’t have let him in, only I’m from here. From the harbour. My father was one of them. So they let him in, but they didn’t like it. They felt I shouldn’t have married someone from outside. And maybe they were right, for he didn’t see things the way they did.’

‘About the smuggling?’

‘The smuggling was all right. It was what they smuggled.’

‘Guns?’

She nodded. ‘He said guns were a different thing. And why should he risk himself, and us, for them? It was not his cause, he said. Well, they didn’t like it, but they would probably have let it go. But he was seen talking to someone known as a police agent. So they said, “He is going to betray us.”’

‘And was he going to?’

‘We were desperate,’ she said simply. ‘They didn’t let us have good places. We always had to fish where it was bad, and so he didn’t catch much, and the children went hungry. And he became angry.’

‘And then they killed him.’

‘Yes. They are bitter men around here. I told him, and what they could do. “I am a bitter man, too.” he said. “Poverty makes bitter men.” But I knew what we were like.’

‘I am sorry that they killed him,’ said Seymour.

She shrugged.

‘I think Lockhart was,’ she said. ‘And that was why he helped us.’

‘He, too, was killed,’ said Seymour.

‘Yes.’

‘I am trying to find out who killed him.’

‘You won’t find out,’ she said. ‘Any more than they will find out who killed Ramon.’

She looked at Chantale. ‘And you, too, lady, had best be careful. You are not from these parts. And they do not like people who come from outside.’

‘And yet they liked Lockhart,’ said Seymour.

‘He had money. And they were told he was on their side.’ She shrugged. ‘Well, I don’t know about that. He liked the Catalans, it was said. But did he like all Catalans? Did he like people like them? He was angry about Ramon. They didn’t like that.

‘Well, now he is dead, too. Life is cheap on this coast. A fisherman’s life is hard. It looks calm and sunny, and so it is during the day. But in the night a man can easily go overboard. The nets, you see, are heavy, and a sudden lurch can pull you. I know this because I have lived in this harbour all my life and so did my father before me, and his father. And both of them died early.’

* * *

‘A farewell drink?’ said Seymour, and led Ricardo into a bar.

‘Farewell?’

Seymour nodded. ‘I shall soon be leaving you. In a way, it is a pity, because I would like to see if Catalonia succeeds.’

‘It certainly will,’ said Ricardo confidently.

‘It may, however, take some time,’ said Seymour.

‘We can wait.’

‘I am afraid you may have to. Did not Tragic Week teach you this?’

‘What I learned from Tragic Week was that next time we should have more guns.’

‘Enough guns to fight an army?’ Seymour shook his head. ‘That is a lot of guns. Especially without Lockhart.’

‘We didn’t get that many guns from Lockhart.’

‘Someone told me that his enthusiasm was falling off anyway.’

Ricardo looked at him quickly.

‘That is not true,’ he said.

‘Isn’t it? Someone told me he had been very unhappy about Ramon.’

‘We were all unhappy about Ramon.’

‘Lockhart felt, I gather, that it was unnecessary.’

‘Some people argued that. I myself may have felt that. But those who were close to it were sure that he was going to tell everything. And you have to understand that for them it was not a game. Their livelihood depended on it. Their lives, even. Yes, they were devoted to the Catalan cause. But once they had got involved, it went deeper. They had put their families, their children, at risk. That’s what I told him. It is not just a matter of romantic enthusiasm for a cause, I said. At some point it bites deeper. You have to be prepared to make sacrifices.