The Snow Gypsy(94)

Rose was carrying one of the baskets of plums into the shed when she glimpsed something that stopped her in her tracks. It was something black and shiny, glinting in the sun as it jerked along the path below the cottage—the three-cornered patent-leather hat of an officer of the Guardia Civil.

She dropped the basket and ran into the cottage.

“There’s a policeman coming!”

Zoltan moved like lightning, grabbing the suitcase and herding them all into the bedroom.

“Get under the bed,” he hissed. “Don’t come out until he’s gone.”

They lay on their stomachs, squashed together in the semidarkness. Rose could feel Lola trembling.

“Why are we hiding?” Nieve whispered.

“We’re just playing a little game,” Rose replied. “It’s like hide-and-seek. We all must be very quiet. And Gunesh isn’t allowed to bark. Shall I show you how to stop him?”

Nieve nodded.

Rose showed her how to encircle the dog’s snout with her fingers, applying gentle pressure to the lower jaw. It was something she’d instilled in him as a puppy when they were living in the Sussex marshes—a way to avoid frightening the sheep and any wild animals they might encounter.

Moments later they heard a loud rap on the door. Zoltan must have taken his time answering it, because a fist thumped the wood before the sound of voices reached them.

“Buenos días, Comandante. What brings you up the mountain?”

Rose felt Lola clutch her arm.

“I hear you have a couple of women living with you. A regular little harem, eh?”

There was silence for a moment. Then Zoltan said, “Well, I have had one or two girlfriends, yes. A man gets lonely up here. But they don’t stay long. It’s not much of a place for a woman, is it?”

Rose could picture him, a half smile on his face, spreading his hands, palms up.

“I’m looking for Lola Aragon. She’s a fugitive, wanted for war crimes.”

“Lola Aragon.” Zoltan repeated the name, drawing out the syllables. “There was a Lola a few months back. We don’t usually get as far as last names, if you know what I mean.”

He sounded so convincing. Rose glanced at Nieve. This wasn’t a conversation she should be hearing.

“She might be using a false name—she was seen with you in Pampaneira last Saturday.” The policeman’s voice had a harder edge now.

Lola’s grip on Rose’s arm tightened.

“Oh, her!” Zoltan grunted a laugh. “She was a strange one. She went off to Capileira a couple of days ago. I haven’t seen her since.”

There was another moment of silence. Rose felt Lola squirm, as if she was trying to wriggle out from under the bed. She groped for Lola’s hand in the darkness, squeezing it tight as she pulled her back. Then they heard Batista again, his voice even more menacing now:

“I don’t have to remind you, do I, that you’re a guest in our country? If I find out that you’re harboring a collaborator, things could become very difficult for you.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Just reminding you that you’re no better than she is.”

Rose stiffened. What on earth did he mean by that?

“You won’t mind if I look around the place,” Batista went on. It was a statement, not a question.

“Be my guest.”

The door of the bedroom flew open. It was a heart-stopping moment. Rose clung to Lola, praying she would stay where she was.

“As you can see, there’s no one in here.” Zoltan sounded so casual. “There’s a shed outside, if you want to look in that.”

The door clicked shut. The sound of footsteps receded and died.

“Quick!” Rose hissed. “We have to get out while he’s in the shed!” She prized herself out, grabbing Gunesh’s collar. Nieve wriggled out after her. “Come on!” She bent down. Lola was still under the bed, her head buried in her arms.

Lola muttered something, the words too muffled for Rose to hear. Her body was rigid.

“Please, Lola! It’s our only chance! He’ll be back in a minute. He’s not going to give up until he’s searched every inch of this place.”

Lola emerged painfully slowly, as if her limbs were cramped. Her face looked gray.

Rose opened the door, scanning the room before running across to the front door, which was still ajar. She pushed it wider, praying that it wouldn’t creak. Then she edged along the outside wall of the cottage until she could see around the corner. She spotted a mule tied to the nearby fence post. Then she caught a flash of white—Zoltan’s shirtsleeve. He was standing in the doorway of the shed. Batista must be inside.

Rose darted back into the cottage, waving frantically to Lola, who was crouching behind the bedroom door, peering out.

“Come on! We can hide in the woods until he’s gone.” Rose grabbed Lola’s arm and pulled her out. “Don’t be afraid—they’re still in the shed.”

As they got through the front door, Lola doubled up, retching.

“What’s the matter, Mama?” Nieve forgot to whisper. “Are you sick?”

Rose crouched down, her face level with Nieve’s. “I’ll help Mama, cari?o—I want you to run up to the copse with Gunesh. Can you think of a good place to hide?”