Mediterranean Nights (18 page)

‘When I'd read that little book there was nothing I didn't know about the things in which the Spanish Royalists were interested. I got terribly excited.

‘I have always been crazy about lost causes, especially when there are kings with real personality concerned. If I'd lived in the days of the civil wars, the fact that I'd been born as some poor little devil of an over-taxed tradesman would never have stopped me from brandishing a cudgel for the King, and I had always regarded Alfonso as a great man—“I am the King of all the Spaniards”—you know the sort of thing. Not one of these measly little Republicans can hold a candle to him. Have you ever seen him? He's a tiny chap, but there's only one man worth looking at when he's about. He's a king who is a king in every sense of the word, with all the debonair charm and courage of our Charles II. They've got the same blood, if it comes to that; he's a Bourbon, and Charles II was Henry of Navarre's grandson.

‘Well, the golden girl was mixed up in some Royalist conspiracy, there wasn't a doubt about that, and if she needed
any help to re-establish S. M. el Rey she could count me in. I carefully pocketed the little book.

‘The next problem was how to find the girl again. I questioned the tired waiter, but he couldn't tell me a thing, so I drove back to the Ritz, killed the evening at a cinema, and had another early night.

‘Next morning I drove out again to Ponce da Leon, the theory being that she'd probably return to look for her missing book. I sat there drinking iced beer in the sunshine, and sure enough she did.

‘I let her hunt around by the lily pool for a bit, and then I strolled down towards her. She saw me coming, and gave me a queer sort of look. I think she suspected at once that I'd got it; anyhow, she stood there waiting till I came up.

‘ “It's jolly hot here, isn't it?” I said, just as I had done the day before.

‘She shrugged her shoulders, and said at once. “Please, have you seen my little book?”

‘I thought I would be a clever Dick, so I didn't give it to her. I just asked what reward she was offering for its recovery. You should have seen those tawny eyes grow scornful as she opened her bag.

‘I smiled at her. “I don't mean money,” I said, “but will you have some lunch with me on the terrace if I return your book?”

‘ “You have it?” she replied quickly; “it is mine—please give it back.”

‘ “But is it? Could you prove it if I took it to the police?” I said, and directly I'd said it I could have bitten my tongue out; it was a rotten thing to say. In fact, I suddenly felt that I was behaving like an utter outsider in forcing myself on the girl through her misfortune, but you must remember that I'd gone completely off my rocker from the very first moment I set eyes on her, “and all's fair in love and war”.

‘I was just going to apologise and give her back her book when she said quickly: “If I take
déjeuner
with you, you give me back my book?—
Parola Inglese
?”

‘That means “on the word of an Englishman”; it's an expression still used in Spain, and dates back to the Peninsula War.

‘Well, I agreed like a shot, and we walked up to the restaurant—but
she had her own back on me. She lunched with me, it's true, but I never had a duller meal. I did my damnedest to amuse her, and talked till I was sick, but a perpetual monologue becomes embarrassing, and after a bit I began to feel a complete fool; she just sat there and wouldn't say a word.

‘I tried as tactfully as I could when the waiter was inside to let her know how splendid I thought she was in working for the King, and how my sympathies were all with him. You see, by my gaff about the police I had given it away already that I knew the contents of the book, but she wouldn't open up.

‘After lunch she went inside to telephone while I paid the bill; when she came back I handed her the book. Ten minutes later the Hispano roared up the hill and stopped outside the gate. I walked down the slope with her just to see her off, but I didn't attempt to suggest another meeting. By that time I was silent and dejected, and I knew it was no good. I felt completely squashed.

‘When we reached the gate I did summon up the courage to say: “I'm afraid I've been an awful bore and behaved very badly, but if you were me you'd know just how I felt.”

‘Suddenly she changed completely and became human for the first time. Her eyes filled with delicious laughter, and she gave me the most glorious smile. “Poor Englishman,” she said, “I have punish you, but you are rather a sweet! Goodbye.”

‘Before I could say another word she was in the car and it was racing up the hill, while I stood there gaping in the dust.

‘When I'd collected my wits a bit, I began to wonder what to do. On the one hand I was fed up with Barcelona, and was thinking of clearing out next day—on the other I wanted terribly to see the golden girl again. By the time I'd driven back to the town I'd made up my mind to stay. That marvellous hair made her such a striking figure that there must be people in the town who knew her, and I thought it a likely line to try the barbers' shops.

‘The idea was a good one, and my third shot brought me luck. Her barber was a gay dog—his eyes fairly twinkled as he told me what he knew about her. She was Donna Cazalia D'Avila, and her father was a marquis. They had both gone
into exile with the King, and she had come back quite recently when things had quieted down; she was living in their big villa outside the town.

‘I got the address, then I rushed off and bought the loveliest basket of flowers I could find. I wrote on a card, “From a very repentant Cavalier”, and slipped it in. She could take that which way she liked, you see, then I had it sent off by special messenger.

‘A couple of hours later I went in to have a look at the Thé Dansant, and I hadn't been sitting there more than ten minutes when in she came. She was with a fat, unwholesome-looking dago, and I wondered if there would be trouble, if I sent over and asked her for a dance. It seemed queer that she was there at all, really, because as I've told you, no respectable girl ever goes. I felt certain that it must be some secret service business that brought her there—perhaps she was pumping the dago chap. He looked a most unpleasant brute.

‘I decided that it would be better not to risk it, for she must have seen me. All the same, I slipped out for five minutes and wrote a note—just asking if she wouldn't take pity on me and dine that night or lunch next day. I added my room number as well as my name in case she telephoned, so that there could be no mistake.

‘I didn't send it over by the waiter, but kept it in my hand and took a chance as they went out. The dago stopped to settle his bill at the
caisse
, as is the custom there, and she walked past him into the hall. I was beside her in a moment, and pressed the note into her hand.

‘ “Those flowers, they were glorious, but you should not have sent them,” she said in a quick whisper, then she turned away. I went upstairs with my heart fairly bounding in my chest—I really felt that I was gaining ground. After that I sat tight in my room for a bit, hoping she would ring up or send a reply to my note. I was far too excited to settle down to a book, and just fidgeted around.

‘It must have been about nine o'clock when there came abruptly a quick double knock on my door. I thought it might be a page with a message, so I ran to open it, but it wasn't a page—it was the girl herself.

‘She pushed past me and shut the door, then she leant
against it panting. I guessed at once that something must have gone seriously wrong; she was quite white under her golden tan, and there was a scared look in her lovely eyes.

‘ “Quick!” she gasped. “Hide me—they have found out what I do here. I was mad to come to the hotel. You are English—Royalist, too, you say—you will not give me up?”

‘Was it likely that I'd give her up—not for all the Communists in Spain! “Come on,” I said, “in here,” and seizing her by the arm I pushed her into the big wardrobe—the hanging part where all my suits were kept.

‘There was a chorus of excited voices outside in the corridor, and then a knocking on the door. I opened it again, and a floor waiter, two policemen, a manager, and the fat dago came in. They were chattering together in Spanish like a lot of parrots. The manager asked me if I'd seen the girl, and of course I looked completely blank, so they hurried off to search the other rooms.

‘The girl came out of the wardrobe as I locked the door, and I handed her the key. She had recovered from her fright and smiled divinely as she thanked me. She began to tell me the trouble she was in.

‘Her voice was as golden as her hair, and she spoke English with only the faintest trace of accent, which made it sound the most adorable language.

‘She told me that the dago she'd been with was a big boy in the new Catalonian Government, and a terrific Red; she'd been playing him up in the hope of getting certain information, but it hadn't come off.

‘They had gone upstairs to the lounge after they'd left the Thé Dansant, and while they were sitting there a packet of papers had been brought to him from his office. She had felt certain that among them was the thing she wanted, so when he went over to speak to a friend she pinched it. He spotted her—she lost her head and bolted up the stairs. By this time they would know that she was a Royalist agent.

‘I asked her what would happen if she were caught, and she looked pretty glum. “Five years,” she said, “five years in a fortress—I think I would rather die!”—and with a little shudder she sat down on the sofa.

‘I felt pretty useless as I stood there looking down on her
lovely golden head. What the dickens could I do to help her? I hadn't got the faintest idea.

‘ “Look here,” I said quickly, “you'll have to get out of the country. How? Lord alone knows, but you can count on me in any way you like.”

‘She caught my hand and pressed it. “I know,” she said, “I know,” and then she went on to say how sorry she was that she'd been rude to me the day before.

‘Of course I told her that I thoroughly deserved it, and asked what she meant to do next. She said that she must think about it, and that somehow she would find a way, but that
I
must go downstairs to dine. I suggested that I should order dinner upstairs, and that then she could share it, hiding in the bathroom while the waiter was in the room. But she would not have it; she thought it might look suspicious, and that it was better for me to go down.

‘I didn't want to go a bit, but I'd had to agree; I asked her if she thought she'd be all right till I came back.

‘She told me she would lock the door, and perhaps later, when all was quiet, she might be able to slip out quietly and gain the street.

‘ “Better not—there are sure to be people still looking for you,” I told her. “It will be safer for you to stay here for tonight. I'll sleep in the bathroom, then tomorrow morning I will get you some different clothes.”

‘ “I will think of it,” she said gravely. “You are very kind, but go now, please, or they may suspect.”

‘It was agreed that when I came up I should give three raps on the door, which she locked behind me. I dined in the restaurant, and all sorts of plans were racing through my mind. I was worried, though, for I hadn't really much faith in my suggestion for the following day. You could try any disguise you liked, but that hair would give it away every time.

‘After I'd finished dinner I sat in the lounge for a bit, in case anyone was watching me, then I went upstairs. I gave the signal we'd agreed on, but she didn't let me in. I tried again, and then a third time, but I couldn't hear a sound, so I turned the handle. The door opened—she had disappeared.

‘The room looked as if it had been ransacked by a burglar.
My bags had been gone through, all the drawers turned upside down, and my clothes scattered about the bed. I walked over to the dressing-table and there, on the floor, were all those lovely golden curls!

‘I guessed at once what Cazalia had done—cropped that telltale hair, stolen one of my suits, and slipped out of the hotel dressed as a man. I was right—my blue lounge suit was missing—shirt, collar, tie, socks, shoes, and the soft black hat that I wear in the evening when I'm abroad. I chuckled, thinking what a lot of pluck the girl had got, but I was worried when I found that my passport had disappeared. I thought it might be difficult to get another.

‘Then I found her note—she had left it pinned on my pillow; I snatched it up and I can remember the contents now.

‘ “
Dear Englishman
,

‘ “
Thank you for your kindness and generosity. Forgive please that I do not stay to make my thanks. Without your help I might have paid with my life for my devotion to the cause of S. M. el Rey
.

‘ “
Calalia d'Avila
”

‘I collected every piece of her lovely hair, and put it in my collar-box; then I tidied up and went to bed, but I didn't sleep for a long time.

‘Would she ever get across the frontier, I was wondering. Perhaps she might slip through with my soft hat well pulled down over her eyes; she had a boyish figure and was just about my height. There was something similar, too, in the shape of our chins, but there the resemblance ended. Perhaps if she caught the night train she would stand a chance; they would probably be watching for her at the station but hardly at the frontier yet, and gone was that fatal mark of identity—the lovely golden curls. I wondered if I should ever see her again. I hoped she might endeavour to return my clothes—if she did, that would give me the chance to get in touch with her, perhaps; with that slight hope I dropped off to sleep.

‘In the morning, while I was still in bed, I received a visit from the manager, and I got a nasty shock. It seemed that the
police were convinced that Cazalia was still in the hotel—or, if not, had changed her clothes in some room before she bolted. The rooms in my corridor were to be searched.