Page 85 of The Last Postcard

‘It’s the British. I’m sure of it.’

The other man grunted. ‘Would they trust Cabrera?’

‘They’d trust a mule if it trotted up to them with a promise in its mouth.’ Langham’s voice was filled with contempt. ‘Cabrera must’ve done a deal with them. No doubt they are offering him ample reward for ensuring I am caught red-handed.’

I stared at the side of his face, his smooth skin, the fine lines about his eyes. ‘I don’t understand,’ I murmured. ‘The British authorities? What do they want with you?’

Langham looked over at me then, with a soft, half-pitying smile.

‘Same as the Spanish want with you. They want to hang me, chico.’

‘Arthur!’ Hilde started up, glancing at me.

‘No,’ he stopped her. ‘If we are all to get out of this, Hilde, Alejandro needs to understand.’ He focused on me again. ‘Bautista and his crew are small fry, when it comes to contraband. The real business isn’t in booze or tobacco, but in information.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘The sort of thing you delivered to Cabrera.’

‘The suitcase full of papers?’ I asked slowly. ‘What were they?’

Langham smiled humourlessly. ‘I’m afraid I have no idea. You were lucky not to be caught, though. Cabrera’s obviously been double-crossing us.’ He looked a little thoughtful. ‘You didn’t catch any glimpse of what the papers were? Any stamps or letters?’

I shook my head.

‘Pity,’ he murmured.

‘But,’ I shifted to look at Bouzid, at Hilde, ‘smuggling isn’t a hanging offence, is it? They’d have to hang the whole of La Atunara, and half of Tangiers, if it was.’

Langham laughed a little, and drank his brandy. ‘No, smuggling isn’t a hanging offence. Treason is, though. And murder.’

I stared into his eyes, trying to see the man I thought I knew, but all I saw was my own reflection.

Later, as afternoon became evening, we sat at the kitchen table – all four of us – our elbows resting on the scrubbed wood, drinking tumblers of wine and picking at food. We had never sat and eaten like that before. We are in this together, that meal said. We had to work and act as equals, if we were to get out of it. At another time, Bouzid’s lack of formality would have made me glad. But in that moment, all I could think was that everything was changing.

‘What’s important is that they are not connecting you to anything,’ Langham said to Hilde. ‘They see you as a socialite, nothing more. That makes you a safe pair of hands.’

She nodded, and shifted in her chair. She had lied to me then, about her knowledge of Langham’s activities.

‘What about the party?’ I asked. ‘It can’t go ahead, now, surely?’

‘On the contrary, it must.’ Langham was twisting the ring around and around on his little finger. ‘If we call it off, Cabrera will know that you’ve told me everything. Then we lose the upper hand.’ He looked at me, eyes travelling over my hair, my collar. ‘Alejandro,’ he said softly. ‘The suit you ordered from the tailor, it was the one we talked about?’

For some reason, a shiver ran down my neck. ‘Yes. White flannel. And a shirt of saffron gold, just like yours.’

‘Will it be ready by tomorrow?’

I nodded, feeling queasy. ‘Cabrera said so. He told me it would be delivered in the morning, with a note inside about the rendezvous. I’m to send information back with the delivery boy.’ I swallowed. ‘They will be watching the house.’

‘Good,’ Langham said. He looked away and stood up and I was left feeling cold, as if someone had closed the door of a stove. ‘Bouzid,’ he said, ‘come with me. We have a lot to do.’

Despite the heat of the day and the brandy I had drunk, I could not stop shivering. Langham and Bouzid left Dar Portuna by the secret back gate, where to I didn’t know. Hilde and I did what we could to distract ourselves, decorating the lounge for a party that none of us wanted. We arranged glasses and chose platters. Once or twice we tried to talk of what had happened, what was to come, only to find we couldn’t; the words turned to ash in our mouths. Finally, we parted, Hilde to her pipe, I to the privacy of Langham’s bathroom.

In the shower, I tried to sluice away the fear and anxiety, wincing at the sting of water on the back of my head. I tried to forget that there was a world outside the house. I wanted to sever Dar Portuna from Tangiers, wanted to untie all of the strings that tethered us to the past and send us drifting away into the world, untouchable.

Later, wrapped in Langham’s robe, I sat on the tiny roof terrace above the bedrooms, trying to catch a breeze off the strait. It was like a nest up there, the highest spot in the house, from which I could see everything. The edge of the casbah and beams of motorcars on the beach road, the ships on the strait, the vastness of a continent behind me of which I still knew nothing. I stared into the darkness, trying to imagine what life lay ahead for me, tomorrow, next week. I found that I couldn’t.

‘Here you are.’ It was Langham, emerging from the stairs. ‘I’ve been looking for you.’

He came and stood behind me, his arms encircling my chest, careful not to touch my bruised head.

‘I don’t even know your name.’ I murmured it to the night. I wasn’t sure where the words came from, only that they were truth.