Tango (25 page)

‘It is quite concise, don’t you think?’

‘Very.’

‘Did you know I had trained to be a barrister in London?’

‘No.’

‘That is where I learned to write legal letters. But I didn’t train for very long. It was not necessary. You will give it to the Queen or the prime minister?’

‘Okay.’

Carlos rested one hand on his bare chest and gazed at the roses. William could not decide what, if anything, went on behind the happy loose smile. Perhaps it was better to be inconsequential and
invincibly vain. Carlos looked like a man without a worry on his mind.

‘I’ll go and find Arthur,’ William said.

‘You will send him to me?’

‘Yes.’

‘He will have to sort out all the details. I can’t be bothered with them. They obscure my vision.’

‘Arthur is keen on detail.’

‘Tell him to come as you came. No one will realise today. Things are very slack.
Buenas días.
’

The taxi dropped William by the flower-seller outside the cemetery and he bought another bunch. A larger number of people were strolling there that morning and children ran in and out of the
avenues and mausolea. As he walked he noticed there were no women amongst the strollers, then that nearly all the children were boys. Presumably the women and girls were at home preparing the
feast. Next he realised that no one was mourning. Talk and laughter, the squeals of children, cigarette and cigar smoke filled the air. They had all come, as Theresa had said she used to, because
it was a nice place.

‘Looking for me?’

Box stood proprietorially in the entrance to a large gothic sepulchre, smoking a cigar. He had one hand in his pocket and looked like a man taking his Sunday constitutional in an English suburb,
at a time when constitutionals were regularly and properly taken. William stepped off the cobbled path.

‘Came out for my morning exercise,’ Box said. ‘Got caught out. Place suddenly filled with people. Can’t get back in without causing a scandal or religious
sighting.’

‘Just as well you saw me. I’d have been shouting into the grave otherwise.’

‘Come in here. We won’t be overlooked.’

The sepulchre was an architectural copy in miniature of a medieval European cathedral, complete with gargoyles. They had to stoop to get in the door, William particularly. Inside were two stone
seats running the length of the nave, each with room for five or six people. There was also a number of old Coca-Cola tins and bits of newspaper. It was damp and dark but not as bad as the
grave.

‘Still no news from London,’ said Box. ‘I don’t understand it.’

‘The embassy must have put its spoke in.’

‘No doubt. But they can’t stop the message being sent. Not allowed. London can contact me independently. They know the EEC is live now. But nothing. Not a dickie. I don’t get
it.’

Box sounded seriously worried. From nearby came the squeals of children. William pulled out Carlos’s letter.

‘I’ve got news, anyway.’

Box leaned against the wall of the sepulchre with his cigar in one hand and the letter in the other. William wondered if he ever tired of his job. Presumably he had done this sort of thing often
enough. Was it exciting? Did it pall? Was it worth it? How was he regarded by his colleagues? Were they all like him? Was he senior or junior? What did he do with his time off? Did he have any? It
was hard to imagine that he did. Arthur never seemed to be anything other than what he was doing, and that completely.

‘One problem about going to the palace,’ Box said. ‘I am in need of a wash. You may have noticed.’

‘No, no.’

‘Shaving was all right – I could do that off the batteries – but not washing. Clothes are all right, too. I’ve kept these uncrumpled. Can we go down to the beach, do you
think?’

‘Come back to my flat. Sally went off to work as usual this morning, so her school must be open today. She knows about you, anyway.’

‘You told her?’

‘Yes. Was that wrong?’

‘Not necessarily.’

‘Angelica, the maid, might be there.’

‘She doesn’t—’

‘No.’

‘Good. Never know with domestics.’

A scream filled the sepulchre and William’s stomach contracted as if he had been punched. Box ducked and dropped his cigar. The child in the doorway ran crying back to his father.

Box picked up his cigar. ‘Never done that before. Must be getting old. Time we weren’t here. Don’t forget your flowers.’

As they left the sepulchre the child was still audible from somewhere behind the other tombs. He was being comforted by his father, who was asking to be shown the two spirits.

‘You must have done a lot of operations like this,’ said William.

‘Like and not like. The same but different.’

‘Do you ever get bored?’

‘Not bored. Weary sometimes. You have to make yourself keep going. Remind yourself of why you’re doing it. Like a war, it’s not all battle, it’s mainly just keeping going
and waiting. Only this war never ends.’

William didn’t like to think of Box being made weary. To be properly himself, he should be enthusiastic. ‘Why do you do it?’ he asked.

‘Think of everything good.’

‘Everything?’

‘Everything you can think of in life that’s good. In the end it all depends on one thing: having the freedom to choose it. That means there must also be the freedom to choose
what’s bad. But it’s what we stand for. And it’s what all creeds are against. All. They fear people choosing for themselves.’

‘You sound as if you’ve been through this once or twice before.’

‘Only in my head. On planes, in hotels. Lot of time for navel-gazing. Different for the chaps back in London, of course. They’re too busy with paperwork to think about why
they’re doing it.’ Box stubbed his cigar into the ground, grinding it thoroughly with his foot. ‘But this silence from London worries me. I shouldn’t admit that I’m
worried, of course, so this is very much
entre nous.
’ He emphasised the two words. ‘I have a growing feeling of operating alone, with no one behind me. Never had it before.
It’s my first operation since privatisation. Perhaps it’s the new style – more autonomy and all that – but it’s odd. Maybe I’m getting out of touch, getting past
it, but you’d think they’d be keen. At least, if they didn’t want us to do it you’d think they’d jolly well say so. Puts us in an awkward position with Carlos, not
knowing what support will be forthcoming.’

‘Perhaps they’re organising all that now.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘Mind you, I haven’t heard from my head office, either. Perhaps the revolution is in London.’

‘Twenty yards.’

‘What?’

‘Twenty yards. Gap between us from now on. I’ll follow.’

They had reached the cemetery gates. Box was already dropping back.

Angelica was not in the flat but Box walked from room to room opening cupboards and looking behind doors.

‘Checking that we’re alone,’ he explained. ‘Always a wise precaution. Don’t want to find gorillas in the kitchen.’ He inspected the fridge. ‘Nice flat,
good views, not overlooked. Vulnerable to bugging, though.’

‘Is it?’

‘Flats above and below. They can drill through. Mind if I turn the radio on?’

‘No, it’s in the bedroom.’

‘I know.’

Box fetched the radio and placed it on the dining-room table. He fiddled with it until he found classical music, then listened for a while. ‘Mahler’s Resurrection Symphony. Possibly
the most . . .’ his voice trailed off. He stood looking out of the window, his pale face rapt, his gaze somewhere between the parrot-favoured trees and the blue and white sea. When the
symphony finished he remained as he was.

‘A good view,’ said William after a while.

Box nodded. ‘One can live on a view. Almost.’

Mahler had given way to the radio news, read by a woman whose voice was famed throughout the country. She read slowly, caressing the Spanish vowels. It was a list of favourable trade statistics.
Since government control of the media had been tightened, all internal news was good. Foreign news was good if it featured what were called fraternal allies, bad if it featured the United States.
The woman’s voice curled above, around, below and between the statistics like an endless tongue. She had made it the country’s most popular station.

‘One can live for a voice,’ Box added with a smile.

‘I think one could.’

‘Almost.’

Box took his shower. He was still in it when William heard the key in the front door and Sally entered. He was as surprised as she and even started guiltily. Behind her stood the tall figure of
Max Hueffer.

William and Sally each said, ‘Hello,’ to each other, rather stiffly.

‘I didn’t realise it was a public holiday,’ he said. ‘I was at work but no one else was.’

‘Same here. We had no students. Max came in and told me. He’s come to pick up a book.’

Max shook hands. ‘Nice to meet you again, William. Sorry to walk in on your holiday. I knew it was one but so many of our students said they were coming in that I thought we should stay
open. Then they didn’t show, not one of them. Typical. I should have known.’ His eyes, enlarged by spectacles, were kindly and warm.

‘What are these?’ Sally pointed at the flowers William had bought to place outside Box’s grave.

‘Ah. They’re mine – yours.’

‘Mine?’

‘Yes, I bought them this morning.’

She looked at him. ‘Thank you.’ She picked them up and went into the kitchen.

William didn’t want to mention Box in front of Max. ‘Warmer now,’ he said.

‘You ain’t seen nothing yet. You can boil lobsters in your sweat in the summer here.’

‘Drown them in mine.’

‘Can lobsters drown?’

‘Well, I daresay they can have too much of a good thing.’

Max smiled.

‘Which book?’ asked William.

‘Have you left the shower running?’ called Sally from the kitchen.

‘Yes, yes, I have.’ He hurried into the kitchen and explained.

‘So the flowers aren’t mine?’ she whispered.

‘No – well – yes, they are now. They weren’t originally – but you can have them.’

She smiled as she cut the stems under the tap. ‘I might have known.’

‘I’ll buy some especially for you tomorrow.’

‘What are you going to do this afternoon?’

‘Arrest the government.’

She stopped cutting. ‘You’re really going ahead with it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Isn’t it dangerous?

‘Maybe. A bit. But the difficult part will be getting help afterwards. The president is sending an appeal via us.’ He showed her Carlos’s note. She dried her hands to take it.
The water in the shower stopped. ‘I’d better warn Arthur,’ he added quietly. He went along the corridor and knocked softly on the shower door, which opened at once to reveal
Box’s small face. Pink as a lobster now, William thought. He whispered what had happened.

‘I can’t move while he’s here,’ said Box. ‘He’s CIA. He’ll smell a rat. Then they’ll try and barge in and do it themselves.’

‘CIA? How do you know?’

‘Professional instinct.’

William could hear Sally talking to Max. ‘He may stay some time.’

‘Is there another way out?’

‘Only out on to the balcony. There’s nowhere to go from there.’

‘Try to get him on to the balcony so that I can slip out. Knock twice.’ The door closed.

William went back along the corridor. Sally was in the kitchen again and Max was using the telephone.

‘Okay, about five minutes,’ he said as William entered, and put down the receiver.

‘It’s better out on the balcony,’ said William, unlocking the sliding windows. ‘Come and have a look.’

‘I’d rather use your bathroom first, if I may.’

‘Of course, yes, I’ll show you.’

He led Max past the shower room to the lavatory. When the door was safely closed he touched the shower door twice. Box opened it and William pointed to the lavatory door. Box nodded, retreated
and reappeared wearing a pair of Y-fronts and carrying his shoes and clothes. His wet hair was plastered thinly against his scalp. He tiptoed along the corridor and into the kitchen. There was a
small gasp from Sally. He backed out, still holding up his shoes and clothes and half bowing in apology. William showed him to the front door. ‘Good luck at the palace,’ he
whispered.

‘What?’ There were drops of water on Box’s pink face.

‘Good luck at the palace.’

‘Meet me at Maria’s at six unless I ring you.’

‘Right.’ As he closed the door William could hear Max talking to Sally in the kitchen. The telephone rang. An American asked for Max. ‘It’s for you, Max,’ he
called.

Max took the receiver. ‘Hello. Yes. Fine.’ He put it down. ‘I have to go.’

‘Already?’

He held out his hand. ‘Nice to see you again, William. I hope we get the chance for a longer talk next time.’ He took a couple of paces towards the kitchen. ‘ ’Bye,
Sally. I have to go.’

‘What? Already?’ Sally came out of the kitchen.

William opened the door. Box, still clutching his clothes, was waiting by the lift.

‘Something’s cropped up,’ Max was saying. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

William’s sign language was vigorous but unnecessary. Box scuttled down the stairs. As he turned the first corner one of his shoes fell and bounced noisily ahead of him. The lift came.
‘See you, William,’ said Max, getting into it.

‘Yes, goodbye.’ He wondered whether Box would have the sense to pause on the way down or whether they would meet at the bottom. He shut the door and went back to the kitchen.
‘That was close.’

‘I nearly dropped the vase when he came in with his Y-fronts. He’s rather sweet, isn’t he?’

‘He thinks Max must be CIA.’

‘What on earth for?’

‘Instinct, he says.’ He noticed his copy of
First Among Equals
lying by the sink.

‘Oh, Max has forgotten his book,’ said Sally. ‘Your book. You don’t mind, do you? I said you wouldn’t.’

‘What does he want it for?’

‘To read. I told him we had it.’

‘Wouldn’t have thought it was his sort of thing.’

‘Really? Why not?’

William shrugged, picked up the book and put it down, while Sally took the vase of flowers through to the dining room and put them on the table. ‘There. I wish you’d go to the
cemetery every day.’ She smiled. ‘Now, tell me all. I only understood half of what you were saying.’