Free The Portuguese Escape by Ann Bridge

types, who certainly weren’t all innocent peasants, swarmed round it and made a rather thorough inspection of the passengers.’
    â€˜Um. Cause of engine-failure known?’
    â€˜Yes. Sugar in the petrol-tanks—the Iberia people are quite solid on that.’
    â€˜Did Iberia report the murky types?’
    â€˜No. One of our people from Madrid was on board, and mentioned them—he’d gone to Barcelona to meet our party, but had to get back at once.’
    â€˜And where is your man now?’
    â€˜On his way to Madrid by train, I hope.’
    Richard considered. ‘Have you any idea who “they” are, in Spain?—the actual operators? Spaniards?’
    â€˜I fancy so; leave-overs from the Civil War. Funny how little people in England realise what a Communist-dominated affair that was! A lot of them fled to North Africa—Morocco was full of them when I was there; but I suppose they are sent back to Spain as required. They would be more suitable than anyone else for the job. I gather some East Germans are in it too—Spain is full of German business men just now, doing an export drive, and nothing is easier than for an East German to masquerade as a West German.’
    â€˜Well, that’s all most interesting,’ Atherley said, glancing furtively at his desk clock. ‘But where do we come in?’
    Torrens laughed.
    â€˜You don’t, yet. I really only wanted to warn you that if they are as busy here as they seem to be in Spain, we might have to call on you. But I hope not.’
    â€˜So do I, I assure you!’ Richard said, with considerable fervour. ‘Well, I shall see you tomorrow.’
    The cards for the cocktail-party at the British Embassy arrived the day before Hetta set out for Mr. Atherley’s luncheon. Hetta was always up early—lying late, let alone breakfast in bed, formed no part of her pattern of living; she usually went to Mass at half-past seven in the big church just across the gardens, and then ran on down to the sandy
plage
for a quick swim before walking back, glowing and contented, to breakfast—the water was still very cold, but she liked that. On this particular morning a letter lay beside her plate—apart from the note which Townsend Waller had sent with his flowers, it was the first that she had received since she arrived in Portugal. ‘Who should write to me?’ she muttered, as she tore open the stiff envelope.
    The formal card, with the Lion and the Unicorn embossed in gold, impressed her a good deal—and why, she asked herself, should Lady Loseley, who appeared to live at the British Embassy, ask her, Hetta, to a cocktail-party? Hetta knew by now what cocktail-parties were, her motherhad taken her to several since her clothes arrived; but she knew no one at the British Embassy except Mr. Atherley. When she had finished her coffee and rolls she went to her mother’s bedroom—the Countess always breakfasted in bed. After the good-morning kiss Hetta held out the card.
    â€˜Mama, I am invited to a party at the English Embassy.’
    â€˜So am I,’ said her mother; she looked very pleased, Hetta noticed.
    â€˜But is it not rather strange, since I don’t know them?’
    â€˜Not very strange—people are interested to meet you. The Loseleys are charming,’ she went on, ‘and of course as we know Mr. Atherley, and he is on the staff there, it is quite reasonable that we should be asked.’ Hetta realised then that this was her mother’s first invitation to the British Embassy, and that it was a source of satisfaction to her. How peculiar!
    Hetta set off in the Countess’s car for her luncheon with Richard Atherley with sensations which were rather mixed. She was pleased to be going to see again, and in his own house, the man who remembered Detvan and the sun there; on the other hand she was a little nervous about this, the first social engagement that she had