He presses a buzzer and turns to her. ‘Don’t forget, let me know if you need anything.’

She hesitates and then says, ‘How about a low-down on who’s who?’

He raises his eyebrows and adjusts his glasses. ‘In the house? Sure. Come round any time.’

A tall, dark-haired woman in a smart, long-sleeved navy dress opens the door on St Michael’s Road. ‘Can I help you?’ she asks in an Irish accent.

Marina shuffles her feet, feeling scruffy in her fake-fur coat and gloves. She gives her name and explains how she’s looking for Sofía Marques. Giving her a curious look, the woman asks her to wait.

Marina fidgets, peeling off her gloves and shoving them into her pocket. She crouches to tie her lace and when she stands, sees the face of a little girl at a top window. She smiles and waves as another small head pops up.

The smart woman reappears and invites her in. She is kinder now, her face friendly. One moment of hesitation and Marina steps inside, stopping to take off her boots. The house feels right and she’s trusting her instincts. The little girl from the window has appeared and is peeping through the spindles of the bannister. Behind her is the second child, a solemn boy in Spider-Man pyjamas.

The kitchen is warm and smells of the roasting meat. Another woman sits at the table, peeling carrots. She’s older, late fifties maybe, with olive skin and black hair. She wears a dark woollen dress and a thick gold necklace, and Marina knows without being told that this is Sofía Marques.

‘I hope you don’t mind my coming,’ says Marina, quickly. ‘I wasn’t sure if . . .’

Sofia stands up. ‘It’s wonderful to see you. Ruth telephoned and told me you were coming to London. I was so hoping you’d visit.’

Her voice is rich and her dark eyes moisten even as her face breaks into a smile. She comes across and takes Marina’s hands in both her own. ‘You’re exactly as I imagined you would be.’ She turns to the younger woman. ‘This is Marina. I had the great privilege to care for her when she was a baby. And Marina, this is my daughter-in-law, Patricia, and those two lovely children hiding in the hall are my grandchildren.’

Patricia smiles pleasantly, takes Marina’s coat and moves about the kitchen making tea.

‘Come,’ says Sofía, leading her to the table like a child, ‘tell me about your life.’

They sit together and while Marina talks, her heart swells with the warmth of Sofía’s welcome. The children come into the kitchen looking for biscuits and the girl breaks off pieces to feed to her brother. Marina wonders as she often does if she has siblings, living their life with no knowledge of her.

Patricia sets down cups of tea.

‘I’ve been to Harrington Gardens,’ says Marina finally.