The Time in Between: A Novel (78 page)

“But you managed to get my notebook . . .”

“I don’t know if it was worth it: you still haven’t told me what’s in it.”

I ignored his words.

“And after you’ve put on some clean clothes, what are you going to do?” I spoke without looking at him, still concentrating on what was happening outside the car, waiting for just the right moment to take the next step.

“Go to my company’s headquarters,” he answered. “We have offices here in Madrid.”

“And do you mean to escape as quickly as you did from Morocco?” I asked, my eyes sweeping over the street’s morning comings and goings.

He replied with a half smile.

“I don’t know yet.”

At that moment my doorman left the building, heading out to the dairy. The coast was clear.

“Just in case you do end up escaping again, I’d like to invite you up for breakfast first,” I said, quickly opening the car door.

He grabbed my arm, trying to hold me back.

“Only if you tell me what you’re up to.”

“Not until I know who you are.”

We went up the staircase together hand in hand, ready to call a truce. Dirty and exhausted, but alive.

__________

W
ithout even opening my eyes I already knew that Marcus was no longer next to me. There was no visible trace of his visit to my home and my bed. Not a single forgotten item of clothing, not a good-bye note: just his scent clinging to my skin. But I knew that he would come back. Sooner or later, when I least expected it, he would show up again.

I would have liked to delay the moment of getting up. Just another hour, maybe even half an hour would have been enough—enough time to recall calmly everything that had happened in the preceding days, and especially in that last night: what I’d experienced, what I’d seen, what I’d felt. I wanted to stay there between the sheets, recreating each moment of the hours that had passed, but that wasn’t possible. I had to get moving: a hundred obligations were awaiting me; I had to start functioning again. So I took a shower and got going. It was Saturday, and although neither the girls nor Doña Manuela had come into the workshop, everything was ready and in full view so that I might be able to get up to date with the hectic work that they’d been dealing with in my absence. Things seemed to have proceeded at a good pace—there were samples on the mannequins, measurements jotted down in the notebooks, remnants and cuttings that I hadn’t left, and records kept in
sharp pencil of who had been in, who had called, and what needed to be resolved. I didn’t have time to deal with all that, however: by noon I still had much left to work out, but I had no choice but to postpone it all.

Embassy was absolutely heaving with people, but I was counting on Hillgarth being able to see me drop my handbag as I came in. I did it deliberately, almost cheekily. Three gentlemanly backs immediately bent down to retrieve it. Only one of them was successful, a tall German officer in uniform who at just that moment had been pushing the door to step out onto the street. I thanked him with my very best smile, while out of the corner of my eye I tried to see whether Hillgarth had noticed my arrival. He was at a table at the back, in the usual company. I saw that he had spotted me and registered the message. I need to see you urgently, it meant. Then I looked at my watch and faked an expression of surprise, as though I’d only just remembered that at that very moment I had an important appointment somewhere else. By two o’clock I was back home. At three fifteen the box of candies arrived. Hillgarth had summoned me for four thirty, back at Dr. Rico’s office.

It was the usual routine. I arrived alone and didn’t pass anyone on the staircase. The same nurse opened the door for me and led me through to the consulting room.

“Good afternoon, Sidi. It’s good to have you back. Have you had a good trip? I’ve heard great things about the Lusitania Express.”

He was standing by the window, dressed in one of his impeccable suits. He walked over to shake my hand.

“Good afternoon, Captain. An excellent trip, thank you; the first-class cabins are an absolute delight. I wanted to see you as soon as possible to update you on my stay there.”

“I’m grateful for that. Please, do sit down. Cigarette?”

He was relaxed and seemed in no particular hurry to learn the results of my work. The urgency of the previous weeks seemed to have disappeared as if by magic.

“Everything went well and I think I’ve managed to get hold of some very interesting information. Your suspicions were correct: Da Silva has been negotiating with the Germans to supply them with tungsten. The
final deal was closed on Thursday night at his house, with the help of Johannes Bernhardt.”

“Good work, Sidi. That information is going to be very useful to us.”

He didn’t seem surprised. Or impressed. Or grateful. Neutral and impassive, as though this didn’t come as news to him.

“It doesn’t seem to come as any surprise to you,” I said. “Did you know about this already?”

He lit a Craven A and gave his reply through the first puff of smoke.

“We were informed about Da Silva’s meeting with Bernhardt this very morning. Since he’s involved, the only thing it could relate to right now would be the supply of tungsten, which confirms what we’d suspected: Da Silva’s disloyalty. We’ve already sent a memo to London informing them.”

Although I gave a slight start at this, I tried to sound natural. My suspicions were being confirmed, but I had to keep going.

“Well, that’s quite a coincidence that someone informed you just this morning. I thought I was the only person handling this mission.”

“This morning we received a surprise visit from an agent based in Portugal. It was entirely unexpected—he came in from Lisbon by car overnight.”

“And did this agent see Bernhardt and meet Da Silva?” I asked with feigned surprise.

“Not him personally, no, but someone he completely trusts did witness the meeting.”

I was about to burst out laughing. So his agent had been informed about Bernhardt by someone he trusted completely. Well, after all, that was a compliment.

“We’re extremely interested in Bernhardt,” Hillgarth went on, oblivious to what was going on in my head. “As I told you in Tangiers, he’s the brain behind SOFINDUS, the corporation through which the Third Reich is conducting its business in Spain. Knowing that he’s having dealings with Da Silva in Portugal is going to be enormously significant for us, because—”

“Excuse me, Captain,” I interrupted him. “Can I ask you another
question? This agent who notified you that Bernhardt had done a deal with Da Silva, is this also someone with the SOE, one of your recent recruits like me?”

He stubbed out his cigarette thoroughly before replying. Then he looked up.

“Why do you ask?”

I smiled with all the candor that I was able to fake.

“No particular reason,” I said, shrugging. “It’s just such a coincidence that we’ve both turned up with the same information on exactly the same day—it’s almost amusing.”

“Well, I’m sorry to disillusion you, but no, I’m afraid he isn’t a new SOE agent just recruited for this war. The information has come to us through one of our men in the SIS, our—as it were—‘conventional’ intelligence service. And we haven’t the slightest doubt about its veracity: this is an absolutely reliable agent with years of experience. An ‘old hand,’ as you Spaniards would say.”

Click. A shiver ran down my spine. All the pieces had fallen into place. What I’d heard vindicated perfectly what I’d already suspected, but to have it confirmed absolutely was like a breath of cold air against my soul. This wasn’t the moment to lose myself in sentiment, however, but to keep moving forward. To show Hillgarth that we new recruits were also capable of working ourselves to the bone for the missions we were entrusted with.

“And your SIS man, did he give you any more information?” I asked, looking him straight in the eye.

“Regrettably not, he wasn’t able to give us any precise details, but—”

I didn’t let him go on. “He didn’t tell you how and where the meeting took place and didn’t give you the names and surnames of everyone who attended? He didn’t inform you about the terms that they agreed upon, the quantities of tungsten they expected to extract, the price per ton, the method of payment, and the procedure for evading export taxes? He didn’t tell you that they’re going to stop supplying the English abruptly within two weeks? He didn’t say that Da Silva was not only betraying you, but had also brought the major mine owners in Beira
along with him in order to be able to negotiate collectively and secure better terms for the Germans?”

Beneath his bushy eyebrows, the naval attaché’s gaze had turned to steel. His voice was hoarse.

“How have you learned all this, Sidi?”

I held his gaze proudly. They’d forced me onto the very brink of a precipice for more than ten days, and I’d managed to reach the end without toppling over the edge: it was time for him to learn what I’d found there.

“Because when a seamstress does her job well, she pays attention to every little detail.”

During our whole conversation I had kept my notebook of patterns discreetly on my lap. The cover was slightly torn, some of the pages folded over, and a large number of stains and bits of dirt bore witness to the tempestuous vicissitudes it had been through since it had left my hotel closet in Estoril. I put it down on the table and rested my open hands on it.

“All the details are in here: every last syllable of what was agreed that night. Your SIS agent didn’t tell you anything about a notebook either, then?”

The man who had just reentered my life in such an overwhelming way was undoubtedly an experienced spy for His Majesty’s intelligence services, but on this shady matter of tungsten, on this particular round, I had just beaten him.

__________

I
left the building where we’d had our secret meeting with something strange clinging to my skin. Something without a name, something new. I walked slowly through the streets, trying to find a label for that feeling, not worrying about whether there was anyone following me and indifferent to the chance of bumping into someone undesirable whenever I went around a corner. There were no external signs to suggest that I wasn’t the same woman who’d walked this pavement in the opposite direction just a few hours earlier, in just the same clothes, her feet in the same shoes. No one who had seen me going then and returning now would have been able to make out any change, except that I was no longer carrying a notebook with me. But I knew what had happened. And Hillgarth knew, too. We were both aware that on that late May afternoon the order of things had altered irreversibly.

Although he was sparing with his words, his manner made it quite clear that the information I’d just supplied him was an enormously valuable contribution that needed to be analyzed in great detail by his people in London, without a moment to lose. This information was going to set alarm bells ringing, it was going to shatter alliances and reconfigure the direction of hundreds of operations. And with it, I got the sense that the naval attaché’s attitude had been radically
altered, too. He’d seen a new image of me: his most reckless recruit, the inexperienced seamstress, who showed some promise but who was still untested, had been transformed overnight into someone capable of resolving delicate matters with the boldness and execution of a professional. Perhaps my methods were unorthodox, and I didn’t have much technical expertise; my world, my country, and my language weren’t the same as his. But I’d responded to the challenge with much more skill than he’d expected, and that put me on a new rung in the hierarchy.

But what I felt in my bones, as the final rays of sunlight accompanied my return home, wasn’t exactly happiness, either. Or emotion, or excitement. Perhaps the word that best fit the feeling that overwhelmed me was pride. For the first time in a long while, perhaps for the first time in my life, I felt proud of myself. Proud of what I was capable of, what I had been able to get through, proud of having acquitted myself better than had been expected of me. Proud to know that I was capable of making this world full of madmen a safer place. Proud of the woman I had become.

Yes, it was true that Hillgarth had spurred me on to do it, placing me teetering at the very edge of a chasm. Just as it was true that Marcus had saved my life by getting me off a moving train, and that without his timely help I wouldn’t have lived to tell the tale. Yes, all that was true. But it was also true that I’d made my own contribution, with my courage and my determination, to bring the mission I’d been assigned to a successful conclusion. All my fears, all the sleepless nights and the leaps without a safety net had been worth something after all: not only to get hold of information that would come in handy for the dirty art of war, but also, and especially, to show myself and those around me what I was capable of.

And then, as I became aware of my possible scope, I knew the time had come for me to stop going blindly down the paths that other people had set for me. It had been Hillgarth’s idea to send me to Lisbon, Manuel Da Silva had decided to get rid of me, Marcus Logan had chosen to come to my rescue. I’d passed between them from hand to hand, like a puppet: for good or ill, for the glory of heaven or the fires of
hell, they had all made decisions for me, manipulated me like someone moving a pawn on a chessboard. No one had been open with me, no one had been honest with me about his intentions: it was time now to demand some enlightenment. Time for me to take up the reins of my own existence, to choose my own path, to decide how and with whom I was to follow it. I’d stumble along the way, make missteps, encounter broken glass, accidents, and pools of dark mud. I wasn’t facing an easy future, I was quite sure about that. But the time had come to stop moving forward without any awareness of the terrain I was on and the risks I’d be taking when I got up each morning. In short, it was time to be the mistress of my own life.

Those three men, Marcus Logan, Manuel Da Silva, and Alan Hillgarth, each of them in his own way—and probably without any of them being aware of it—had helped me to grow in just a few short days. Or perhaps I’d been growing slowly for a long time and it wasn’t until now that I’d become aware of my new stature. I probably wouldn’t see Da Silva again; as for Hillgarth and Marcus, however, I was sure I’d be staying close to them for quite some time. One of them in particular I was eager to keep exactly as close as he’d been in the early hours of that morning: a closeness of affections and bodies—the recollection still made me shiver. But first of all I had to mark out the limits of the new terrain. Clearly. Visibly. Like someone drawing a line on the ground with a piece of chalk.