Page 39 of The Last Postcard

‘Yes,’ Sam stuttered. In the cool, sterile room, the flowers looked even more ragged than before.

‘How lovely.’ Her thin hands gathered up the stems and raised the bouquet to her face. Abruptly, her expression changed, the vague smile fading. ‘Jasmine,’ she said, ‘jasmine in the dark, and wet roses.’ Her good eye found his. ‘How did you know?’

His neck prickled. ‘Know what?’

‘Lost,’ she said, her voice thick, her hands among the petals. ‘Lost souls, all of them.’

‘Who?’ He leaned forwards. ‘Who do you mean?’

She didn’t answer. After a long moment, the nurse appeared at his elbow.

‘I’m sorry, monsieur,’ she whispered, ‘this doesn’t seem to be a good time for her. Perhaps you could come back tomorrow?’

‘Of course.’ He was ashamed of himself, causing an old lady distress, purely for the sake of his writing. ‘Of course, it doesn’t matter.’

He rose, tucking the case under his arm. Opposite Lillian he felt as huge and clumsy as an ox. ‘Thanks for your time, ma’am. I’ll be going now.’

She didn’t answer him, only stared ahead.

He was almost at the door when she spoke again, her voice barely audible over the sound of the curtains flapping.

‘July, nineteen twenty-eight.’

Sam stopped. ‘What was that?’

‘Roger, on the telephone, said something about July nineteen twenty-eight. Did he mean that night at Dar Portuna? But he was never there.’

Sam stopped, his mouth half open. D Portuna – Dar Portuna. Of course, dar meant house in Darija, he’d seen it written on signs all over the casbah. How could he have been so stupid? D Portuna was a place, not a person. A place where something had obviously happened …

Before the nurse could stop him, he took a step back towards Lillian.

‘Dar Portuna,’ he asked, ‘where is it? Do you remember?’

Her eyes creased. ‘I remember such nights there. We drank until dawn, watched the sun rise through the old sea gate. Half of Tangiers was sick with love for him.’

‘Who?’ Sam knelt beside her chair. ‘Who are you talking about?’

She didn’t reply, only stared into the distance, a smile trembling on her lips, as if she was back at that party once more.

‘Who?’ he pressed.

The smile fell from her face. ‘Arthur. Poor man.’

‘Why poor man? Did something happen?’

Slowly, she nodded. ‘I was there the night it happened. I saw him.’ She met Sam’s eyes. ‘I saw them both.’

BARBARY COAST

Take a pony of gin, a pony of Scotch whisky and a pony of Crème de Cacao. Add to this a pony of fresh cream. Shake together with cracked ice and strain into a chilled glass. Strange, sweet and dangerous in quantity.

I’ll never forget the moment I saw Tangiers.

From the deck of the ship, the white walls of the city gleamed, like a milky eye in the darkness. The bay was a phosphorescence of boats and lights, red and purple and green stars. I willed them closer. The moment I reached that shore, I would be a step further away from the murder charge that waited back in Spain; a step closer to freedom.

I watched the dock approach, my palm slick with sweat on the handle of the suitcase. It was surprisingly light. I didn’t know what was inside, and neither did I want to. I just wanted to hand it over and be done.

A small price to pay for freedom. On the darkened docks, I could see the shapes of men, catching ropes, waiting to unload cargo. I swallowed dryly. Somewhere down there, Bautista’s ‘friend’ was waiting for me.