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folds of clothing. Nobody was hit but a girl collapsed in a hysteria of fear, her skin damp and puffy, her limbs jerking, her lips forming terrified words.
    Wearing khaki trousers and a bush jacket he’d bought in South Africa three years before with no sign of his rank or profession, he set off for the Presidencia. There were several soldiers on guard, but none of them stopped him chiefly, he suspected, because they couldn’t think of any grounds to do so.
    Then he saw Teresa Axuriaguerrera. She was standing near the entrance talking to one of the soldiers. She was wearing a red shirt and blue cotton trousers, the uniform of so many of the Republican men and women, and his heart gave an unexpected knock against his chest because she didn’t seem to have altered much, with the same dark hair and blue eyes that had always reminded him of Charley Upfold, and a dignity that came from the upright carriage that every young Spaniard, male or female, seemed to possess.
    It seemed stiflingly hot and there was a smell of dust in the air, and he noticed that the flowers by the gate were coated with a thick white powder. Above him, the sky was a scalding blue, shining with a brilliance that was reflected from the white walls in a way that hurt the eyes, and there were a lot of kites about, which he’d been told had been attracted by the bodies in the fields outside the city.
    Lighting a cigarette to show a self-confidence he didn’t feel, he began to march forward. One of the soldiers stepped in front of him immediately, holding his rifle breast-high.
    ‘Quiére algo?’
    The girl looked round and addressed a few words to the soldier. He laughed and she turned to Kelly, no sign of recognition on her face so that he was on his guard at once against a trick. Did they suspect him for some reason? Was she being used to trap him? Had she so changed her spots with the civil war she was no longer to be trusted?
    ‘You are not a Basque?’ she asked quietly.
    ‘No. English.’
    ‘From one of the British destroyers?’
    ‘Yes. I’m looking for someone.’
    She put a hand on his arm. ‘You won’t find her here,’ she smiled.
    She spoke again to the soldier, who grinned and waved them away, then, putting her arm through Kelly’s, she guided him up the shabby street towards the centre of the town.
    ‘Quiére usted beber?’
    Kelly nodded. ‘Yes, I’d like a drink.’
    They found a bar and sat outside under a dusty umbrella. She lifted her glass to toast him.
    ‘Tengo el gusto de beber a la salud de Ustedes. Quiére usted verme?’ Then, dropping her voice, she spoke again in English. ‘I am so pleased to see you again, George Kelly.’
    There was no mistaking the warmth in her voice and he placed his hand over hers. ‘Why did you disappear, Teresa?’
    She gave him an anguished look. ‘My country was suffering. To the Basques there is such a thing as honour.’
    ‘To the British,’ Kelly said, ‘there’s such a thing as love. I was on the point of asking you to marry me.’
    ‘Oh, no! ‘Her face fell. ‘I can’t believe it!’
    ‘Why not? I thought it was what you wanted, too.’ He frowned, remembering an old hurt that was connected with Charley Upfold. ‘Somebody once said that as a sailor I was terrific but as a hearts and flowers type I was a dead loss.’
    ‘Dead loss?’
    ‘Fiasco. Falla. Fracaso.’ He tried to explain. ‘I’m a slow starter.’ She looked at him with suddenly shining eyes and he found the magic worked again just as it had the previous year. Being with her was like looking through a magnifying glass that made everything sharp and clear and colourful. He was bewitched at once. The only other woman who’d ever had the same effect on him had been Charley Upfold and he determined not to let her get away again.
    ‘I asked for you,’ she said quietly. ‘But not because of that. I didn’t even know.’ Her fingers tightened in his. ‘I couldn’t have known. You never showed what you