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sometimes frightened her with his seeming indifference to petty human emotions such as – well, such as love between a
man and a woman. She told herself this was only to be expected of a knight in pursuit of his holy grail and, in principle, she approved of not letting trivial emotions get in the way of the
important work they had to do, but in practice she knew herself to be someone who craved affection of which she had been starved as a child. Had she been silly in persuading Edward to come to
Spain? He had been so reluctant; perhaps rightly. He had told her plainly he wasn’t going to be able to help and she was beginning to think he was right. But then, she had only turned to him
as a last resort, when all other hopes had been dashed. Strangely enough it had been David himself who had suggested it.
    ‘You know, V,’ he had said, ‘the only man who could do me any good is your pet lord.’
    “Edward, you mean?’ she said in surprise.
    He held up his hands in surrender: ‘I was joking,’ he had said, but the idea lodged in her mind. She did not quite understand it herself but, despite Edward’s deplorable
flippancy, she believed there was a vein of seriousness beneath it all which was worthy of respect – a firmness of purpose, to put it at its lowest, which she could recognise in herself. And
he was intelligent: everyone admitted that and she had herself had evidence of it six months earlier when he had nosed out the truth behind General Craig’s murder. She just wished he
wouldn’t make those soupy eyes at her.
    They strolled towards the white Hispano-Suiza standing haughtily at the edge of the airfield.
    ‘Don’t we have to show our passports to anyone?’ said Edward, bewildered by the ease with which they were entering a foreign country.
    ‘Sure, Ferdinando will take care of everything. That’s him over there.’ Hester pointed to a uniformed official who had appeared from behind a hangar and was bustling towards
them. ‘Ferdy’s a pal of mine.’
    With much saluting on Ferdinando’s part, the formalities were quickly despatched and Hester threw herself into the driving seat of the Hispano-Suiza. ‘Get in, both of you. It’s
a bit of a squeeze but I don’t suppose you mind and anyway there’s nothing to be done about it.’
    Edward, who had a passion for fast cars, stroked the green-painted bonnet lovingly.
    ‘Mmm, how on earth did you get hold of this? It’s an Alfonso, isn’t it? A bit of an antique but a real beauty.’
    ‘Yeah,’ said Hester in her heavy drawl, ‘I guess it is something special. The man who sold it me said, when the King abdicated, he left behind thirty Hispanos and this was one
of them.’
    ‘Is that why it’s called an Alfonso?’ asked Verity.
    ‘Yes, after the King,’ Edward said. ‘It was really the first sports car you could drive on the road.’
    ‘Well, for Christ’s sake, stop salivating and get in,’ Hester commanded them. ‘It’s after six and it will take us the best part of an hour to reach the city even
with me at the wheel.’
    Edward’s assumption that Madrid would be warmer than London was naive. He had overlooked the fact that the city was two thousand feet above sea level on a vast, windswept plain. It was a
bitterly cold evening to be speeding across the campagna in an open car and Verity was glad she was so tightly squeezed between Edward and Hester. It might be a grand car in its parentage but it
was not designed for three and was such a tight fit Verity had almost to sit on Edward’s lap, but neither seemed to mind this much.
    They started with a violent jerk and Hester swore. ‘Fucking clutch.’ It was the first time Edward had heard a woman use a sexual swear word and he was shocked but rather excited.
After all, he reminded himself, she was American. He had instinctively grabbed hold of Verity to stop her being thrown through the windscreen and now, instead of releasing her, he held her so
tightly she