Getting to see Andreu Nin, even if he was no longer apparently a member of the Catalan government, was never going to be easy, alone even harder, and the offices of his Workers’ Party were really the last place to talk with him – there were too many prying eyes – nor did he feel the telephone to be secure, even if the exchange which he had helped capture was still in anarchist hands.
So he dropped off a curt note, in Spanish, referring to their original meeting, hoping that the room number at the Ritz, as well as Florencia’s name, would trigger his memory and asking that he make contact, then went back to the upper floors of the now much-depleted Ritz to wait for what was really the answer to a simple question – did he still want that for which he had asked and was he still prepared to fund it?
The reply took two frustrating days in coming and the sender had no idea how close Jardine had come to repacking his bags and seeking a way home, for to be here, staying in a room decorated exactly like the one they had shared, was to be constantly reminded of Florencia, and that, with no one to talk to, was agony.
In the end Nin showed the same level of precaution as he did; there was no call from a downstairs desk to tell him he had a visitor, just a discreet knock on the door, which when opened produced a thick envelope which was pressed into his hand. Opening it, he was surprised that what had been written was in English, though not of a very good standard, and ran over several pages.
The POUM leader was at pains to stress that matters vis-à-vis the communists had not improved, indeed they had deteriorated, this not aided by interim attempts to buy arms on the open market, and the reason the package was so thick was quite simply that Nin wanted him to know of what had been attempted and what failure they had suffered.
At every step, those with whom they dealt, usually foreign industrialists with little sympathy for the cause they were being asked to supply, demanded massive prices as well as huge bribes, first to sell any weapons at all, then to pay off the necessary officials to provide the End User Certificates that would allow the arms to be shipped to the Republic, people the Spanish negotiators never got to meet.
What followed turned the mounting difficulties into a farce, as the foreigners stalled on delivery, changed the terms of the agreements – always at the Republic’s expense – then, when their goods finally arrived, they found them not to be what had been paid for and many were actually useless, while what could be employed was often dangerous.
Really he was telling Cal things he did not wish to know – they were finding out what he had told them, the arms trade was a dirty business – but he was obliged to read to get to the kernel of what was required. So he learnt that the Stalinists now controlled the Assault Guards, that their membership was nearing half a million and that their grip on the throat of the Republic had increased.
It was at the end he got to the nub: Nin, despite the difficulties his party faced in falling numbers, had transferred the sum of money originally mentioned to the account named and he wished the process discussed to be put into operation. He asked no questions, so the need to explain the source to which he was proposing to go – bound to be a problem of persuasion – never arose.
Cal had not expected that – he had anticipated some form of dialogue, certainly a heated discussion, and he would have told Nin, had that occurred, the provision of funds was unnecessary; he would have financed the first part himself. Yet it was an indication of the truth of what he had written that he could not risk a meeting, which meant his every move was being watched.
It made no odds; if he had the POUM funds he would use them and his business in Barcelona was finished. It was time to find his Greek, and the first step in that was to get back down to the Barcelona dock area and see if the smugglers he had used before were still operating. They were, and prospering.
Yet departing the waters off Catalonia was a lot more circumspect this time than last; there was no burst of powerful marine engines and a cresting bow wave, they left the harbour with the engines no more than idling, the ship securely dark, as was the harbour behind, and Cal had been told in no uncertain terms that silence was essential as they cleared the dredged channel.
The threat came from Italian submarines patrolling off the coast, though they were obliged to stay well out in deep water off a coastline that was noted for the long, shallow and sandy shelf, but they did put out boats full of armed men to seek the smugglers close inshore. It was a long time before the man at the wheel half-opened the throttle to increase speed and take them out in the deep Med.
In the myriad calculations Cal had to make, this one struck home. He was a long way from even having to worry about getting what he might purchase into the Republican harbours, but there was one salient fact that was obvious – they could not come in a Spanish vessel and he would have to be careful about the kind of ship used.
Once out at sea, with the coastline a distant memory, the captain could at last get up real speed, and it was exhilarating on two counts: not just the salt spray and wind on his face, but the feeling of leaving something behind, of the opening of a new page and closing a book on what had just gone before.
From Marseilles, a cable went off to Peter Lanchester asking for a meeting in Paris, and when a positive reply came he took the train north, having pre-booked a room in the Hôtel de Crillon, and that was where they met for dinner in the very formal and very grand restaurant Les Ambassadeurs, all gilt, a marble floor, mirrors and chandeliers in the style of Louis XV.
‘Bit pricey this, old boy,’ Lanchester said. ‘Now I know why you told me to bring my dinner jacket.’
‘It’s just your kind of place, Peter, you being a sort of courtier.’
‘Not sure I like that description, Cal, and I suspect all this grandeur is because you want something from me.’
‘You don’t think I’d ask you to come to Paris for your company.’
The response was waspish. ‘I don’t know for certain you’d cross the bloody road for my company.’
‘In truth, there are a couple of things I need, but let me explain first.’
‘As long as you include chapter and verse about your travails.’
‘They are, Peter, intertwined.’
Peter Lanchester was a good listener when the need arose, eating his soupe de poisson and rarely interrupting as the last few months were explained, posing the odd question for clarification as he heard how Jardine had got involved because of the athletes, though when he came to the parting of the ways he could see his companion’s brow furrow.
‘But why did you stay on?’
Having made no mention of Florencia, his excuse was that he just wanted to see how it all panned out.
‘Nothing to do with that anarchist floozie Vince Castellano told me about? He said she was a real lovely, if a bit of a handful.’
‘Nothing at all.’
Cal was quick to continue, that being a place he did not want to go, and eventually got to the problems the Republic was having getting arms, which led to a general conversation about the actions of their own government.
‘Not sure about Eden; bugger’s an Old Etonian, of course, and when it comes to “shifty”, they are taught that particular skill on arrival, but he might be doing the bidding of the cabinet, which, as you know, is full of a bunch of terrified old tarts, from Baldwin down.’
‘Recovered from the abdication, has he?’