Were we brave, back then? Hilde and I had raised our masks a little, and glimpsed each other’s real faces. There was a bravery in that, I suppose. The hours that followed our talk passed in a sort of heady gladness. For the first time since Ifrahim died, I had made the first steps towards what might be a friendship with another person. But soon, the gin wore off and I was left with reality: Langham would return, and I would have to face him, I would have to tell a truth that might mean the end of my time at Dar Portuna.

I tried to rehearse my confession, whispering to the fruit I cut for Hilde’s supper. I even tried to say it to the mirror, imagining that he was my reflection. I watched my lips part, my lungs fill with breath, but every time I tried to speak, the words turned to dust in my mouth.

‘Did Monsieur Langham say when he would be back?’ I asked Bouzid, as we drank glasses of tea by the kitchen door, trying to catch the breeze. I resisted the urge to press the hot glass to my cramping belly.

Bouzid took a slow sip. ‘No. Monsieur is often away on business.’

His manner was cooler than usual; a few times during the day I had caught his eyes on me. If Langham did check on my story while he was in Gibraltar, what would he learn? He knew Cabrera; it followed that he knew Bautista too, however dubious company the smuggler seemed for someone as fine as Langham. Bautista knew nothing about me, I reminded myself; he’d confirm my story, and I would be safe. I was a young man from nowhere, with a few pesetas in his pocket. That was all.

The next day dawned sweltering and muggy, and the hours heaved their way past. I didn’t leave Dar Portuna; I was still too nervous about the napkins hidden beneath my trousers, covered by three pairs of underwear. They were hot and uncomfortable, clinging around my sweat-damp legs. Luckily, we had no guests, so there was not too much for me to do. I made small, light meals for Hilde, to try and tempt her, despite her lack of appetite. I made more rustic dishes for Bouzid and me to eat at the kitchen table. When Hilde rang the bell on the second day of Langham’s absence, and Bouzid told me to take her some refreshment, I welcomed the distraction.

Perhaps she was bored too, for she beckoned me over to the rug where she lay. The room was dim, shuttered against the heat and I saw that she had been at her pipe, though not enough to put her in a stupor.

‘Take that away,’ she said, pushing at the pipe with her bare foot. ‘Sit and talk with me for a while, so I won’t smoke any more.’