‘That’s not what he says, senora. I am quite confident that we have a case, and I’m happy to explain it to you. It would be helpful to us if you would agree to be interviewed, purely as a witness, you understand. I know,’ he continued, smoothly, ‘that given your recently conferred status I can’t compel you to do this, but I would appreciate your cooperation.’
I was on the point of telling him that I wasn’t interested in helping him, only Gerard, but stopped myself. I’d be in control in any interview, and I’d volunteer nothing that would be of harm to him. ‘Okay,’ I said.
‘Excellent. When can I visit you?’
‘You can’t; I’ll come to you. I’d prefer it that way.’ I checked my watch; it was half past five. ‘You’re in Girona, yes?’
‘That’s right.’
‘I can be there for six thirty.’
‘I’m sorry, I have another appointment this evening. There’s no need to rush; no one’s going anywhere. Let’s make it two o’clock tomorrow afternoon. Will that be convenient?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘That’s good. I’ll be waiting for you. I appreciate this.’
I hope you’re as pleased when we’re done, I thought, you smug bastard.
Forty-seven
I did my best not to think about what had happened, until I actually had to. I went into the computer room. . I’d have to start thinking of it as my office. . and picked up my envelope from the FCO. I did what I’d been asked to do, beginning with a call to the ambassador in Madrid. She had gone for the night, so I said I’d try again on Monday morning. Then I rang John Dale, the man who seemed to be my point of contact; we were still in normal office hours, according to British Summer Time.
I’d expected a civil service mandarin type, somebody with a plummy accent, honed at Eton and Oxbridge; instead I found myself speaking to a bloke from Bradford, who’d made no attempt to lose his. Progress, I supposed.
‘Mrs Blackstone,’ he exclaimed, ‘good to hear from you. I was told not to expect a call until next week.’
‘Primavera, please. Who told you that?’
‘Joe O’Regan, my man upstairs; he got it from the Foreign Secretary, his man.’
‘Was my appointment as big a surprise to you as it was to me?’
‘Yes and no. I wasn’t anticipating anything in Spain, but there have been quite a few appointments like yours lately around the world, special counsellors with specific briefs. It’s been the practice of this government since they’ve been in office. If the Tories had done it they’d have called it “Jobs for the boys and girls”, but to this lot it’s “Bringing in a breath of fresh air”, which you sound like, if you don’t mind me saying so.’
I didn’t mind at all, as I told him. ‘If your man upstairs got it from his man, who did he get it from?’
‘From what I gather it was Mayfield, the Home Secretary. Am I close to the mark?’
‘Think Francis Urquhart.’
‘Uh?’
‘Novel and TV series, House of Cards, by Michael Dobbs. “You may say so, but I couldn’t possibly comment.” That’s the Urquhart character’s great line.’
‘Ah,’ he exclaimed, ‘that’s where it comes from, is it? Before my time, I’m afraid.’
‘Thanks, John,’ I said cheerfully.
‘Oops.’
I let him off the hook, although I did register that the guy was probably younger than me, for all his high rank. ‘That’s all right; they repeat it on nostalgia TV every so often. Tell me,’ I went on, ‘in the event that what you gather is true, how would the Home Secretary manage to pull off something like that in the Foreign Office?’
‘Well,’ he replied, stretching out the word as if he was framing a diplomatic reply, ‘word is there’s going to be a revolution soon. Our guy is very ambitious, and if he’s to succeed to the big chair, he’s going to need the younger group on his side. . especially Mayfield.’
‘I see. I must start to read the UK media on a daily basis.’
‘Yes, but read the lot. The Guardian’s facing three ways at once, as usual, but The Times and the Telegraph both subscribe to another theory, that our guy is a little too ambitious to be trusted, and that when he does kick off the upheaval, the party will get behind someone who’s shown a bit more loyalty, and who’s just as smart.’
‘Justin?’
‘Ah, you’re on first-name terms,’ he chuckled.
‘I’ve met the man twice,’ I told him, firmly.
‘Then you must have impressed him. Now, when can you come to London? Next week too soon?’
‘A little. I’ll have to make arrangements for my son, and in addition I’m involved in a situation here that’s going to take a couple of days to resolve.’
In the end we agreed that I’d report to the Foreign Office one week from the following Tuesday, 10 a.m. ‘What’s the dress code?’ I asked.
‘Pinstripe suit, blue shirt, white collar,’ he replied, ‘or jeans and a T-shirt saying “Welcome to Spain” if you prefer. Whatever’s your norm. But no jewellery of a religious nature; we’re not allowed to show or imply favouritism.’
‘You are joking, aren’t you?’
‘Fortunately, yes.’
I’m going to like John Dale, I thought as I hung up. But what to do about Tom? Was I really prepared to be a working mum? Yes, I told myself, and the answer’s simple: get Gerard out of jail, and he can look after him.
I kept that thought with me through the evening, even after I’d called Father Olivares and been depressed by his pessimism over Gerard’s prospects, especially when I told him that he’d rejected Josep Villamas’s offer of representation. ‘He is accepting his situation, my dear,’ the old cleric sighed. ‘If that is the case, then perhaps we should also.’
‘I’ll never do that,’ I insisted. ‘Father, do you know how to get in touch with Santiago Hernanz, Gerard’s brother?’
‘I’m afraid not. I was away on both his visits to L’Escala, so I’ve never met him, and Gerard rarely speaks of him.’
That was true enough, I had to concede.
I found relief from one problem by concentrating on another. Should I go to Dolores Fumado’s funeral? After all, I’d met the woman as often as I’d met Justin Mayfield, and on one of those occasions she’d been dead. Still, Justine had been pretty square with me. On balance I decided that non-attendance might be seen as a snub, so next morning I dug out a black dress, left Tom with Ben Simmers, in charge of the dogs, and drove into L’Escala. Parking wasn’t a problem; there’s an official area behind the church. In the winter it’s free, so it’s full, but in the summer you have to pay, so it’s half-empty; the locals don’t use it then, on principle, even though it only costs a few cents. See Catalans; see money?
I bought a new shawl in a shop at the top of the hill, not because I wanted one, but to comply with convention. It wasn’t as nice as my old one, but the police still had that, and anyway, going to a funeral wearing the murder weapon would have set a new standard in political incorrectness.
As I had at Planas’s send-off, I tried to make myself invisible in the middle of the congregation, but I could only find a seat at the end of a row, right on the aisle. Hah! If the ghost of John Paul II had appeared at the altar to conduct the Mass he wouldn’t have attracted much more attention than I did. For all the discretion that the police had shown in bandying my name around when I was on the run, I must still have been the talk of every hairdressing salon in L’Escala. . and believe me, that’s a lot of shampoo and set; anyone parachuted into the town and asked to name its main industries on the basis of a quick walk round would probably say anchovies second, hairdressing top of the list.
Just about every head in the place turned to look at me, and a buzz of conversation started. It was only stilled when the mayor, her sister, looking more ghostly than ever, and Angel entered the church and walked slowly up the aisle; they were followed by two other men, of an older generation. Justine stopped beside me. She put her hand on my arm, kissed me on the cheek and said, in a voice loud enough to carry for several rows in every direction, ‘Thank you for coming, Primavera. I know you’ve had an ordeal too.’