'And you had an encounter with the Falange in the restaurant.' Sandy raised his eyebrows.

Harry nodded. 'Just a bit of rudeness.'

Sandy laughed. 'Hitler said once that Fascism can turn a worm into a dragon. It's done that to a good few worms here. Oh well, you just have to let them breathe their fire and smoke. It gets a bit wearing though.' He smiled with sudden affection. 'It's good to see a sober English face sometimes.'

'It must be odd, working with these people. The Ministry of Mines you work with mainly, isn't it? You were saying the other night.'

Sandy nodded, running a hand over his moustache. 'That's right. All my dinosaur hunting came in useful in the end, you know. More useful than that Latin they used to fill our heads with. I know a bit about geology I met this mining engineer at a function a while back and we ended up going into business.'

'Really?' That's Otero, Harry thought. He tried to hide his interest.

'Franco's economic policy is to make Spain as self-sufficient as possible,' Sandy went on, 'relying on its own resources instead of being at the mercy of foreign powers. Classic fascist stuff. So if you're in mining exploration, the opportunities are limitless. They'll even subsidize exploration costs if you can supply the expertise.' He paused, studying Harry so keenly that for a moment Harry was afraid he knew.

'You remember the other night, when I said I could give you a few business tips?'

'Yes.'

'You can make a lot of money here if you know where to invest.'

Harry nodded encouragingly. 'I've saved quite a bit from my allowance over the years. Sometimes I've thought I'd like to do something with it rather than just have it sitting in the bank.'

Sandy leaned forward and clapped him on the arm. 'Then I'm your man. I'd enjoy helping you make some money. Especially in mining, as a reward for coming with me on all those fossil-hunting expeditions.' He inclined his head. 'They didn't bore you, did they?'

'No. I enjoyed them.'

'Still fascinates me. The things hidden in the earth.' He nodded judicially. 'Let me see what I can do. I'll have to be a bit careful; the Falangists at the ministry make an exception for me but they don't like Brits.' He smiled. 'I'll think of something. I'd like to show you I've made a success.' He paused, gave Harry one of his keen looks. 'You've been a bit dubious about that, haven't you?'

'Well ...'

'I've seen it in your face, Harry. You've wondered what I'm doing mixing with these people. Barbara still wonders the same, I've seen it in her face too. But you can't be choosy in business.'

'It takes time to realize how complicated everything is here.'

Sandy gave a quick ironic smile. 'It's complicated all right. Did you go to that party at General Maestre's?'

'Yes. I'm supposed to be taking his daughter to the Prado.' He would have to ring her tonight; he had been putting it off.

'Nice girl?'

'Very young. They were all Monarchists at the party. Didn't like the Falange at all.'

'They want an authoritarian monarchy, the aristocrats in charge like fifty years ago. But everything would just fall apart again.'

'They're pro-Allied.'

'Don't get them wrong, Harry. They're hard as stone. They all fought for Franco in the war; the Monarchists' pal Juan March financed the original army rebellion.'

'I've been hearing that name a lot lately.'

'The Falange reckon he's conspiring with the Monarchists and has links with the Allies. They say he's bribing the generals, buying their support for keeping Spain out of the war.'

And then Harry saw, it was like a light going on in his head. Bribery. That was what Hillgarth and Maestre had been talking about that day. The Knights of St George was a code for sovereigns, George slaying the dragon on the obverse. They would pay them in sovereigns. He took a deep breath.

'You all right?' Sandy asked him.

'Yes. I just remembered something.' He took a drink of coffee and forced himself back to the present. 'Tell me,' he said for something to say, 'do you hear anything of your brother now?'

'Haven't heard from Peter in nine years. After I was sacked from Rookwood Dad didn't want me near him. He said I belonged to the lost, he couldn't understand how anyone could do anything so wicked as what I did.' He gave a hollow laugh. 'Putting spiders in a master's room. God, if he could see some of the things that have gone on here. Anyway, after I left home I never heard any more from Dad, nor from Peter the perfect son either.' A bitter note came into his voice. 'I'm sure Pete's being heroic as an army padre somewhere.' He lit a cigar.

'Sorry, I didn't mean to-'

'It's all right. Look, about that other business, let me talk to one or two people, see what I can arrange.'

'That'd be good.' He hesitated. 'Can you tell me any more about it?'

Sandy smiled and shook his head. 'Not yet. Matter of business confidentiality. He looked at his watch. 'I'd better be going, I've a meeting of my Jewish Committee.'

'Barbara said you were doing some work with refugees.'

'Yes, they keep coming across the Pyrenees. They try and get to Portugal, in case Franco enters the war and hands them back to Hitler. Some of them are in a bad way when they arrive we try to clean them up and help them with papers.' He gave a little smile, as though embarrassed at his charity. 'I like to help them; I suppose I've always felt a bit of a wandering Jew myself.' He sat up. 'Well, I must go. My treat. But we must do this again. I'm nearly always here at this time.'

HARRY BEGAN walking home. It was still cold and dank. The conversation between Maestre and Hillgarth kept coming back to him, Hillgarth's terse order to forget Juan March and the Knights of St George. Could the embassy be involved in bribing ministers too? It seemed far-fetched once he thought about it; dangerous, too, if Franco found out.

He shook his head, there was a feeling of pressure in his bad ear, that faint annoying buzzing again. Perhaps it was the damp weather. He thought again about Miss Maxse saying they couldn't win this war by playing a straight bat. What else was it she had said about people who got involved with extremist politics? 'Sometimes it's the excitement as much as the politics.' Sandy had always enjoyed taking risks was that why he had ended up here? He wondered again about the Jews. Sandy had a good side. He would help people, if he was in charge: like educating him about fossils; like running Barbara's life, which is what he seemed to be doing.

He ought to go back to the embassy and report his progress. They would be delighted with the offer to involve him in one of Sandy's schemes. Of course it might be something else, nothing to do with the gold. But he kept thinking of the Knights of St George, what it all might mean. And what if they failed, if the Falangists won the struggle for Franco's ear and Spain entered the war? People like Maestre could be in danger; perhaps he wanted to get his daughter out of the country, if he could.

He realized he had wandered almost as far as the Puerta de Toledo. He stopped and stood momentarily, watching the carts and beat-up old cars passing by. Some of them looked as though they had been on the road for twenty years, as they probably had. A gasogene spluttered past. He had heard nothing from Sofia about a doctor for Enrique, it had been over a week now. What if Enrique developed rabies? Harry had heard the Chinese believed that if you saved someone's life you were bound to them for ever, but he knew it was Sofia that kept the family in his mind. He hesitated, then crossed the road and headed down towards Carabanchel.

Sofia's street, like all the others in the barrio, was silent and deserted. Dusk was starting to fall as he stopped in front of the tenement. Two children rolling an old cartwheel up and down like a hoop stopped and stared at him. Their bare feet were red with cold. Harry was conscious of his thick coat and wide-brimmed hat.

He went into the dank entrance, hesitated a moment, then mounted the damp stairs and knocked at their door. As he did so, the door of the neighbouring flat opened and an elderly woman came out. She had a round wrinkled face and cold sharp eyes. Harry raised his hat. 'Buenas tardes.'

'Buenas tardes,' she replied suspiciously, just as Sofia opened her door. She looked at him in surprise, her large brown eyes widening.

'Oh. Senor Brett.'

Harry tipped his hat again. 'Buenas tardes. I'm sorry to trouble you, I just wondered how Enrique was.'

Sofia glanced across at her neighbour, who was still peering at him nosily. 'Buenas tardes, Senora Avila,' she said in a hard tone. 'Buen'dia,' the old woman muttered. She closed her door and scuttled away down the stairs. Sofia looked after her a moment, then turned to Harry.

'Please come in, senor,' she said gravely. She did not smile.

Harry followed her into the cold damp salon. The old woman in the bed was using her good hand to play draughts with the little boy. At the sight of Harry he shrank back, shoulders twitching. She put her good arm round him.

'Buenas tardes,' Harry said to her. 'How are you?'

'Well enough, senor, thank you.'

Enrique was sitting at the table, his leg up on a cushion, swathed in bandages. His long thin face had a feverish look. It brightened at the sight of Harry.

'Senor. It is good to see you again.' He leaned across and shook Harry's hand.

'How's the leg?'

'Still bad. Sofia cleans it but it doesn't really get better.'

His sister looked embarrassed. 'It needs time,' she said.

There were some childish drawings on the table. Harry looked at them and then his eyes widened. Two Civil Guards, their green uniforms and yellow webbing coloured in exactly the right shade, were shooting a woman, little red jets coming out of her body. Alongside was a drawing of another civil being hanged from a lamppost, a little boy hauling him up on a rope. But the picture had been scored through with thick black lines.

'Paco did those,' Sofia said gently. 'He makes those drawings then crosses them out and gets upset. Only Mama can calm him. The noise he made this morning, I thought it would bring Senora Avila over.'

Harry looked at the little boy. He couldn't think of anything to say.

'Senor Brett,' Sofia said hesitantly. 'I wonder if I might talk to you in the kitchen.'

'Of course.'

Harry followed her into a concrete-floored room lined with cheap cabinets. The light was fading; she switched on the light, the low-watt bulb casting a dim yellow glow over the room. It was clean, though the sink was overflowing with dishes. Sofia followed his glance.

'I have to cook and wash up for them all now.'

'No I didn't mean-'

'Please, sit down.' She motioned Harry to a chair by the kitchen table, then sat opposite, her small hands clasped in front of her. She looked at him thoughtfully.

'I did not expect you to come back,' she said.

He smiled. 'I never got that doctor's bill.'

'I hoped Enrique's leg would improve on its own.' She sighed. 'But the infection will not clear. I think yes, he needs a doctor.'

'My offer still stands.'

She frowned. 'You will forgive me, senor, but why should you help us? After Enrique spied on you?'

'I just felt I'd become involved. Please, it's only a doctor's bill; I can help you with that. I can afford it.'

'That old one in the flat next door, if she hears I am getting money from foreign diplomats I know what she will think.'

Harry reddened. Was that what Sofia thought too? 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you.' He half rose. 'I only wanted to help.'

'No, I see that. Please stay.' Sofia's tone became apologetic. She sat down and lit a cigarette. 'But it is a surprise, a foreigner offering to help us, after what Enrique did.' She bit her lip. 'I think my brother needs some of the new penicillin.'

'Then let me help. I can see things are difficult.'

She smiled then, illuminating her face. 'Very well. Thank you.'

'Get the doctor, get any medicines your brother needs, then send me the bill. That's all you need to do.'

She looked uncomfortable. 'I am sorry, Senor Brett, you have saved my brother's life and I have not even thanked you properly.'

'It's all right.'

'Everyone is suspicious of everyone else these days.' She got up.

'Will you take coffee? It's not very good, it won't be what you're used to.'

'Thank you, yes.'

She filled a big black kettle at the sink. 'That old bitch you saw on the landing, now Enrique is ill she wants us to give Paquito to the church orphanage. But we won't. They are not good places.'

'No?' He was about to say he knew someone who was volunteering at one of them, but decided not to. Sofia handed him a cup of coffee. He looked at her. Where did she get such self-possession, such energy? Her hair was jet-black but where it caught the light it had a brown tinge.

'Have you worked at the embassy for long?' she asked.

'Only a few weeks, actually. I was invalided out of the army.'

'So you have fought?' There was a new respect in her voice.

'Yes. In France.'

'What happened to you?'

'A bit of ear damage when a shell went off. It's getting better.' He was aware of the pressure in his head, though, still there.

'You were lucky.'

'Yes. I suppose I was.' He hesitated. 'I had a bit of shell shock, too. Over that now.'

She hesitated, then said, 'So. You have fought the Fascists.'

'Yes. Yes, I have.' He looked at her. 'I'd do it again.'

'Yet many people admire the Generalisimo. I knew an English boy during the Civil War, a volunteer. He said many English people think Franco is a fine Spanish gentleman.'

'I don't, senorita.'

'He was from Leeds, this boy. Do you know Leeds?'

'No. It's in the north.'

'My father met him in the battles in the Casa de Campo. They both died there.'

'I'm sorry.' He wondered if the boy had been her lover.

'We have to make the best of things now.' She took out a cigarette and lit it.