He turned to find that the man had pulled the case towards him. He was holding the book, The Gentleman’s Guide. Sam watched as it fell open.

‘If you want to play the game,’ the man said softly, ‘you have to learn the rules.’

Sam almost took a step back. The man’s voice had changed completely. It was lighter, softer, an accent replacing the clipped British tones.

‘Who are you?’ he asked. ‘Are you A—’

‘Yes.’ The stranger looked up at him with a twisted smile. ‘For this story, I am Alejandro del Potro.’

Sangaree

Take a jigger of Old Tom gin and two teaspoons of sugar syrup. Shake with ice and strain into a chilled glass. Slowly pour over a pony of port wine so that it sinks, like blood in water.

My life at Dar Portuna began to change the night I dreamed about the Señor.

I dreamed that I stood beside his corpse, laid out on a slab as he had been on the floor of Elena’s room, the pink rug still stained beneath him. His head was tipped back; the ragged wound through which his life had escaped was dark as a wolf’s mouth. I approached, a step at a time, to peer into his still face, to touch his cheek and make sure he was dead. Only then did I realize something was wrong. His neck was still bleeding, a slow ooze at first, then more, welling up, splashing to the plinth, scattering droplets across my suit. The stench of Scotch came with it and I let out a cry but hands were seizing me from the darkness …

I opened my eyes. I was in my little room at Dar Portuna, pale light filtering through the window. A dream. Nothing but a dream. Nevertheless, the memory of blood remained, the faint scent of it. I stumbled from bed to push open the shutters and let the morning in.

The air was damp, filled with sea mist, not yet burned off by day. It clung to the roses that surrounded my ground-floor window. I breathed in deeply, and caught the smell of petroleum. Had Langham ordered the car already? Thinking about the previous night made my skin tingle with nerves. What would have happened between us, if Bouzid had not knocked on the door? What did I want to happen? Langham wanted me, I was sure, but as Alejandro. Would it be different if he knew the truth? And say I wanted him in the same way, say I allowed things to happen – what would that make me? Cook or servant or whore? Despite myself, my hand strayed down my body, past my waist, to touch the silk underwear.

My fingers came away tacky with blood.