and, perhaps, like so many institutions, wrong. A mistake – that’s what it could be! And while there’s a chance of that he will go on hoping. Until – you will understand this, I am sure, Señor – some personal witness . . . a human being, someone of flesh and blood, not an anonymous cipher in an anonymous institution . . . says it definitely.
‘Well, that is all I am hoping for, Señor, all I can expect to achieve. Will you help me, Señor, in this task I am undertaking for a bereft, deeply loving father?’
‘Señor, I will! For the sake of the holy bond that exists between father and son, I will!’
* * *
Lockhart’s Barcelona office was just round the corner from the church with soot-blackened doors through which the coffins had emerged. It was up a side street at the entrance to which several Arabs were lounging. They looked curiously at Chantale and for a moment she wondered if she should put her scarf back over her face; but then she decided she would not, and looked back at them hard, and after a moment they looked away.
Seymour registered that but registered also, with his policing experience, that they posed no threat. This was Spain and without the reinforcement they would have received from the general culture in Morocco or Algeria their power dwindled and they seemed slightly helpless.
The office consisted of two rooms and a man at a desk. The man was Arab, too.
‘I am looking for Señor Lockhart’s office,’ said Seymour.
‘This is it. But Señor –’
‘I know,’ said Seymour. ‘But the business goes on? Who runs it now?’
‘His wife. From Gibraltar. That’s where the main office is. This is just a branch office.’
‘So you’re on your own here?’
‘I always was on my own. Mr Lockhart used to come over from time to time but mostly he left me to get on with it.’
‘And, of course, he was over here when – well, during Tragic Week.’
‘Yes.’
‘And you were, too, presumably?’
‘Yes.’
‘What was it like?’
‘Terrible, terrible. After the first day we all kept inside. I kept inside here. For five nights I did not go home. “You stay right here, Hussein,” he told me. “I’ll see food comes in. Don’t even put your head out.”’
‘But he did. He went out, didn’t he? Into the streets.’
‘Yes.’
‘Why was that?’
‘To look after his friends.’
‘Friends?’
‘Arab friends. We thought at first, when it began, that it was directed against us. It usually is.’
‘But it wasn’t this time, was it? It was the conscripts.’
‘Yes, but we didn’t know that. Not at first. And when we did, people began to come out on their side. So in the end it didn’t make any difference. I don’t suppose it would have anyway. Once the Army had been called in, they would have gone for us anyway.’
‘And Lockhart was trying to see they didn’t?’
‘Yes.’
‘Wasn’t that foolhardy? I mean, one man –’
‘He was well known. He thought he had influence. He thought he might be able to stop them. Just being there, he thought, an independent witness, it might restrain them.’
‘But it didn’t?’
‘No. And it was foolish to even think that he could. But Señor Lockhart was like that. Foolhardy, yes. But generous, too. And he thought that nothing could happen to him. That he was, somehow, inviolable. That the bullets wouldn’t touch him. But they always do, don’t they?’
‘Except that, apparently, this time they did not. He was just taken into prison.’
‘The bullet got him in the end, though, didn’t it?’
‘Was it a bullet?’
The Arab shrugged.
‘The garrotte, perhaps?’ he offered.
There were flies buzzing in the window and through an open door Seymour could see Arabs sitting in an upper room. They were sitting on the ground, squatting on their haunches, content to sit in the darkness, since that was cooler. It could have been Tangier, he thought.
‘Why would they do that?’ he said.
The Arab shrugged again.
‘Well, that is all I am hoping for, Señor, all I can expect to achieve. Will you help me, Señor, in this task I am undertaking for a bereft, deeply loving father?’
‘Señor, I will! For the sake of the holy bond that exists between father and son, I will!’
* * *
Lockhart’s Barcelona office was just round the corner from the church with soot-blackened doors through which the coffins had emerged. It was up a side street at the entrance to which several Arabs were lounging. They looked curiously at Chantale and for a moment she wondered if she should put her scarf back over her face; but then she decided she would not, and looked back at them hard, and after a moment they looked away.
Seymour registered that but registered also, with his policing experience, that they posed no threat. This was Spain and without the reinforcement they would have received from the general culture in Morocco or Algeria their power dwindled and they seemed slightly helpless.
The office consisted of two rooms and a man at a desk. The man was Arab, too.
‘I am looking for Señor Lockhart’s office,’ said Seymour.
‘This is it. But Señor –’
‘I know,’ said Seymour. ‘But the business goes on? Who runs it now?’
‘His wife. From Gibraltar. That’s where the main office is. This is just a branch office.’
‘So you’re on your own here?’
‘I always was on my own. Mr Lockhart used to come over from time to time but mostly he left me to get on with it.’
‘And, of course, he was over here when – well, during Tragic Week.’
‘Yes.’
‘And you were, too, presumably?’
‘Yes.’
‘What was it like?’
‘Terrible, terrible. After the first day we all kept inside. I kept inside here. For five nights I did not go home. “You stay right here, Hussein,” he told me. “I’ll see food comes in. Don’t even put your head out.”’
‘But he did. He went out, didn’t he? Into the streets.’
‘Yes.’
‘Why was that?’
‘To look after his friends.’
‘Friends?’
‘Arab friends. We thought at first, when it began, that it was directed against us. It usually is.’
‘But it wasn’t this time, was it? It was the conscripts.’
‘Yes, but we didn’t know that. Not at first. And when we did, people began to come out on their side. So in the end it didn’t make any difference. I don’t suppose it would have anyway. Once the Army had been called in, they would have gone for us anyway.’
‘And Lockhart was trying to see they didn’t?’
‘Yes.’
‘Wasn’t that foolhardy? I mean, one man –’
‘He was well known. He thought he had influence. He thought he might be able to stop them. Just being there, he thought, an independent witness, it might restrain them.’
‘But it didn’t?’
‘No. And it was foolish to even think that he could. But Señor Lockhart was like that. Foolhardy, yes. But generous, too. And he thought that nothing could happen to him. That he was, somehow, inviolable. That the bullets wouldn’t touch him. But they always do, don’t they?’
‘Except that, apparently, this time they did not. He was just taken into prison.’
‘The bullet got him in the end, though, didn’t it?’
‘Was it a bullet?’
The Arab shrugged.
‘The garrotte, perhaps?’ he offered.
There were flies buzzing in the window and through an open door Seymour could see Arabs sitting in an upper room. They were sitting on the ground, squatting on their haunches, content to sit in the darkness, since that was cooler. It could have been Tangier, he thought.
‘Why would they do that?’ he said.
The Arab shrugged again.
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