‘Local people, perhaps?’
‘I’m sure there was an element of localness. Was it just that it was the local church?’
‘Well, it was the local church. But it didn’t seem very churchy to me. I mean, usually when there’s a church service over here, there’s a lot of business that goes with it — incense, bells, that sort of thing.’ Hattersley thought for a moment. ‘And I didn’t see any clergymen. No,’ he said definitely. ‘I didn’t see any priests at all.’
‘So not particularly religious, then, even though it’s a church. But possibly still chosen because it’s local. And the local people here are Catalan, aren’t they?’
‘Yes.’
‘A Catalan point, then, not an anarchist one? After all, a key factor in the uprising was the attempt to embark Catalan conscripts.’
‘That’s certainly true.’
‘Would they have burnt the church? Probably not. But they might well have used it. Afterwards, for a kind of ceremony of remembrance. And the Church, which would, presumably, have had to have given permission, might well have been prepared to go along with it. Which they certainly wouldn’t do if the organizers were anarchists.’
‘So what is your point, old man?’
‘Since I’ve been here I’ve heard a lot about anarchists. But not much about the Catalans.’
‘They’re all Catalan around here, old boy.’
‘And yet,’ said Seymour, ‘if the authorities are to be believed, there’s not a Catalonian Nationalist among them.’
Chapter Three
One of the things he had already noticed about Barcelona was the crocodiles.
Of children. They were everywhere. Little, disciplined processions, usually with a man in a long black cassock at the head of them, with, perhaps, another man in an ill-fitting dark suit walking behind.
Here was one now. A crocodile of boys had entered the square, big boys at the front, small ones at the rear, chivvied by two men in dark suits. They went straight across the square and turned up a side street.
A bell began to sound.
A moment later another crocodile appeared, exactly similar except that it consisted of girls, and with nuns in attendance. They marched swiftly along, hands neatly folded in front, eyes cast modestly down. It, too, disappeared up the side street and shortly afterwards the bell stopped ringing.
Since Nina was a woman he thought it likely that she taught at the school the girls came from, but he couldn’t see any woman with them who was not a nun. Besides, the cabezudo had definitely said that she taught at a school that was in the square. But he couldn’t see one.
Most schools he had seen in Barcelona were easily recognizable. They were like barracks. From the outside all you could see was a high — three storeys high — white, forbidding wall, with a shut door which a porter reluctantly opened. There was nothing like this in the square. All there was was the play area in the corner.
Later, he established that there were two rooms behind the play area but at the moment all he could see was the play space, which itself seemed a bit impromptu, consisting only of a few pieces of equipment and an area marked off by a foot-high fence of split logs roped together. But that, it turned out, was Nina’s school. He had asked someone where the school was and they had pointed to it without hesitation.
The trouble was, he couldn’t see a way in. There didn’t seem to be a gate. Perhaps you just stepped over the fence? Seymour was reluctant to do that, however, because there were a lot of children milling around on the other side. He went up to the fence and looked around for someone to speak to. Finding no one, he eventually addressed one of the children.
‘Nina? Si!’ the child responded.
He pointed to the other side of the play area and then, seeing that Seymour was still standing there uncertainly, called out impatiently
‘Nina! Nina!’
A young woman emerged from the mass of children.
‘ Si?’ And then, seeing Seymour and Chantale, came across to them.
‘Senora, forgive me for interrupting you. I was wondering if it might be possible to have a word with you?’
‘It is about a child joining the school?’ she asked, her eye taking in Chantale beside him. ‘You will have to talk to Esther about that.’
‘No. It is not about that. It is about a friend of mine. An Englishman. His name is Lockhart.’
She seemed to go still. ‘Lockhart?’
‘You know him?’
‘Of course I know him!’ she said. She hesitated, and then made up her mind. ‘Later,’ she said. ‘When the children have gone to their science lesson. About ten minutes.’
Then she turned sharply away and plunged into a pile of children.
Seymour and Chantale walked back across the plaza and found a bench in the shade of a palm tree. It didn’t give much shade but they were glad of what there was. Already the heat in the square was building up.
They sat for a while watching the children. Although it seemed pretty hectic in the play area, it sorted itself out gradually into little areas of purposeful play, which they watched, amused.
Suddenly something was happening. The children had stopped playing and were going inside. There was another, older, woman with Nina, he saw now, and she went inside with them. Nina stayed behind and came across.
‘Esther is taking them now,’ she said. ‘We have twenty minutes. You wished to talk to me about Lockhart.’
‘My name is Seymour and I am a policeman from London. I have come to find out what happened to Lockhart.’
She nodded. Then she looked at Chantale.
‘And this is Chantale. She is with me.’
She nodded again. ‘You are from Algeria, Senora?’
‘Morocco.’
‘Lockhart knew many people from Algeria. That is why I thought… And from Morocco, too.’
‘I am from Tangier.’
‘Then you will understand why Lockhart went out into the streets that night.’
“That night in Tragic Week?‘ asked Seymour.
‘Yes.’
‘Senora, I do net know much about Lockhart yet but I get the impressior from what you are saying that he felt concerned for the young men being sent out to fight in Africa?’
‘That is so, yes It was wrong; wrong that they were going at all, and wrong that they were being forced to go.’
‘And Lockhart felt this strongly?’
She laughed, a little bitterly. ‘Lockhart felt all things strongly.’
‘Why did he go out into the streets?’
‘To observe. And then bear witness. He thought that people would believe him afterwards, when they wouldn’t believe us.’
‘Because he was… outside it?’
‘Because he was an Englishman. And therefore neutral.’
‘Neutral between…?’
‘The Government. The Army.’
‘And…?’
‘The people.’
‘The Spanish people?’
‘The Catalonian people. It was our men that they were sending out to fight. In their war.’
‘And, if I have understood you correctly, Senora, there was another reason why Lockhart felt involved: he had strong sympathies, too, for those the soldiers were being sent against?’
‘That is so, yes. He had lots of contacts with Algerians and Moroccans and looked upon them as his friends. “We get on well,” he said. “Why do we need soldiers?” But he was thinking of the sort of relationships that go on without Government — private relationships, even business relationships. “Where there is Government, there is not relationship, but domination,” he used to say. “The Spanish want to take over the country. Just as the French do, are doing, in both Algeria and Morocco.’”
She gave a thin little smile. ‘And as the British, everywhere. That was why he left Britain. He didn’t like to think of himself as British. Except when it was useful.’
Something that the Admiral had said came into Seymour’s mind and he was puzzled.
‘You are suggesting that he turned his back on England, Senora?’
‘Yes, of course.’
She looked at him almost triumphantly.