Beneath an arbour, a gramophone was warbling out a record, and there beside it stood Langham, just as I remembered him, with his saint’s face and his hair slicked bright. He looked so easy there, so in control, I felt my conviction sputter and die. I’d been thinking about him as if he was one of the gentlemen at the inn; rich, indolent, predictable. But as soon as I saw him, I knew I was wrong. He might have been rich, but he was as sharp as glass.

I took a step back, turned rapidly, only to come face to face with the man from the front gate.

‘You.’ His mouth was tight with anger. ‘How did you get in?’

He seized hold of my arm. I jerked away, the glass flying from my grip, shattering on the tiles.

There was a lull in talk and laughter as people turned to look. Beneath their flat, intoxicated gazes I felt as if every ugly thing I had ever been or done was laid bare. Vomit and burning Turkish Delight, the Señor’s blood and the hot breath of the man I’d robbed in La Atunara, Bautista’s sneer, the goat-eyed man’s hostile stare. Worst of all, I felt Alejandro del Potro begin to fade. I clung on to him as I looked up, into Langham’s eyes.

‘What’s going on?’ he called. ‘Bouzid?’

‘Rien, monsieur.’ The man increased his grip on my arm. ‘An intruder. I will remove him.’

Langham was coming forwards, frowning. ‘I know you,’ he said slowly. ‘You’re that boy, from Gibraltar. Del Potro, isn’t it?’

Behind him, I saw a figure stand. It was the woman, Lady Bailey. She looked incredulous, her mouth open.

‘Sí, señor,’ I said, my face on fire.

‘What the devil are you doing here?’ He didn’t sound angry, but when I looked into his face I thought I saw the ghost of something else. Suspicion, perhaps even fear. ‘How did you find out where I live?’

‘Some people I met in the Café Central told me.’ I answered in Spanish, as if that would protect me from his glittering, scornful guests. ‘Some Americans. I am, señor, I am here …’ Beneath Langham’s gaze, all of my careful, calculated words seemed ridiculous. He would see straight through them. And that only left the truth. ‘I am here to see you.’

‘Who is this boy, Arthur?’ I heard someone call. ‘What does he want?’

‘He’s the lad I knocked down in Gibraltar,’ Langham called back, his eyes fixed on mine. ‘He says he has come all this way to see me. Isn’t that extraordinary?’

He was mocking me. An easy thing to do, to make his guests laugh. I felt anger flicker in my chest, but kept my gaze steady.