What followed turned the mounting difficulties into a farce, as the foreigners stalled on delivery, changed the terms of the agreements – always at the Republic’s expense – then, when their goods finally arrived, they found them not to be what had been paid for and many were actually useless, while what could be employed was often dangerous.

Really he was telling Cal things he did not wish to know – they were finding out what he had told them, the arms trade was a dirty business – but he was obliged to read to get to the kernel of what was required. So he learnt that the Stalinists now controlled the Assault Guards, that their membership was nearing half a million and that their grip on the throat of the Republic had increased.

It was at the end he got to the nub: Nin, despite the difficulties his party faced in falling numbers, had transferred the sum of money originally mentioned to the account named and he wished the process discussed to be put into operation. He asked no questions, so the need to explain the source to which he was proposing to go – bound to be a problem of persuasion – never arose.

Cal had not expected that – he had anticipated some form of dialogue, certainly a heated discussion, and he would have told Nin, had that occurred, the provision of funds was unnecessary; he would have financed the first part himself. Yet it was an indication of the truth of what he had written that he could not risk a meeting, which meant his every move was being watched.

It made no odds; if he had the POUM funds he would use them and his business in Barcelona was finished. It was time to find his Greek, and the first step in that was to get back down to the Barcelona dock area and see if the smugglers he had used before were still operating. They were, and prospering.

Yet departing the waters off Catalonia was a lot more circumspect this time than last; there was no burst of powerful marine engines and a cresting bow wave, they left the harbour with the engines no more than idling, the ship securely dark, as was the harbour behind, and Cal had been told in no uncertain terms that silence was essential as they cleared the dredged channel.

The threat came from Italian submarines patrolling off the coast, though they were obliged to stay well out in deep water off a coastline that was noted for the long, shallow and sandy shelf, but they did put out boats full of armed men to seek the smugglers close inshore. It was a long time before the man at the wheel half-opened the throttle to increase speed and take them out in the deep Med.

In the myriad calculations Cal had to make, this one struck home. He was a long way from even having to worry about getting what he might purchase into the Republican harbours, but there was one salient fact that was obvious – they could not come in a Spanish vessel and he would have to be careful about the kind of ship used.

Once out at sea, with the coastline a distant memory, the captain could at last get up real speed, and it was exhilarating on two counts: not just the salt spray and wind on his face, but the feeling of leaving something behind, of the opening of a new page and closing a book on what had just gone before.

From Marseilles, a cable went off to Peter Lanchester asking for a meeting in Paris, and when a positive reply came he took the train north, having pre-booked a room in the Hôtel de Crillon, and that was where they met for dinner in the very formal and very grand restaurant Les Ambassadeurs, all gilt, a marble floor, mirrors and chandeliers in the style of Louis XV.

‘Bit pricey this, old boy,’ Lanchester said. ‘Now I know why you told me to bring my dinner jacket.’

‘It’s just your kind of place, Peter, you being a sort of courtier.’

‘Not sure I like that description, Cal, and I suspect all this grandeur is because you want something from me.’

‘You don’t think I’d ask you to come to Paris for your company.’

The response was waspish. ‘I don’t know for certain you’d cross the bloody road for my company.’

‘In truth, there are a couple of things I need, but let me explain first.’

‘As long as you include chapter and verse about your travails.’

‘They are, Peter, intertwined.’

Peter Lanchester was a good listener when the need arose, eating his soupe de poisson and rarely interrupting as the last few months were explained, posing the odd question for clarification as he heard how Jardine had got involved because of the athletes, though when he came to the parting of the ways he could see his companion’s brow furrow.

‘But why did you stay on?’

Having made no mention of Florencia, his excuse was that he just wanted to see how it all panned out.

‘Nothing to do with that anarchist floozie Vince Castellano told me about? He said she was a real lovely, if a bit of a handful.’

‘Nothing at all.’

Cal was quick to continue, that being a place he did not want to go, and eventually got to the problems the Republic was having getting arms, which led to a general conversation about the actions of their own government.

‘Not sure about Eden; bugger’s an Old Etonian, of course, and when it comes to “shifty”, they are taught that particular skill on arrival, but he might be doing the bidding of the cabinet, which, as you know, is full of a bunch of terrified old tarts, from Baldwin down.’

‘Recovered from the abdication, has he?’

‘Bloody nightmare that was, Cal, quite ruined everyone’s Christmas.’

‘Believe me, Peter, you are better off without him.’

‘So, on with the motley; what is it you want from me?’

‘I need a couple of false passports in different names, one because I might have to go to Germany.’

‘Are you mad?’

‘It’s a big country, Peter, and if I am travelling under a false name I should be safe.’

‘Why Hunland?’

The explanation did not make Lanchester feel any more comfortable, given Cal was talking about going right to the heart of the Nazi state, but there was no need for persuasion, given the cause, which, if it baulked at anarchism, was solidly anti-fascist. Once he was sure his fellow diner was determined to proceed, he concentrated on his food and they turned to what names should be on them.

‘Lizzie’s maiden name, Moncrief, will do for one. She has a brother, bit of a wastrel, but I know his background, so that gives me a ready-made legend. The other you decide, but I’d like a press pass too.’

‘Explain.’ The shake of Cal’s head was vehement. ‘If I take back a couple of photos it should be easily done.’

‘Easily?’

‘For a government minister, Cal, very much so, and the pass I will get forged.’

The exchanged look produced no name and that was no surprise. Peter Lanchester never let on who were members of his mysterious cabal.

‘The other thing I need is a ship, British owned.’

‘Can’t the Dons provide one?’

‘A Spanish-flagged vessel ups the odds of the nature of the cargo being discovered. Old Franco has a lot of sympathisers throughout Europe, and besides, we will have to run the gauntlet of Italian submarines. Daft as they are, they won’t dare put a torpedo into a ship carrying a red duster.’

‘This all sounds fraught with peril, old boy.’

‘It was ever thus. There’s one other thing.’

Whatever else Peter Lanchester was, a bit of bigot perhaps, he was not a fool. ‘I sense I am about to be asked to be active, which, in my past experience of you, makes “fraught with peril” seem like a picnic.’

‘I might need you to oversee an exchange – just hand over some gold bars on my say-so – and it should be a piece of cake, but I hope it won’t be necessary.’

‘Are you staying here in Paris till I get your documents?’

‘Paris in the spring, why not? My question?’

‘We’ll see, Cal, shall we?’

For all the beauty and gaiety of the French capital it was hard to be joyful. There was the heaviness of heart thinking how much better it would be with the company of Florencia, but added to that the politics of France were no better than anywhere else. The Marxist prime minister, Léon Blum, was struggling to keep his post, the unions were striking and madly agitating, but not as much as the zealots of the French right wing.