‘I’m so sorry, Floriano. I thought last night that . . .’

‘That Petra was her mother?’ Floriano shot me a grin as his features relaxed a little. ‘Maia, she’s not even twenty, but I’m flattered that you think an old man like me could attract such a young and beautiful woman.’

‘Oh,’ I said, blushing. ‘Sorry.’

‘Petra is a university student and she has a bedroom in my apartment in return for some childcare, especially during the school holidays. Thankfully, Valentina’s grandparents live not far away and have her to stay often, especially when I’m writing. They offered to have her live with them permanently when my wife died, but I refused. It can get complicated sometimes, but we seem to get through somehow. And it helps that she’s such an easy child.’

I looked at Floriano again through new eyes, and realised this man never ceased to surprise me. It also made me ponder how empty my own life was in comparison to the complexity of his.

‘Do you have children, Maia?’ he asked me.

‘No,’ I said abruptly.

‘Any plans for them in the future?’

‘I doubt it. I don’t have anyone special to provide me with any.’

‘So, have you even been in love, Maia?’

‘Once, yes, but it didn’t work out.’

‘I’m sure someone will come along. It’s hard being alone. Even though I have Valentina, I still struggle sometimes.’

‘At least it’s safe,’ I murmured before I could stop myself.

‘Safe?’ he said as he shot me an odd glance. ‘Meu Deus, Maia! My life has had considerable moments of deep pain, especially when my wife died. But “safe” is something I’ve never aspired to.’

‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ I backtracked wildly, blushing with embarrassment.

‘You know, I think you did and I find it very sad. Besides, hiding away from the world never works, because you still have to meet yourself in the mirror every morning. You’d make a terrible gambler.’ He smiled suddenly, sensing my tension and wanting to ease it. ‘Now, what is the plan when we get to the convent?’

‘What do you suggest?’ I asked, shaken from our previous exchange.

‘We ask if your grandmother has been admitted, I suppose. And take it from there.’

‘Okay.’

The rest of the journey passed in silence, with me still regretting my instinctive comment and smarting from Floriano’s reaction to it. I glanced out of the window at the view as we drove away from the city and the road began to climb upwards.

Eventually, we turned along a winding gravel track and arrived in front of a large, austere grey stone building. The convent of São Sebastião, the patron saint of Rio, had been built two hundred years ago and, from the look of it, not modernised much since.

‘Shall we?’ he asked me, then gave my hand a reassuring squeeze.

‘Yes,’ I replied, as we both climbed out of the car and walked towards the entrance.

We went inside and found ourselves in a large, echoing hallway. It was completely deserted, and I looked at Floriano askance.