Winter of the World

At sunrise they skirted a small town with a dust-coloured church at the top of a hill. Just beyond, they reached a large barn beside the road. Inside was a green Ford flatbed truck with a grimy canvas cover. The lorry was large enough to carry the whole party. At the wheel was Captain Silva, a middle-aged Englishman of Spanish descent who worked with Lloyd.

Also there, to Lloyd’s surprise, was Major Lowther, who had been in charge of the intelligence course at Tŷ Gwyn, and had been snootily disapproving – or perhaps just envious – of Lloyd’s friendship with Daisy.

Lloyd knew that Lowthie had been posted to the British Embassy in Madrid, and guessed he worked for MI6, the Secret Intelligence Service, but he would not have expected to see him this far from the capital.

Lowther wore an expensive white flannel suit that was crumpled and grubby. He stood beside the truck looking proprietorial. ‘I’ll take over from here, Williams,’ he said. He looked at the fugitives. ‘Which one of you is Watermill?’

Watermill could have been a real name or a code.

The mysterious Englishman stepped forward and shook hands.

‘I’m Major Lowther. I’m taking you straight to Madrid.’ Turning back to Lloyd he said: ‘I’m afraid your party will have to make your way to the nearest railway station.’

‘Just a minute,’ said Lloyd. ‘That truck belongs to my organization.’ He had purchased it with his budget from MI9, the department that helped escaping prisoners. ‘And the driver works for me.’

‘Can’t be helped,’ Lowther said briskly. ‘Watermill has priority.’

The Secret Intelligence Service always thought they had priority. ‘I don’t agree,’ Lloyd said. ‘I see no reason why we can’t all go to Barcelona in the truck, as planned. Then you can take Watermill on to Madrid by train.’

‘I didn’t ask for your opinion, laddie. Just do as you’re told.’

Watermill himself interjected, in a reasonable tone: ‘I’m perfectly happy to share the truck.’

‘Leave this to me, please,’ Lowther told him.

Lloyd said: ‘All these people have just walked across the Pyrenees. They’re exhausted.’

‘Then they’d better have a rest before going on.’

Lloyd shook his head. ‘Too dangerous. The town on the hill has a sympathetic mayor – that’s why we rendezvous here. But farther down the valley their politics are different. The Gestapo are everywhere, you know that – and most of the Spanish police are on their side, not ours. My group will be in serious danger of arrest for entering the country illegally. And you know how difficult it is to get people out of Franco’s jails, even when they’re innocent.’

‘I’m not going to waste my time arguing with you. I outrank you,’

‘No, you don’t.’

‘What?’

‘I’m a major. So don’t call me “laddie” ever again, unless you want a punch on the nose.’

‘My mission is urgent!’

‘So why didn’t you bring your own vehicle?’

‘Because this one was available!’

‘But it wasn’t.’

Will Donelly, the big American, stepped forward. ‘I’m with Major Williams,’ he drawled. ‘He’s just saved my life. You, Major Lowther, haven’t done shit.’

‘That’s got nothing to do with it,’ said Lowther.

‘Well, the situation here seems pretty clear,’ Donelly said. ‘The truck is under the authority of Major Williams. Major Lowther wants it, but he can’t have it. End of story.’

Lowther said: ‘You keep out of this.’

‘I happen to be a Lieutenant-Colonel, so I guess I outrank you both.’

‘But this isn’t under your jurisdiction.’

‘Nor yours, evidently.’ Donelly turned to Lloyd. ‘Should we get going?’

‘I insist!’ spluttered Lowther.

Donelly turned back to him. ‘Major Lowther,’ he said. ‘Shut the fuck up. And that’s an order.’

Lloyd said: ‘All right, everybody – climb aboard.’

Lowther glared furiously at Lloyd. ‘I’ll get you for this, you little Welsh bastard,’ he said.

(ii)

The daffodils were out in London on the day Daisy and Boy went for their medical.

The visit to the doctor was Daisy’s idea. She was fed up with Boy blaming her for not getting pregnant. He constantly compared her to his brother Andy’s wife, May, who now had three children. ‘There must be something wrong with you,’ he had said aggressively.

‘I got pregnant once before.’ She winced at the remembered pain of her miscarriage; then she recalled how Lloyd had taken care of her, and she felt a different kind of pain.

Boy said: ‘Something could have happened since then to make you infertile.’

‘Or you.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘There might just as easily be something wrong with you.’

‘Don’t be absurd.’

‘Tell you what, I’ll make a deal.’ The thought flashed through her mind that she was negotiating rather as her father, Lev, might have done. ‘I’ll go for an examination – if you will.’

That had surprised him, and he had hesitated, then said: ‘All right. You go first. If they say there’s nothing wrong with you, I’ll go.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘You go first.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I don’t trust you to keep your promises.’

‘All right, then, we’ll go together.’