He got to his feet to tuck in his shirt as she headed for the stairs.
‘Are you hungry?’ Louisa asked, pausing at the rail.
‘I am, actually.’
‘My father asked if you would like to come to supper, if you were feeling well enough.’
Despite his hunger her presence was the only reason he would go and Stratton thought that perhaps it was not such a good idea. ‘Thanks, but I’ll find something here. Maybe you could tell him I’m still resting.’
Louisa seemed to accept his answer and was about to walk down the steps when she paused, wrestling with a thought. ‘I’d like it very much if you did come. I’d like you to leave with a better impression, of all of us. Victor will be there.’
Her words were enough to persuade him. ‘How can I say no?’
‘See you in a while, then.’ She continued down the stairs and Stratton sat back on the bed as the door of the cabin closed. He wondered what had just happened. It was as if they had skipped an entire chapter in their lives. But wars had that effect on people. It made them less diffident. There wasn’t the time to be otherwise.
Weariness took hold of him and he lay down on his side and brought his feet up onto the bed. This time he did not try to stop the wave of sleep from enveloping him.
It was dark by the time Stratton walked along the path towards Sebastian’s cabin. The stars were unable to penetrate the heavy clouds that hung low in the sky, threatening rain. A group of rebels on guard duty clustered around the defensive position on the other side of the courtyard, sharing cigarettes and conversation.
Stratton stopped at the door of Sebastian’s cabin. The anticipation of seeing Louisa grew and he shook his head at the strangeness of the situation. He had never experienced feelings quite like this. How ridiculous, he thought. There he was on the other side of the world, in a country that he would be leaving in a few hours, never to return - and he goes and meets Louisa.
He knocked on the door. A moment later it opened and she stood in front of him, looking as if she knew now that there was a secret between them.
‘I thought you were standing us up,’ she said.
Stratton walked in, feeling self-conscious.Victor and Sebastian sat at the table. They had already eaten. ‘I’m sorry. I fell asleep and . . . I don’t have a watch,’ he explained.
‘The transformation is complete,’ Victor announced. ‘He wakes up a new man, with a new wardrobe and a new reputation.’
‘Please. Come in,’ Sebastian said, gesturing for Stratton to take a seat.
Victor reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. ‘Before I forget, this is for you.’
Stratton opened it to reveal a wristwatch.
‘It’s my spare,’ Victor said. ‘The one I’m wearing will go on for ever, anyway.’
Stratton accepted it. ‘Thank you,’ he said, removing it from the box and putting it on.
‘How are you feeling?’ Sebastian asked.
‘Better than I should,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry about the others.’
The old man nodded and they all observed a solemn and quiet moment. Victor broke the silence by reaching for a jug of wine and filling the glass in front of Stratton. ‘There. That’s the best medicine you can have now. It must be good for you. It tastes so goddamned awful.’
Louisa brought a plate of food to Stratton who felt suddenly famished and dug into it.
‘Tell me. Are you from generations of British folk?’ Sebastian asked.
‘I’ve never traced my family tree. But I remember my father seemed to think that we had ancestors who fought at Waterloo.’
‘Which side?’ Victor asked.
‘The winning one . . . sorry, Victor.’
‘No need to apologise. I wasn’t there.’
‘I don’t suppose you know if any of them fought in the Spanish Civil War?’ Sebastian asked.
Stratton gave Louisa a surreptitious look and caught a hint of a smile on her lips. ‘Not that I know of, sir,’ he replied.
‘The British were a great help to my grandfather during the Spanish Civil War. Do you know much of the fight against the fascist, Franco?’
‘Not much,’ Stratton said, wanting to carry on eating but feeling that he should be polite.
‘You should read about that war. You would find it interesting. Almost two and a half thousand of your countrymen volunteered to fight in it. Men and women. All ordinary working-class people. Almost five hundred of them were Jewish.That was before the Second World War had even begun, remember.’
Victor could not ignore the way Louisa was looking at Stratton. He detected a new connection between them. There was certainly none of the conflict that had existed before.
A large painting on the wall caught Stratton’s attention. It was a battle scene, a panorama of explosions and of men on horseback.
‘It’s from one of the battles of the Jarama Valley,’ Louisa said as if reading his thoughts.
Stratton shook his head, none the wiser.
‘The painting belonged to my father,’ Sebastian said. ‘He was there . . . not fighting, of course. He was only six years old. Some say it was the last great cavalry charge in Western Europe. You see the white horse in the centre?’
Stratton nodded as he studied the painting more closely. The horsemen were led by a man on a powerful white horse, all charging towards a river with defensive positions beyond.
‘That was his father. My grandfather. Louisa’s great-grandfather. My father watched him die that day. He led five hundred horsemen. Flesh and blood charging tanks and machine guns. It was described as a foolish act by many. They rode without the support of artillery. Sixty per cent of them were cut down before they were even halfway to their objective. My grandfather was not one of the first to die even though he was at the head of the charge. All those around him were killed or wounded but he rode on alone, regardless. Who knows why? Perhaps it was the madness of battle. I like to think it was an act of defiance, a message to the Nationalists. He wanted them to know they would not take the valley while men like him still held it. He was right in that, at least. The Republicans had lost many battles in that war but they denied Franco the valley and, in so doing, Madrid too. We lost the war but not our pride.’
There was silence while everyone saw obvious parallels between that war and this.
Sebastian got to his feet. ‘I have work to do so I’m going to bid you all goodnight,’ he said.
‘Goodnight,’ Stratton said, getting to his feet and offering his hand.
Sebastian took it as a final goodbye and smiled. ‘I hope to see you again,’ he said. He shook hands with Stratton and left.
Silence hung in the air only to be broken by the sound of a sudden downpour outside.
‘This chicken is very good,’ Stratton said as he sat back down.
‘I thought it was rabbit,’ Victor said.
‘It’s guinea fowl,’ Louisa stated.
Victor raised his hands in disgust at his lost ability to recognise a taste. ‘I am no longer French.’ He took a cigar from his pocket and lit it, blowing the smoke at the ceiling. ‘Marlo has left us,’ he said matter-of-factly.
Louisa saw the implications of the news immediately. ‘Are you sure?’ she asked.
‘With his two lieutenants, Carlo and Fernandez.’
‘When?’
‘Yesterday. After the explosions,’ Victor said.
‘Why?’
Victor shrugged. ‘He does not confide in me.’
‘But you must have your suspicions.’
‘Marlo is the kind of man who would jump from a ship if it was taking water before going below to see if he could fix it.’
‘Do you think he had anything to do with the booby trap?’ Louisa asked.
Victor shrugged again as he drew on his cigar. ‘My gut reaction is no. Marlo was never really one of us but I don’t think he would do anything like that.’
