Stepping carefully down off the footpath into a leaf-choked gutter, having to peer around the edge of the large cardboard box full of groceries while doing so, Miguel thought he understood what she was saying. Miss Julianne was indeed someone who had ended up helping others while maintaining she was really only looking after herself.

‘Yes, but sadly, it is more common to meet the other kind of person,’ he replied. ‘Somebody who does the wrong thing for the wrong reasons. I have met many of them.’

‘I think we’ve both met our fair share of those bastards,’ Maive said in a quiet voice.

She surprised him. It was almost unheard of for her to curse. Miguel hurried on, not wanting her to return to thoughts of Texas and the road agents.

‘True,’ he agreed. ‘But they are not worth thinking of. I have known two famous people in my life, did you know?’ He could tell by Maive’s smile that she was more than a little curious.

‘Really?’

‘Well, I suppose I did not know Mr Norman when we took his boat. But not many people can say they have sailed on the yacht of such a famous person, can they?’

‘No, they can’t, Miguel,’ she conceded with good humour. ‘And the other famous person?’

He paused for dramatic effect. ‘Roberto,’ he said. ‘That’s President Morales of the South American Federation to you, worthless gringo lady!’

She’d been about to blow another snowflake from the tip of her nose, but laughed instead. ‘I don’t know that that’s something I’d be bragging about if I were you, Mr Pieraro. How on earth did you meet such a creature?’

‘In Acapulco. In the very first days of la colapso, I was caught up there, just before I met Miss Julianne and Miss Fifi. I was running a small security crew for one of the hotels – well, more like a bunch of thugs than a crew. But the hotel employed them to keep the other thugs away from the guests, and they employed me to keep them in line. Roberto was one of those thugs, my second-in-command. He was a terrible man even then.’

They picked up their pace by unspoken agreement as the snow fell heavier, pushed along by a sharp southerly wind. Miguel was glad he had worn his hat. It stopped most of the snowflakes that would have fallen onto his face. Maive had to keep wiping her eyes clear with her upper arm because of the two bags she was carrying.

‘What happened?’ She sounded like a child being told an exciting bedtime story.

‘Between Roberto and I? Not much. We did not like each other, and I suppose, had I not left him to it, there would have been blood between us in the end.’