Free The More Deceived by David Roberts

God!’ he groaned. ‘How can I interview important civil servants with a black eye? Blast it! Damn you, Tommie, and damn Verity for persuading me to come.’
    ‘Why are you interviewing civil servants?’ Tommie asked curiously.
    ‘Oh, did I say that? Forget it, will you, Tommie?’

4
    ‘So, how did it go?’ It was Verity sounding cheerful.
    ‘I only lost an eye, that’s all.’
    Edward had got back to his rooms to be ministered to by Fenton, who was suitably sympathetic. A bloody steak was applied to his eye and he lay back on the sofa and groaned. It was then that Verity had telephoned.
    ‘I’m sure you are exaggerating. Put a steak on it.’
    ‘One is clasped to my eye as we speak and dripping blood on to the floor.’
    ‘Brave boy! Sorry I couldn’t make it. Did you notice I wasn’t there?’
    ‘Of course I did, but it didn’t matter.’ He added nastily, ‘Gerda looked after me.’
    There was a silence but when Verity spoke she was, to his chagrin, sweet and reasonable.
    ‘There’s a story going the rounds – the
Daily Mail
is pushing it – that our people are shooting anyone in the International Brigade who won’t take orders from Moscow. Ridiculous, of course, but Joe wants me to investigate.’ Joe was Lord Weaver, the proprietor of the
New Gazette
and Verity’s employer. ‘I’ve got to go back to Spain earlier than I had planned.’
    ‘When?’ Edward demanded.
    ‘In about half an hour.’
    ‘I won’t see you then?’
    ‘Not unless you come with me,’ she said, with an effort at humour.
    ‘I can’t see myself doing that. Well, I’ll miss you. When will you be back?’
    ‘Not for a bit. Apparently, there’s a big effort coming to raise the siege of Madrid. Perhaps the tide is turning.’
    Edward thought that unlikely. It had been obvious to him for months that without decisive intervention from France or Britain, the Republic was doomed. The Republicans – or rather the Communists – were getting aid from the Soviet Union but that was just enough to keep the war going, not to give them a chance of winning.
    ‘Thanks for telephoning. I suppose it’s no good asking you to be careful.’
    ‘I’ll be careful, silly. I’m not out to commit suicide. I was quite surprised, Joe said what you said – a dead correspondent was useless to his newspaper. He recommended whisky in the water to kill the bugs.’
    ‘It wasn’t bugs I was thinking about. It was bullets.’
    ‘I don’t intend getting shot. I’m an observer not a participant.’
    ‘I hope you remember that.’ He hesitated. ‘I’ll miss you.’
    ‘You’ve got Gerda.’
    ‘She’s just to make you jealous,’ he retorted.
    ‘Well, I am, so that’s all right, isn’t it?’
    ‘Anyway, she and André are going back to Spain next week.’
    ‘I know. I must go now.’
    ‘Take care then,’ he said. ‘Wear your solar topi if things hot up. That’s a joke.’ He risked, ‘I love you,’ knowing how much she hated sentimentality. To his surprise, she answered in a small, rather scared voice, ‘I love you, too.’ Edward could hear the tremor in her voice but, before he could say anything more, the line went dead.
    The telephone rang again almost immediately. It was Marcus Fern with whom he had recently been closeted on the
Queen Mary
. Fern had accompanied Lord Benyon on what, Edward had since learned, had been a largely unsuccessful trip to America. Benyon had gone with the object of convincing President Roosevelt that it would make sense to bankroll Britain’s rearmament. The President had been courteous but had ruled out any such thing and Benyon had returned with his tail between his legs. Edward had been acting as Benyon’s ‘protector’ on the ship. Major Ferguson had feared there might be some Nazi-inspired attempt to prevent him carrying out his mission. There
was
such an attempt and Edward counted himself fortunate that it had not been successful. A policeman guarding Benyon had been killed and