Tango (23 page)

‘Never mind, I’ll see her tomorrow.’

‘It was all right to telephone you?’

‘Yes, you have done well. Thank you.’

‘I have not said who she is. I have not used her name.’

‘No.’

‘Today I spoke to the workers at the factory, and now they have gone back to work.’

William hesitated. ‘I heard they had. That was very good. You did very well.’

Ricardo laughed. ‘You are pleased with your assistant, eh, William?’

‘Very pleased. I could not manage without him.’

‘Tonight I will find a new girl-friend.’

‘Good hunting.’

‘Good hunting for her, too.’ Ricardo laughed again. ‘I will come into the office soon. Maybe I will find you a car.’

‘Good.’

‘
Chau
, William.’

‘
Chau.
’ He told Sally he would have to go out again to warn Box.

‘So this honey-trap is on for tomorrow night?’

‘Looks like it.’

‘But you’re so tired. You don’t have to tell Box now, do you? Especially as we haven’t got a car.’

‘I don’t have to but I’d rather. There won’t be much time tomorrow.’ The news had revived him. ‘Also, I’ve got to find him. I’m only assuming
he’s in the grave because the embassy couldn’t get hold of him.’

‘Max says that some of the American embassy people have already secretly been told to leave by the government. It hasn’t been announced. He says they think they’re kicking out
the CIA ones, but apparently they’re not. They’ve got it all wrong.’

‘I won’t be very long. I’ll get a taxi.’

She came to the door. ‘So it’s definitely all on for tomorrow? You’ll be exhausted.’

‘It’ll have to be on if that’s when the junta is going. I won’t be long, I really won’t.’

She kissed him again. ‘Make sure you find the right grave. See you later.’

It was still light when he reached the cemetery. The gates were open and people were strolling about. Some were courting couples, others carried flowers. Outside the gates was a stall-holder
with a poor and expensive floral selection. William supposed winter was the excuse, then remembered that florists in the city never closed, day or night. It was the custom to present flowers to
corpses as soon after death as possible. When the cemetery was shut, the man probably pushed his stall round to the hospital. William bought some stale carnations to make it look more like a
graveside visit. He would tell Box the cost so that it could be added to the car; Box would approve of that.

The wooden door of number 1066 looked as they had left it. It was impossible to see in through the grille and it would have seemed odd to peer. Other, presumably genuine, mourners were lingering
by the 1030s. There was an old broken flower-pot by the side of the door. William knelt and began scooping earth to fill it.

‘Are you in there?’ he called softly. There was no answer. He glanced round, knocked and called again. ‘Arthur.’ There was scrabbling. ‘Arthur.’

‘What?’

‘It’s me. William.’

‘I know that. What do you want?’

‘I’ve got something to report.’

‘Hang on.’

There was more scuffling. William suspected that Box had been sleeping. Presently he saw a pale patch in the gloom behind the grille.

‘Can you come in?’ asked Box.

‘No.’

‘There’s plenty of room.’

‘There are people watching. I’ll talk while I’m planting the flowers.’

‘What flowers?’

‘The flowers I brought for visiting the grave.’

‘You’d better take them with you when you go. It might look odd, flowers for the family Bustillo suddenly appearing after all these years.’

‘It’ll look odder still if I bring them in, put them in a pot and take them away again.’

‘Point.’

Box was excited when William told him what had happened. There was more scuffling. He would draft a message for London, he said, and take it to the embassy first thing in the morning. William
told him about the embassy’s reaction to the last message. Box was furious. They had no right, it was sabotage, he would use the EE(C) and tell London that night. He was worried, though,
about Mañuel’s visit. It was good that Mañuel thought he had secured William’s cooperation, but the man was dangerous and had to be watched. That was partly why he, Box,
had gone to ground – too many people were getting to know, there was activity now and activity attracted attention. It was inevitable in the run-up phase to an operation. With luck, though,
Mañuel would be safely nailed with a floozie the following night. But who was to carry out the arrests? It all needed discussion. The four of them – they two plus Theresa and the
president – would have to meet tomorrow. Meanwhile he would get on to London. It was very odd not to have had a reply, essential that they got one by H-hour. The whole thing was pointless
without follow-up from London.

‘Stop now. People are coming,’ said William, fiddling with the flower-pot while a family of happy mourners wandered past. The children stared as he tried vainly to make the
carnations stand upright. ‘How long can you stay in there?’ he asked when they had gone.

‘Water and rations for three days.’

‘Isn’t it cold?’

‘Sleeping-bag. The coffin’s lined.’

‘You get in?’

‘Of course.’

‘What about . . .’

‘Polythene bags for emergencies.’

‘Anything I can bring you?’ He hoped he wouldn’t be asked to dispose of the bags.

‘You can get me a top-up.’ Box’s fingers gripped the grille and the door opened sufficiently for his other hand to appear, proffering his silver hip-flask.
‘Teacher’s if you can find any. Otherwise anything as long as it’s Scotch.’

‘Okay. I may be some time.’

‘Just so long as I know it’s coming.’

There was a bar not far away. The barman wouldn’t sell a bottle of whisky but ill-naturedly agreed to fill the flask with several measures. It was almost dark by then and a man in uniform
was about to close the gates.

‘We are closing,
señor.
’

William held up the flask. ‘For the flowers. One minute.
Gracias.
’

He knelt at the grave again. There was hardly any danger of being seen now. Box’s hand reached out from impenetrable darkness.

‘Teacher’s?’

‘Bell’s.’

‘I’ve discovered why no answer from London. Bank Holiday.’

‘Sounds more like my head office.’

‘Yes, odd. You’d think they would be working, especially since privatisation. Mind you, they all get BMWs now. Have to go away in them, I suppose.’

William paused before getting to his feet. ‘Did they give you one?’

‘Refused it. I prefer Shanks’s pony. Otherwise taxis. More secure because less traceable provided you change at least once in a journey. Mrs B. has a Metro. See you
tomorrow.’

The attendant eyed William suspiciously as he passed through the gates. William raised his empty hands. ‘
Los espiritos tienen sed
– the spirits are thirsty.’

‘
Sí, señor.
’ The big gates closed behind him.

The streets, never very busy even in the rush hour, were unusually empty when William walked to work the next morning. It was sunny and the parrots in the trees below the flat
flapped and squawked.

He liked walking along the wide deserted avenues. Perhaps there had been a revolution. If so, it was odd that only he and Sally hadn’t known about it. He had woken late and couldn’t
remember her having the radio on before going to work. An old Dodge approached the traffic lights. For a moment he thought it was Theresa’s and, quite ridiculously, his knees began trembling
against his trouser-legs. The Dodge cruised through on red.

The shop was shut when he arrived, but that was normal. The orange-seller was not there. This was a small triumph, though William didn’t like to think of having put the man out of
business. Perhaps there had been an overnight plague or perhaps there was a curfew – but then there would have been troops and tanks patrolling the streets. Presumably that was how one would
know there was a curfew. He couldn’t remember having seen much newsreel coverage of curfews, no doubt because they were not easily filmed. As with the trembling knees, he was suddenly
surprised by an intense spasm of home-sickness. He yearned for England, its greenness, its friendliness, its ordinariness, even its shabbiness. Sprawling, dirty London seemed like a comfortable old
dressing-gown which he longed to put on again. Things were normal there; it didn’t matter what you did, much, and not at all what you said. He imagined himself showing it all to Theresa.

There was no answer from the factory. He tried a couple of other calls and was thinking that it was past the time for the girls to arrive when his eye fell on the calendar. It was Síerra
Blanca Day, a national holiday named after the country’s only mountain in honour of a war supposedly fought over its possession. In fact, no war had been fought. Soldiers had been despatched
but the enemy had failed to find the mountain in the cloudy region inland. It was acclaimed a great victory.

He worked on some papers for a while. It was increasingly difficult to feel that they had anything to do with him. He would have to feel otherwise pretty soon or else find something different.
Meanwhile, there was not much he could usefully do – a good day, therefore, for bringing down governments.

He locked the shop and headed for Maria’s. There were a few people about now. He remembered reading that Síerra Blanca Day was celebrated by enormous family meals beginning at
lunchtime and lasting well into the evening. There were no processions or parades and the entire population became comatose. The incidence of strokes and heart attacks increased sharply during the
days following. This was viewed not with horror but as an appropriate end for people whose appreciation of life was primarily gastronomic.

Theresa’s Dodge was in the same place. To William it was now a lopsided and lovable creature, not, like most mechanical things, an enemy. There were no stalls under the trees in the
square. The house looked asleep but as he approached he saw that the door was open. Perhaps, like the florists, Maria’s served a need that had no end.

Inside there was a smell of furniture polish. Sunbeams slanted through the windows on to the floorboards and the battered, comfortable furniture. William felt suddenly and intensely happy, a
physical sensation that caused him to remain standing just inside the door, unmoving. It reminded him of something from childhood, but he could not remember what.

‘Ah,
Señor
Wooding, a welcome surprise.’ El Lizard spoke from the shadow by the bar where he was doing something to the till.

‘A beautiful morning.’

‘It is Síerra Blanca Day. It is always beautiful, but everyone is inside preparing for the feast.’

‘Are you having a feast?’

‘We cater for after the feast. You want Theresa?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘It is very early still. I don’t know if she is available.’

‘No, I mean just to talk, you know?’

‘Ah, to talk.’ El Lizard nodded ponderously. ‘I will send for her. Please go through. I will send brandy.’

‘This time I must pay you.’

El Lizard smiled. ‘No,
señor.
You bring business and honour to our house. We are proud of our connection.’

William walked through to the dance room and sat at one of the tables. Presently the clinking of crockery announced the trembling waiter with coffees and brandies. The cups and glasses shivered
as if on board ship.

It struck him that there was no reason why his assumption that she would be at the club should have been right. It was surely more natural for her to be at home in the shanties at this time of
the morning. The club was unlikely to do business early in the day, though perhaps there were girls on call for twenty-four hours. Perhaps there was even a duty roster. It was curious how
indifferently he could think of this. He wondered how much Carlos had paid her, which reminded him that she had said she would take money from Box. Quite rightly. Box would approve. William
approved, now.

She came quickly across the dance floor through alternating bars of sun and shadow. She was smiling and when he stood she kissed him.

‘I knew you would come,’ she said.

‘I wasn’t sure you would be here this early.’

‘I wanted to bathe. It’s easier here than at home.’ She laughed. ‘Ricardo telephoned you?’

‘Yes. With relish.’

‘I couldn’t think how else to get hold of you. I didn’t want to ring you at home and the only other way was to go to the cemetery to see if Arthur was there.’

‘He is now. He’s living there.’

‘Is he happy?’

‘I think so. I took him some whisky.’

‘He has some interesting ghosts for company.’

‘Have you ever seen a ghost?’

‘Yes, many. Have you?’

‘No.’

‘You see ghosts of the living as well as the dead. They are quite common. I saw you before you came here this morning.’

William’s hands remained on the coffee pot.

‘You were standing just inside the front door when I got here,’ she continued. ‘You were standing in the sun, staring. At first I thought it really was you, but then I realised
it wasn’t.’

‘How?’

‘I don’t know, it’s just different. It’s more an impression of someone than a vision, though you do see them as well. Anyway’ – she smiled – ‘that
was how I knew you would come.’

‘I did stand there, just as you described, just now.’

‘Of course, but I saw you first.’ She laughed. ‘You see, I know what you do before you do it.’ She took the coffee from him. ‘It is very strange for a man to serve
me.’

‘A nice change.’

‘I think so, I’m not sure.’

‘You know, I really am in love with you. Absolutely. Hopelessly. Without limit.’ He could not help smiling.

‘That is also a nice change.’

‘What do you mean? Hundreds of men must have fallen in love with you.’

‘Yes, but usually they are in love with me only because they want to sleep with me.’

‘Well, I want to sleep with you, too.’