A large painting on the wall caught Stratton’s attention. It was a battle scene, a panorama of explosions and of men on horseback.
‘It’s from one of the battles of the Jarama Valley,’ Louisa said as if reading his thoughts.
Stratton shook his head, none the wiser.
‘The painting belonged to my father,’ Sebastian said. ‘He was there . . . not fighting, of course. He was only six years old. Some say it was the last great cavalry charge in Western Europe. You see the white horse in the centre?’
Stratton nodded as he studied the painting more closely. The horsemen were led by a man on a powerful white horse, all charging towards a river with defensive positions beyond.
‘That was his father. My grandfather. Louisa’s great-grandfather. My father watched him die that day. He led five hundred horsemen. Flesh and blood charging tanks and machine guns. It was described as a foolish act by many. They rode without the support of artillery. Sixty per cent of them were cut down before they were even halfway to their objective. My grandfather was not one of the first to die even though he was at the head of the charge. All those around him were killed or wounded but he rode on alone, regardless. Who knows why? Perhaps it was the madness of battle. I like to think it was an act of defiance, a message to the Nationalists. He wanted them to know they would not take the valley while men like him still held it. He was right in that, at least. The Republicans had lost many battles in that war but they denied Franco the valley and, in so doing, Madrid too. We lost the war but not our pride.’
There was silence while everyone saw obvious parallels between that war and this.
Sebastian got to his feet. ‘I have work to do so I’m going to bid you all goodnight,’ he said.
‘Goodnight,’ Stratton said, getting to his feet and offering his hand.
Sebastian took it as a final goodbye and smiled. ‘I hope to see you again,’ he said. He shook hands with Stratton and left.
Silence hung in the air only to be broken by the sound of a sudden downpour outside.
‘This chicken is very good,’ Stratton said as he sat back down.
‘I thought it was rabbit,’ Victor said.
‘It’s guinea fowl,’ Louisa stated.
Victor raised his hands in disgust at his lost ability to recognise a taste. ‘I am no longer French.’ He took a cigar from his pocket and lit it, blowing the smoke at the ceiling. ‘Marlo has left us,’ he said matter-of-factly.
Louisa saw the implications of the news immediately. ‘Are you sure?’ she asked.
‘With his two lieutenants, Carlo and Fernandez.’
‘When?’
‘Yesterday. After the explosions,’ Victor said.
‘Why?’
Victor shrugged. ‘He does not confide in me.’
‘But you must have your suspicions.’
‘Marlo is the kind of man who would jump from a ship if it was taking water before going below to see if he could fix it.’
‘Do you think he had anything to do with the booby trap?’ Louisa asked.
Victor shrugged again as he drew on his cigar. ‘My gut reaction is no. Marlo was never really one of us but I don’t think he would do anything like that.’
‘Where would they go?’ Louisa asked.
‘Perhaps they are waiting to see what happens.’
‘I didn’t trust him anyway.’
‘That’s not the point,’ Victor said. ‘He was respected by many of the men as a good field officer. It will affect morale. Many have had cause to lose confidence these past few days.’
‘Have you told Sebastian?’ Louisa asked as she removed some plates from the table and took them into the kitchen.
‘I was going to tell him tonight. I’ll leave it until tomorrow. It doesn’t make much difference. We are set on our course. People will either come with us or get off the bus.’
There was a loud knock on the door.
‘I’ll go,’ Victor said, getting to his feet.
As soon as he opened the door a jovial voice boomed ‘Victor!’
Victor was mildly shocked. ‘Colonel Steel.’ He stepped back to let the man in. ‘This is a surprise.’
‘Good to see you again. How’ve you been?’ Steel asked as he walked in, his hat and poncho dripping all over the floor. He was a big man and looked even larger in his cloak and headgear. He removed his hat to reveal his thick head of white hair. ‘Louisa!’ he cried, grinning broadly as if he were a much-missed uncle. He reached for her hand, pulled her towards him and gave her a kiss on each cheek.
Louisa smiled politely while trying to disguise her discomfort. ‘This is indeed a pleasant surprise.’
‘You look even more beautiful, if that’s possible.’ When he saw Stratton, Steel did not look remotely surprised at the operative’s presence. ‘You still here, Stratton? I thought you’d be on your way back to good old Blighty by now.’
Stratton forced a smile of his own.
‘Well, this is all nice and cosy. Do you mind if I join you?’ Steel asked, tossing his hat on a chair by the door.
‘You know you’re always welcome,’ Louisa said.
‘And I come bearing gifts, as usual, but this time of the edible kind.’ Steel dumped his poncho on the chair too. A leather bag hung around his shoulder. He opened it and took out a bottle of red wine which he handed to Victor and a brown paper package that he gave to Louisa. ‘Cheese,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what kind but they served it after dinner last night in the city and I had to bring some for you because it tasted so good.’
Victor inspected the wine label and, none the wiser, set about opening it.
‘Christ, it’s raining out there,’ Steel declared, vigorously warming his hands at the fire. ‘I tell ya, I’ve been in some deluges before but I swear this country takes some beatin’ when it comes to surprise cloud-bursts. Where’s the old man?’
‘He’s retired for the evening.’
‘Retired? Well, get ’im up. Steel’s here. And if that’s not a good enough reason tell ’im we got things to talk about that can’t wait till morning.’ Steel had a huge grin across his wide face as he sat down. ‘Mind if I help myself ?’ he asked, looking at the food. ‘Been a long road,’ he said, reaching for a hunk of bread and some meat and filling a glass from the wine jug. ‘I got a ride along that highway a dozen klicks east of here. Then I got myself a mule the rest of the way. I hate walkin’ if I don’t have to and I haven’t had to in a while,’ he said, laughing as he filled his mouth. ‘Excuse my appetite but I haven’t had a good meal all day.’
Victor found the wine palatable. ‘The government troops patrol that road,’ he said.
‘Sure do. Not as well as they should, though.’
‘What do you tell them when they stop you?’
‘Hell, I’m an American tourist.’ Steel laughed. Then his face took on a slightly more serious expression. ‘They know who I am, Victor. You think I don’t talk to them too? Just remember, it’s you people I’m behind.’
He looked around the room, stopping at the painting of the Jarama Valley battle. ‘Sebastian tell you about his grandpappy?’ he asked Stratton.
‘A little.’
‘Did he tell you that’s somethin’ we have in common? In the Spanish Civil War my grandpa was a member of an American volunteer force, the Abraham Lincoln Bridgade - fought alongside Sebastian’s grandpa. Hell, we got our asses well and truly handed to us at that party. Lost more’n half our men. My father told me something my grandpa once said about the Jarama Valley scrap. When it was over, those who survived said they figured out why their brigade was named after Abraham Lincoln. Because he got assassinated too.’ Steel burst out laughing.
Stratton tried to smile politely. But there was something about Steel that he just did not like and the more the man talked, the stronger his hostile feelings became. He could not believe Steel was so thick-skinned that he did not know when people were uncomfortable around him.