Directions to the meeting are marked on paper with thick green arrows. I follow them up the stairs and into the main auditorium, a large characterless room with rows of municipal chairs facing a stage. It’s only a few minutes after seven o’clock, the posted start of the meeting, nevertheless the room is packed, standing space only, and attention already focused on two men sitting at a table on stage, one in jeans and a flannel shirt, the other in the navy-blue uniform of US Customs. I edge along the wall and try to merge inconspicuously with other latecomers, wishing I was back in Temerosa with the children, watching Enunciada’s descent into romantic purgatory on TV from the comfort of Benjamín’s sofa; and up until a couple of hours ago, I’d had every intention of doing just that, with a shortlist of excuses including ‘sick child’, ‘burst pipe’ and ‘uncontrollable vomiting’ at the ready should Hogan ring and coerce me into attending. I’m a big fan of the last-minute excuse and in London used it as often as I dared for extricating myself from some of Robert’s more turgid evening plans, taking a rather guilty pride in fielding the sympathetic follow-on calls – ‘Poor old you, but you really shouldn’t eat takeaway curry, everyone knows it’s just boiled cat covered in cream’ – and in spite of the fact that I can drink battery acid without any adverse effects, amongst Robert’s cronies I’ve acquired a reputation for being of a delicate disposition. Still, I’d made the tactical error of mentioning Hogan’s border troubles to Robert when he called to speak to the children.

‘What kind of troubles?’ he said, his radar flicking from green to amber.

‘Oh, just something to do with his property,’ I hastily backtracked. ‘Nothing that concerns us really.’

‘Well you should definitely go to this meeting,’ he said. ‘Get in with some of the locals. I bet there are some major property owners out there who could be useful to us.’

‘Maybe . . .’

‘How’s it all going anyway?’

‘Fine, it’s going fine.’ I was careful, as always, to keep the faintest tinge of ennui in my voice. It’s not so great that you’d want to be here, Robert, but then you don’t have to worry about us either.

‘And how’s that bloody lazy Mexican?’ he asked, his voice slurred. It was midnight for him and the schnapps was kicking in. ‘You’re not letting him rip us off, I hope. I don’t like you being out there alone with him, anything might happen. I wish you would fire him,’ he added for the hundredth time.

I laughed and pretended I thought he was joking. Then I promised to go to the meeting and make lots and lots of new friends. God forbid that Robert should come charging over to slay imaginary dragons for me.