The man who had introduced himself as Hector del Pozo was wearing a white linen suit with a white shirt that had three buttons undone. He looked relaxed and tanned. He took Milton’s hand and shook it, then indicated that he should follow him into a large reception room that adjoined the lobby of the property.

A maid in a black and white uniform had just deposited a tray of glasses and a pitcher of orange juice. Del Pozo went over to the pitcher.

“You must be thirsty.” He poured two glasses of orange juice and handed one to Milton. “We grow these oranges ourselves. They were picked this morning.”

Milton put the glass to his lips and drank. The juice was wonderfully fresh and had been chilled. He drank down half of the glass straight away and did not demur when del Pozo offered to top it up.

“I’m sorry,” Milton said. “I don’t know you. I was expecting Señor López.”

“He had a change of plan,” del Pozo said. “You’ll be dealing with me while you are here.”

“I’m sorry to have to ask—but who are you?”

“For your purposes, I am the man you have to persuade. I will decide whether we can work with you.”

“And you’ve spoken to López about me?”

“Of course, Señor Smith. At length. I know who you are and what you want. We have a great deal to talk about. Come—I’ll show you the horses.”

Del Pozo led the way along the drive to the paddock that they had passed on their way to the house. Post and rail fencing marked the boundary of the field, with a separate space for a manège where the horses could be exercised. Milton watched as a young woman guided a big Appaloosa around the arena, the horse showing a little flightiness before she tightened the reins and brought it under closer control.

“Do you ride?” del Pozo said.

“Never been much of a fan,” Milton said truthfully. “Seems like a long way to fall.”

Del Pozo chuckled. “That is true, but only if the horse decides that it doesn’t want you to ride it.”

The young woman brought the Appaloosa up to the rail and gave it a little nudge with her heels, sending it into a brisk canter.

“How was your journey from Amsterdam?”

“Fine,” Milton said.

“And the drive from the city?”

“Good. Your men were very efficient.”

“I am pleased to hear that.”

The hospitality was welcome, but Milton was experienced enough not to be beguiled by it. This was business, pure and simple, and he was being assessed.

“Can I ask you a question?” he said.

“Of course.”

“Has Anthony Jackson been out here?”