‘But,’ said Seymour.
‘Yes.’ She went quiet for a moment. ‘That’s right.’
‘He was killed.’
‘Killed, yes. I never thought they’d catch up with him.’
‘They?’
She made a sweeping gesture. ‘Just about everyone. So it seemed at times. The Government — but they should be discounted on the grounds that they don’t really have the ability to organize the killing of anyone. Although they might do it by accident, of course.’
‘Senora, are you an anarchist, by any chance?’
‘The anarchists, too,’ she continued. ‘Although they, of course, were very keen on him.’
‘Did you know about Nina?’
‘Not at first. Absurdly, I was jealous of her. For a little while I wanted to kill her. As well as him, of course.’
‘And did you?’
‘Nina, no.’
‘And Lockhart?’
She laughed. ‘Is that one of the little details you haven’t quite got straight yet?’
And then she sobered up.
‘Poor Lockhart!’ she said. ‘He didn’t deserve to die. He was the one bright spark around here. Of my life, I may say! He was different from other men. Impossible, of course. But that was why I — we — loved him. Don Quixote born again! The Don Quixote of modern times! Charging around wanting to do good. Like all the other do-gooders. I am not a do-gooder,’ she said.
‘I had rather spotted that.’
‘But although he was ridiculous, like the original Don Quixote, I suppose, he made life interesting. And that was the point. When you were with him he lit everything up. And you were part of it. Just for a moment, because that was about all the time he could spare for you before he moved on to the next woman. But it was worth it. Life suddenly shifted to another plane. And it was like that for all of us. All of us! He had that gift. He made life richer, suddenly lifted it up out of the tedious and humdrum — and, God, can life in Barcelona be tedious and humdrum! He was ridiculous, of course. With all his causes. But somehow he made you believe in them. For a bit. Even the Catalan cause! For God’s sake!’
‘You are not a believer in the Catalan cause yourself, then, Senora?’
‘I believed in it for a bit. I would have believed in anything if he had asked me to. Even fairies. But only for a bit. And by the end he himself was having second thoughts about them. There was a nasty incident. A man was killed. Lockhart was very angry. And after that he went quite off them.’
‘When was this, Senora?’
‘It was about the time of Tragic Week. Or just before. “If you feel like that,” I said, “why do you go out on the streets?” “To be fair,” he said. “To be fair.” I ask you! What sort of a reason is that? Where would the world be if fairness came into it? For God’s sake!
‘Anyway, you’re missing the point. The point was that he was romantic. With all those mad enthusiasms of his, that out-of-control idealism. He was a regular Don Quixote, always tilting at windmills. Well, me, I’m normally on the side of windmills. Good, solid things with plenty of money coming out of them.
‘But every so often you get fed up with down-to-earth, solid things. Like my husband. You want to fly up in the air, get away from them. Give romance a chance. Even if you know it will probably end with you falling back to earth with a bump.
‘When you were with Lockhart, you believed that romance had a chance. That perhaps you could escape. That things didn’t have to go on the way they were. You really believed you could fly in the air. You abandoned the windmills and went for Don Quixote. Despite yourself. Despite everything. You felt you had been given a chance of life.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘I went for Don Quixote. And now the bastard is dead. Damn him, damn him!’
‘Senora,’ said Seymour, ‘you visited the prison once: did you visit it a second time?’
‘No. I was waiting until I had got things set up for his release.’
‘And you didn’t send someone else instead?’
‘No,’ she said, surprised. ‘Why would I do that?’
‘You didn’t try to send anything in to him? For his comfort? Food, for example?’
‘Food? No.’
Then she suddenly realized. ‘What are you saying? That I tried to poison him?’
‘I wondered if you had used someone else. Another woman. An Arab woman.’
The Chief’s wife drew herself up. ‘Senor Seymour, if I had wished to poison Lockhart, I would have done it myself. I would certainly not have used a dirty Arab woman to do it!’
When they got back to the hotel they found a message from Hattersley. It asked if they would mind dropping in at his office. ‘This afternoon if possible.’ As an afterthought, Hattersley had scribbled on the bottom of the message: ‘It really is rather urgent.’
He had said ‘they’ and so they both went. He seemed relieved to see them.
‘Terribly sorry,’ he apologized. ‘Such short notice! But — but it is rather urgent. His note came only this morning, and he is going back to Algiers next week.’
‘This is Abou, is it?’ said Seymour. ‘Leila’s brother?’
‘Yes. And he particularly asked — since he would be going back so soon — if I — we — that is, if you agree — could get on with it.’
‘What is it?’
Hattersley looked at Chantale. ‘I gather he has already spoken to you about it?’
‘What exactly?’
‘His plans for marrying.’
‘Well, in a general way…’ said Chantale.
‘Oh? I gather from his note that he had been more particular.’
‘He rather poured his heart out, yes.’
‘Ah!’
Hattersley seemed relieved.
‘He’s rather poured his heart out to me, too,’ he continued. ‘I mean, I don’t know anything about it really.’ He went pink. ‘Never done it myself, I mean. Asked anyone to marry me. Could never quite pluck up courage. And, I suppose, there’s never been anyone-’
‘Has he asked you,’ said Chantale, ‘to act for him?’
‘Well, yes,’ said Hattersley. ‘In a way, he has. And I wouldn’t want to — to let him down.’
‘No, no. Of course not. But I really don’t see where we come in-’
‘He has great respect for you, Miss de Lissac. He says you have made the step. Already bridged the gap. Between Africa and Spain. He thinks they might listen to you.’
‘Me?’ said Chantale, aghast.
‘I told him — in confidence of course — that you were very highly thought of in London. That, of course, was why they chose you to come out here. That, as far as he was concerned, confirmed it. If they accepted you, wouldn’t he accept you?’
‘He?’
‘Senor Vasquez. The father of, well, what he hopes will be the bride. I know Vasquez, of course. We’ve been in a few things together. A good man, a good man for business. He knows me and I know him. We trust each other, you know. That’s very important for business. And I suppose Abou knows about our relationship and that’s why he asked me. Probably seemed like a good idea to him — I know Vasquez, and he knows me. Well, that’s fair enough, and if it was a question of business, I’d be happy to oblige. But marriage! Phew!’
He blew out his cheeks. ‘I think maybe he guessed that was how I would feel, because it was then that he went on to you, Miss de Lissac. Mentioned your name. Said he’d already talked to you about it and that you’d been very kind. Helpful, he said. And understanding. Well, I’m sure that’s true, Miss de Lissac, but, in my experience, that’s not the sort of thing Arabs would usually say about women. So I think he must have been really impressed by you. Understandably, of course. Understandably.
‘So I don’t think he would mind if — I’m sure he wouldn’t, since he’s spoken so warmly of you — and mentioned it in the first place — if I asked you to give me a bit of help.
‘I wondered if we could go round together and see him? Senor Vasquez, I mean. And you, too, old chap. I mean, the more the merrier. Or, no, I don’t mean that, I mean it would lend weight. And Abou would be pleased.