She turned to the woman sitting beside her. ‘These are friends who came to the school.’
‘Ah, yes?’ said the lady.
‘And this is my mother.’
‘Your mother?’ said Seymour, slightly surprised; slightly surprised, in fact, that Nina had a mother, or was prepared to acknowledge one. But if she was her mother that probably accounted for the tension.
‘ Si. I am visiting her.’
‘I expect you don’t often get a chance to see your daughter, Senora, with her living in Barcelona.’
‘Once or twice a year,’ said the woman. ‘Which is not nearly enough.’
Nina gave a sort of petulant shrug.
‘And you, Senor?’ said the mother. ‘You are not from Spain, I think?’
‘From England,’ said Nina. ‘He is a policeman. He has come out to investigate Lockhart’s death.’
Her mother seemed to flinch.
‘My mother knew Lockhart,’ said Nina.
‘Did you, Senora?’
‘Yes,’ she said, unwillingly. ‘Yes. I have known him for a long time. Ever since he came over to Spain, in fact. From when he first came to Gibraltar.’
‘He was very good to my mother when my father died,’ said Nina.
‘Yes,’ said her mother; again, almost reluctantly.
‘My father was in the Spanish Customs Office. Here in Gibraltar. And Lockhart and he were great friends.’
‘Yes,’ said her mother.
‘It was hard for her when my father died. Especially at first, before the pension came through. He paid the rent, and other things.’
‘Yes,’ said her mother. ‘He was always generous in that way.’
‘And took an interest in me as I grew up. He was a sort of — godfather? Is that the right word?’
‘Yes, I think so,’ said Seymour.
‘He was the only one who was kind to me at the convent.’
‘Nina!’ protested her mother. ‘That is not true!’
‘It is!’ said Nina fiercely. ‘The nuns were horrible old women, and I hated them!’
‘Nina-’
‘Well, it’s true!’ Nina insisted. ‘They used to beat me.’
‘Nina-’
“They liked it, I think.’
‘Nina, that is not true. They may have seemed hard, been a little hard to you, but you were unruly and perhaps sometimes you deserved it.’
‘I always said that when I grew up, I would fight them,’ said Nina. ‘And I have.’
Her mother gave a little, despairing shrug. ‘It is wrong to bear hatred in your heart, Nina.’
‘It is better to bear hatred than to let them do what they want with you!’
Her mother shrugged again, but looked sad. This was probably familiar ground to her.
‘And, perhaps your school, as opposed to their school, was a way of fighting back?’ suggested Seymour.
Nina beamed.
‘That is precisely so!’ she said.
‘And was that why Lockhart helped the school? Gave money to start it and support it?’
‘Yes, for me, yes. And because he wanted children to be free.’
‘He should have wanted them to be good,’ said her mother.
‘Good, yes, perhaps,’ said Nina. ‘But free first!’
‘Anyway, it was right that he came to see you at the convent,’ said her mother.
‘It was, yes. Otherwise I think I might have died.’
‘Nina-’
‘Killed myself.’
‘Nina, Nina! That would be a sin!’
‘I wanted to sometimes. There was no escape. Either from them or from the place. I felt suffocated. For years I seemed to live in endless darkness.’
‘It was, perhaps, a mistake to send you to that one,’ her mother admitted. ‘I should have chosen another. Where it was less harsh. But at the time-’
Nina put her hand on her mother’s arm.
‘I understand that,’ she said, with awkward tenderness, ‘but-’
‘I am glad that at any rate he came to see you.’
‘He was a candle in the darkness,’ said Nina. “The only ray of light!’
Her mother shook her head.
‘It was very good of him,’ she said. ‘But sometimes I wish he had not.’
Seymour went out early the next morning to sniff the sea. The smell was a different one from that of the murky waters of the East End docks; he never felt inclined to go down in the morning and sniff those! They were dirty and oily and acidic, the tang so strong some days as to make you retch. That was when the fog lay heavily over London, when the smells of the docks were reinforced by the fumes rising from the old, closed courts of the east, the working, end of the city, where small workshops fed smoke into the thick, choking air that he had known from childhood.
Gibraltar was not like that. It opened out at once into the blue, glittering width of the bay and the air came in straight from the open sea. In front of him the long arm of the Old Mole curled round with just a few small boats this side of it. Behind him were the tall, thin buildings of the Old Town, with its narrow streets rising up the hill to the crenellations of the ancient Moorish castle. And, over to the side, stretching away into the far distance, were the peaks and crests of the mountains of Andalusia.
Everywhere there was warmth and light. The sun, only just becoming hot on his face, was burning the last early morning mists off the sea. The air, which later would become hot, and possibly unpleasantly so, still felt fresh in his face. He breathed deep.
Chantale would like this, he thought. He must bring her here tomorrow morning. She would enjoy the continuation of freshness and warmth, which would remind her of Tangier, and respond to the feeling of openness which came from the great bay opening up with the sea and escaping from the hills closing in behind.
And then a second thought struck him, the old, nagging doubt: could he ask her to exchange this — the sun and warmth and light — for the constricted, choking darkness of London’s dockland? Was it fair? Was it right?
Seymour had come down to the sea front so early because he was reckoning to spend the whole day making his nominal inspection of the stores. With luck that would be enough to establish a reason for his being in Spain and divert attention from the real purpose of his inquiries.
He met McPhail, still the Duty Officer, at the guardroom and walked over with him to the stores.
‘Are you finding the Francia to your taste, sir?’ the midshipman said, with a knowing smile.
The reason for the knowing smile was soon apparent. Word had got round that Seymour had Chantale with him. As he went into the stores he heard the petty officer’s voice at the far end. For a moment he was obscured by the shelving and Ferry did not see him.
‘ And he’s brought his bird with him!’
‘Well, what’s wrong with that?’ asked another voice. ‘Wouldn’t you do the same?’
‘Yes, but he’s on duty, like. How did he manage that? Fly bastard, isn’t he? I wonder who’s paying?’
‘Not him, I don’t suppose. What’s she like?’
‘A bit of all right. I wouldn’t mind having a quiet evening walk along the Mole with her myself!’
‘What would Bella say to that?’
‘Bella would never know!’
‘How do you know he’s brought his bird with him?’ challenged another voice.
‘I saw them at the Francia.’
‘Well, that’s the place to stay, isn’t it, if you’re like that.’
‘Your fame precedes you, sir,’ murmured McPhail.
‘Just as it should!’ said the Admiral, over a drink at lunch in the wardroom. He gave Seymour one of the knowing looks. ‘Got your girlfriend with you, I gather?’
It didn’t take long for the news to get around, thought Seymour. He began to wonder if it had, after all, been such a good idea to bring Chantale over. Suppose word got back to London?
‘Ah, I think you’re thinking of Mademoiselle de Lissac,’ he said. ‘She’s assisting me at this end.’
‘Good-looker, I hear. You obviously know how to pick them.’
‘Purely for their Intelligence skills,’ said Seymour, hoping that that would get around, too.