Chapter 22
It wasn’t often I was genuinely lost for words, but right at that moment, I had no idea what to say. I stared at Valentine and he stared back at me. And then he said: ‘Shall we just go for a drink?’
‘A drink?’
‘Yes, Jenkins, a drink.’
‘Watkins,’ I muttered.
He shrugged. ‘I think we’re best to avoid this bar for now,’ he said. ‘Know somewhere else?’
Still a little confused, I pointed across the road.
‘What about over there?’ I said. ‘It’s normally busy enough that we won’t be noticed.’
‘Good,’ said Valentine. ‘Let’s go.’
The bar across the way was quieter than the British Bar, but still buzzing enough that no one paid us any attention. There were a couple of groups engaged in lively chatter, two older men playing chess at one end, and a couple entwined in a corner.
‘What’s your poison?’ Valentine asked.
‘Gin,’ I said. ‘Please.’
‘Tonic?’
I nodded.
‘Grab a seat and I’ll bring them over.’
I had never been sent to the headmistress’s office at school, but I had seen the faces of girls who had and were forced to wait outside until she felt it was time to punish them. I felt a little like them now, as I watched Valentine buy the drinks.
He shared a few words and a laugh with the barman. I noted – just as Henry had pointed out – his easy way of getting along with everyone. I envied him that.
Then he picked up the glasses and brought them over, sitting down opposite me and looking at me carefully as he seemed to do often.
‘Cheers,’ he said, raising his glass to me.
Automatically I did the same, though I still wasn’t sure what was happening.
Valentine reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the documents and Parrish’s notebook. He put them both on the table in between us and rested his hand on top.
I winced.
‘How did you get those?’ I asked.
‘How do you know what they are?’
We glared at one another.
‘How did you get them?’ I said again. ‘Did Parrish hand them over?’
There was a beat of silence, then Valentine said: ‘I tripped him, he dropped them, I picked them up.’
It was so unexpected, I laughed. ‘Never fails.’
‘Never,’ said Valentine, still stony faced. ‘Your turn.’
‘I can explain.’
‘I’d like to hear it.’ He took a sip of his drink.
‘I’ve been helping process visa applications from refugees,’ I said, choosing my words carefully. ‘Pushing them through more quickly to get things moving.’
I took a swig of gin.
‘There was a Portuguese chap,’ I went on. ‘He was in Bordeaux and he was doing the same but with Portuguese visas.’
‘Alves,’ said Valentine, nodding. ‘I know about him.’
‘Then you’ll know that he was caught and ordered back to Lisbon. Some … friends of mine … they helped him process as many applications as they could before they had to stop. That’s what gave me the idea.’
‘How long have you been at it?’
‘Not long,’ I admitted. ‘A couple of weeks.’
‘And how many have you done?’ Valentine leafed through the documents in front of him. ‘There are at least twenty here.’
‘I don’t know,’ I lied.
‘Come on.’
‘A hundred and five.’
‘You’ve processed a hundred and five visa applications in two weeks?’
‘Yes.’
‘By yourself?’
I grimaced. ‘Yes,’ I said.
He looked straight at me.
‘I don’t believe you.’
There was a pause.
‘Are all the sponsors genuine? And the job offers?’
I closed my eyes briefly.
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t believe that either.’
Was I imagining it or did Valentine look … amused? Impressed? I took another swig of gin.
‘Are you working with Parrish?’ I asked, emboldened by alcohol.
‘Good lord, no,’ said Valentine. ‘He’s a little toad.’
The butterflies in my stomach stopped fluttering quite so wildly.
‘So why were you in the bar with him tonight?’
‘I wasn’t in the bar with him,’ Valentine said. ‘I was in the bar to watch him.’
‘Watch him?’
‘Because I’m fairly sure he’s selling information to the PVDE and I don’t want him to compromise the escape routes.’
I took a breath. ‘I’ve seen Parrish with a PVDE officer before – Jose Costa – the one who was in the bar tonight.’
‘When was this?’
‘The other day. I followed Parrish and I watched him meet Costa in a café. I assume he told him about the visas then arranged to hand over the applications this evening.’
Valentine rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.
‘You followed him? What made you do that?’
‘I kept seeing him in places where I wasn’t sure he should be,’ I said. ‘Places where he might have been gathering information about my friends who were helping Alves.’
‘Do you think he passed on that information?’
I shook my head. ‘I think Alves was sanctioned and the whole thing stopped before he got a chance.’
‘Good,’ said Valentine. He took a large swig of his drink. Then another one.
‘So Parrish turned his attention to you, and found the visa applications?’
‘It seems so. He works in that department, of course.’
There was a pause.
‘And I think he might have, well, a bit of a grudge.’
‘Against you?’
I grimaced. ‘When I was first thinking about the visa scheme, he decided I was upstairs a lot because I wanted to see him.’
‘Christ, the man’s a walking ego,’ said Valentine.
‘And then he made a pass at me.’ I swallowed. ‘Well, it was more than that, actually.’
Valentine’s eyes narrowed. ‘Did he hurt you?’
I shook my head, then nodded. ‘A little bit,’ I admitted. ‘But I hurt him to get away. I ground my heel into his foot.’
‘Well done.’
‘No, not well done, because he was determined to get some sort of petty revenge, and I’m fairly sure this is all because of that. And then I was a bit smug. Or complacent, might be the better word for it. I just didn’t think the PVDE would be interested in British visas.’
‘I think they’ll take any information they can,’ Valentine said. He sighed. ‘But we’re fortunate that Parrish doesn’t seem interested in the books or the escape routes?’
‘No.’ I grimaced. ‘But perhaps I’ve put that whole thing in danger, just by drawing Parrish’s attention to me.’
Valentine tapped the table with his fingertips. ‘If it reassures you, I don’t think Parrish has made the link.’
‘Really?’
‘Not at all. He’s been wholly focused on these visas.’
‘You knew about it all?’
‘I had put a few things together, but I wasn’t sure who was involved.’
‘Henry said you were clever.’ I smiled sweetly at him. ‘But now you know it’s just me who’s involved.’
‘Absolutely no one else?’
I rolled my eyes. ‘No.’
‘Hmm,’ said Valentine. ‘When I realised what Parrish was trying to get the PVDE interested in – this fast processing of visas – I tried to guess who would be the person behind it.’ He looked at me.
‘I didn’t guess you were involved, though I think I should have.
Instead, I thought it would be the older woman upstairs.
Edith Johns? Do you know her? She’s a nice woman by all accounts. ’
Keeping my face very still, I said: ‘She was good to me when I first came to Lisbon.’
‘Your chum Penny from typing told me she did the same for her.’
‘Edith’s not in trouble,’ I said firmly. It wasn’t a question.
‘No.’
I sat back in my chair, relieved.
Valentine looked at me again for a second and then he nodded.
‘I think we got off on the wrong foot, Simkins.’
‘Watkins.’
He grinned.
‘Shall we start again? Honestly this time.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning we’ll get to know one another. And then you’ll explain to me what you’re up to.’ He drummed his fingers on the pile of papers.
‘Fine.’
Valentine stuck his hand out for me to shake. ‘How do you do?’ he said. ‘I’m Archie Valentine. Vice-consul.’ He gave me a tiny wink.
I took his hand. ‘Cassandra Watkins,’ I said, emphasising my surname. ‘Wat … Kins. I’ll be your translator.’ I gave him the same tiny wink he’d given me.
‘A pleasure, Miss Watkins.’
‘Most people call me Cassie.’
‘Most people call me Val,’ he said. ‘Except my mother.’
‘I can’t call you Val. I’ve got an Aunt Val.’
He chuckled. ‘Archie is fine.’
There was another pause.
‘What now?’ I asked.
Archie signalled to the barman to bring us more drinks.
‘Now we get to know each other. Surely you’ve made small talk before?’
‘I have,’ I agreed. ‘But not quite like this.’
‘Ask me a question, and I’ll answer it.’
I drained my drink as the barman brought us another round. Then I waited for him to leave again before I asked my first question.
‘Why are you working for MI9? You’re young enough to be fighting.’
‘You’re going straight for that, are you? Not where did I go to school or have I any pets?’
I smiled, despite myself. ‘I don’t care about that.’
He looked down into his glass.
‘Tale as old as time, I’m afraid. I have a sister, Heather. She’s lovely. And we had an older brother – Donald. Brilliantly clever. Handsome. Funny.’
I gripped my own glass tightly because I knew where this was going.
‘Donald died at the Somme.’ Archie spoke lightly, but a muscle pulsed in his cheek. ‘I was sixteen. My parents were devastated, obviously. I’ve been trying to prove myself to them ever since.’
I pinched my lips together.
He gave me a small smile. ‘The irony is, of course, that I can’t tell them what I’m really doing here. But being a diplomat seems good enough, though my mother would prefer me to be in Britain. She is rather protective of Heather and me.’
‘Is that why you didn’t join up?’ I asked. ‘Because of what happened to Donald?’
He shook his head. ‘The damndest bad luck. I had measles as a boy. Left me with some damage to my hearing, so joining up was out of the question.’
‘You have trouble hearing?’ I said, closing my eyes briefly.
‘No, not completely. I have trouble when people are on my bad side.’ He touched his right ear with his forefinger. ‘I’m not good with background noise, so I sit away from the crowd.’
‘Impressive,’ I said, honestly. ‘You’ve adapted. Survival of the fittest.’
‘Yes.’ Archie nodded. ‘And I can lip-read like a bastard.’ He chuckled. ‘That’s what Don used to say. I could always see what the teachers at school were saying. And I knew all our parents’ secrets.’
‘Wilson,’ I said, slapping my hand to my forehead and feeling awful. ‘Did you mishear Watkins? Is that why you kept getting my name wrong?’