I didn’t hear the rest. The throbbing grew worse, blue and yellow lights filling my vision. The next thing I knew I was on my knees, staring at the rug, hearing Hilde’s panicked voice.

‘Arthur!’

She was at my side. I could smell her scent: powder and lilies and the clinging bittersweet tang of smoke. Coolness touched my skin, her fingers, exploring the back of my neck. ‘My god,’ she murmured, when she found the crusted blood. ‘Who did this to you?’

I forced my eyes open. Langham was staring down at me, his face taut. I couldn’t betray him, I realized. Not now. I met his eyes.

‘Cabrera.’

Bouzid was dispatched to fetch ice, Hilde the medical chest. For a moment, it was only Langham and I in the room.

‘Cabrera knows about me,’ I said, hauling myself up using the edge of the desk. ‘He knows what I am and he wants me to set you up. He said you have unfinished business.’

Langham’s shoulders dropped. ‘Alejandro.’ He was stepping close, taking my face in his hands. ‘I’ll kill the bastard for hurting you. Did they …?’ His hands tightened.

‘No.’ I closed my eyes, unable to focus on him. ‘No. He didn’t want anyone to think anything was wrong. He needed me to be able to pretend everything was normal.’ I reached for the back of my head. ‘I don’t think Márquez was supposed to hit me so hard.’

Langham produced a bottle of brandy and pushed a glass into my hand. I sat on the floor cushions in the lounge and sipped at it while Hilde swabbed at the back of my head. More nauseous than ever, I told them what had happened, how Cabrera had intercepted my note to Souissa and sent the tailor’s son to lure me there.

‘They must have been watching the house,’ I said, looking up. My eyes were swimming with the sting of alcohol, but even so, I saw the look that passed between Bouzid and Langham.

When Hilde had finished, she made me lean back against the sofa. Langham came to sit opposite me, his face serious.

‘What information does Cabrera have on you?’

‘He knows I’m a woman,’ I murmured. ‘He knows my real name.’ I gripped the glass of brandy, its amber colour all too similar to Scotch. ‘He knows I’m wanted by the police in Spain, and that if I’m caught I’ll be garrotted for murder.’ I glanced up at them. ‘I didn’t do it, but that won’t matter. There are people who will swear I did.’