Dum-da, dum-da, dum-da, dum-da…
The noise was there again, and then, when it faded, Mr Ackroyd became aware of something dreadful. He smelt that heavy scent in the room, and for the first time since that car-crash Mr Ackroyd made an attempt to speak lucidly.
He cried out, “No, no — please, please go away. I can’t stand any more of it, honest I can’t, really…”
To Mr Ackroyd himself it sounded just as though he did actually cry those words aloud. In fact, all that happened was that his lips parted and moved a little, and a slow drool of saliva spilt from the corner of his mouth. His hoarse, terrified attempt to speak wasn’t heard; his tongue came out to moisten his lips, lips which were sandy-dry. And then, as the door opened and a stronger waft of that perfume came through ahead of the woman, Mr Ackroyd fainted.
There was a gloating look in Karina’s eye, but her mouth twisted dangerously as she looked at Señora Gallego’s disapproving face. The señora’s sour expression was due to the fact that now — and not for the first time since this fine lady had arrived — she had her doubts as to whether her poor madman was going to receive kind treatment when she delivered him up. She didn’t like the señorita — the señorita with the passionate eyes and the firm, uplifted breasts — breasts which were far more exposed than Señora Gallego considered decent for a lady of Spain. Moreover, at a comparable age, Señora Gallego’s breasts hadn’t been like these — they had in fact already begun to sag like unrisen bread, and the señora had been perfectly content — so had Señor Luica.
The old woman said anxiously, “Señorita, you can see that the señor your cousin is ill, and, if you will permit me the liberty of saying it, you must treat him very gently. We have done our poor best, but—”
Her voice quavered off. “Señora Gallego would never have confessed it in the market-place, but she was somewhat tongue-tied in the presence of the quality, and this señorita was very much quality, very much the grandee… except for those breasts. Señora Gallego hastily looked away and gave a disdainful sniff — that she really couldn’t restrain; what they did in the great fashion houses of Madrid and the north, even Paris, perhaps, they didn’t tolerate in Vercín.
Karina went across to the bed, knelt down beside it, appeared to say a short prayer. But the gloating in her eyes as she bent her head toward Mr Ackroyd worried the good señora badly; she thought for a moment of appealing to the guardia who stood in the doorway chatting with the señorita’s two male escorts (yes, and what was one fine lady doing with two men of low birth who didn’t appear altogether to be servants?). Then she realized that the guardia wouldn’t be any good. The dolt — he had been captivated by the señorita, anyone could see that, and he’d already meekly said he would be glad to hand the sick man over to the relative and be saved the responsibility and the bother. It would be far better for the poor señor than going to prison, he had said with a great clownish guffaw, and after that he had been content to gaze at the beautiful señorita with his silly moon face while he fell to with a toothpick to remove a piece of yesterday’s supper from his teeth. He had even guffawed through the toothpicking operation until he had caught Señora Gallego’s eye — that trout, the old woman, had been the mistress of his superior’s predecessor’s predecessor when he himself had been nothing but a twinkle in his father’s eye. She was, therefore, entitled to his respect.
Karina’s lips brushed Mr Ackroyd’s bristly, unshaven cheek. The little physicist looked quite ghastly — a horrid pale green, and his eyes had a peculiar, upturned roll when she pressed back the lids. Viciously Karina swore under her breath. This lunatic was going to be of little use, it seemed; but she dare not leave Spain without him, whatever state his mind was in. That could be attended to later, with any luck.
In a low voice Karina murmured, “My cousin, my poor cousin. How fortunate we happened upon the car… how lucky you have been, to be looked after by these good, kind people.”
Taking his hand in hers, she found that he was clutching the piece of metal. Her heart leapt, the blood surged in her veins, triumphantly. Still holding his hand as though lovingly, she stood up and half turned to face the old woman. “You have been kind beyond words, señora.” Letting go of Mr Ackroyd’s hand, she drew some notes from her bag, held them out. “Here. This may repay your trouble.”
“It is kind of you, señorita.” Señora Gallego’s old eyes glistened, just a very little; but she had taken a dislike to this imperious young woman and her impudent corsage. Quality or no quality, Señora Gallego had her pride — also, of course, one never accepted money at the first offering; it was mere politeness to protest — a little but not too much, as the señorita would naturally understand. She went on, “But no, I will not take it. Never. I have been glad to help the señor your cousin. He has needed me. It is enough that I, an old woman, was needed.” She held herself as straight as she could. “Our Lady will repay me.”
Anxiously she watched Karina’s face, the dark eyes flickering. Had she protested too much? By the Holy Virgin, yes, she had! Karina said indifferently, “Very well, señora, have it your own way.” She stuffed the notes, the precious notes, back into her handbag. Señora Gallego, very bitterly, decided she was no quality after all, and wondered if she could be induced to change her mind. But the old woman wasn’t given a chance of trying, for at once Karina called sharply:
“Massias!”
As the old woman’s eyes glittered with rage and disappointment and affront, and as her mouth shaped a hearty curse, Massias detached himself from the door-post. “Señorita?”
“Take my cousin to the car, you and Garcia. And quickly.” She was all impatience now. “We have wasted much time on these people.”
Señora Gallego’s eyes smouldered, her crumpled face puckered up. That contemptuous tone, after all her trouble! And the poor mad señor! He was moaning as the men picked him up, so roughly. She looked at him in concern. As he was carried past her his eyes opened and he tried to say something. There was a fleck of foam on his lips, she could have sworn. She never understood what it was he was trying to say; to thank her, perhaps? That must have been it. Her eyes filled with tears as they bore him away, past the guardia, that dolt who was rubbing his hands with glee at having got rid of a problem so easily, and trying to edge nearer the shameless señorita as she swept past without even noticing him…
As the men pushed Mr Ackroyd into the back of the car at the bottom of the steps of the Calle Salamanca Karina said, “Careful. We don’t want him to die on us, Massias.”
Massias grunted. Karina got in beside Mr Ackroyd and felt his pulse. It was strong enough — thank God. The car started off; a little farther along Karina gave an abrupt order to stop outside a little shop selling clothing. She sent Massias in to buy some fresh garments for Mr Ackroyd, for he must look reasonably clean and tidy and certainly he must change his bloodstained tatters, in case they should be forced to stop at a control post. When they drove off soon after they had to make their way slowly through thronged streets, the curious crowds peering in at the madman before he was whisked away for good. As soon as they were clear Karina began prying open the fingers of the thin, pale hand that clutched that vital piece of metal— vital to Karina, she felt sure, for what it might tell the scientists of her own country. It was a hard job, and Karina was sweating at the end of it, for there was still toughness in Mr Ackroyd, even in his present trouble (actually he was coming back to life now). But she’d got that little object back, and this time she was going to keep it safe herself. No more trusting to men… laughing lightly, she dropped it down between her breasts, tucking it flat beneath them, where it lay caught above the tightly clinging elastic of her brassiere. Quite safe. With wounded, stricken eyes Mr Ackroyd watched his prize possession disappear.