Page 68 of The Last Postcard

For a long moment she only stared at me, breathing hard. Then her eyes flicked to the pins and napkins scattered about our feet. I was about to take my hand away when there was a hammering at the door.

‘Madame Hilde?’ Bouzid sounded alarmed. ‘Madame, are you all right?’

I looked into her eyes. Please, I mouthed, and released my grip.

‘I am fine, Bouzid,’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘Fine. I thought I saw a scorpion but it was only an old stocking.’

Through the door I could hear Bouzid’s breathing. He must have run up the stairs.

‘Are you sure, madame?’ he asked after a moment.

‘Quite sure, thank you.’

There was a pause. ‘Madame, I do not wish to trouble you, but I cannot find del Potro. I did not see him leave the house. Monsieur Langham was very clear that he—’

‘I sent del Potro to town.’ Our eyes locked as she spoke. ‘He is running an errand for me.’

‘Very well, madame.’ The reply sounded reluctant.

‘Thank you, Bouzid.’

Neither of us moved until we heard his footsteps retreat down the stairs. Then Hilde pushed me away. Her eyes were clear, her expression icy.

‘Explain.’

I swallowed down nausea.

‘I’m a woman.’ I forced the words out. ‘And I needed …’ I gestured at the sanitary napkins, my cheeks burning.

Her face didn’t change. If anything, it grew colder. ‘A fine story,’ she said. ‘If you’ve taken any papers, I suggest you give them back, now. You will not get another chance.’

I gaped at her. I’d confessed my secret and here she was, unmoved. ‘I don’t know anything about papers!’ She was turning towards the door again. ‘All right,’ I rushed, ‘I saw the papers, but I don’t know what they are. I don’t read Italian. I only looked at them because—’ The words stuck on my tongue. Because I want to know what I did for Cabrera. I want to know what you and Langham are involved in. ‘Because I was curious,’ I finished, knowing it sounded pathetic.

Her lip curled. ‘You expect me to believe that?’

Anger rushed through me, adding its heat to my face, to my stinging eyes. She had no idea, this woman with her fine clothes and her idle life. She didn’t know what I’d seen, what I’d done just to be here, just to wait on her and cook her food. Furiously, I shrugged out the jacket and threw it to the floor.

‘What are you doing?’ she demanded.

I didn’t wait, but dragged the shirt from my waistband and hauled it up to my chin.

‘There,’ I spat. ‘Do you believe me now?’

Her eyes were fixed on the brassiere, her mouth open. Then, out of nowhere, she made a noise that was almost a laugh.

‘My god. So, in Gibraltar …’ She met my eyes. ‘Does he know?’ she asked suddenly. ‘Arthur? Does he know about you?’

I let the shirt drop, my anger receding. ‘No.’ I paused. ‘Will you tell him?’

‘I don’t know.’ She crossed the room and sank on to the bed. ‘God, I have no idea.’ When she looked up at me again, some of the hostility had left her face. ‘There’s a bottle on the bureau. Bring it here, would you? And the glass?’

It was gin, half empty. She poured out a measure, splashing her fingers as she did, and drank it down.

‘This still doesn’t explain why you followed us here,’ she said huskily, pouring another measure. ‘I need to know why you did that.’ She swallowed again, before grimacing and shoving the bottle in my direction. ‘Here, drink if you need it. But talk.’

In that cluttered bedroom, with the curtains billowing at the open windows, I told her a story. It held some of the ingredients of my own, only measured and mixed differently. In it, Elena and I became the same person. The Señor became a rich man who had made promises of love to me, only to break them and grow violent; the murder became an attack, which I had fled, in fear of my life. I became a terrified woman, alone on the streets, who had sought safety in men’s clothing.

‘I had nowhere to go, no friends, no money,’ I told her, the gin stinging my dry throat. ‘You and Monsieur Langham were so kind to me that day. I thought, perhaps, you would be kind to me again. And I couldn’t stay in Spain. I was too afraid that he … that the man I mentioned would find me, and drag me back. I couldn’t let that happen.’