And certainly, he confessed to himself, when he drank, he found it far easier not to feel as sensitive. Since his marriage to Izabela – a change that he’d believed would make him feel so much more worthy – if anything, his self-esteem had dissipated, not grown. Which had subsequently made him turn to drink even more regularly.

Gustavo sighed heavily. Even though he’d known Izabela didn’t love him as he loved her, he had hoped that her affection for him would grow once they were married. But he’d felt her reticence towards him – especially when they made love – from the start. And these days, every time she glanced at him, he saw something akin to pity in her eyes, which turned occasionally to blatant dislike. The thought that he might be a disappointment to his wife, as well as his parents, had added to his self-loathing.

And the fact that Izabela had not yet conceived a child exacerbated his feeling of failure. The look in his mother’s eyes told him that he’d not even been able to perform his duties as a man. And even though since his marriage he was the official master of their household, and Izabela its mistress, Gustavo knew he had done little to stamp his authority on it, or curb his mother’s need to control it.

The waiter passed with a tray and picked up his empty glass. ‘The same again, sir?’ he asked automatically, and expecting the usual nod, was almost walking away before Gustavo said with effort, ‘No, thank you. Can you bring me a coffee?’

‘Of course, sir.’

As he drank the hot, bitter liquid, Gustavo mused on the short time he and Izabela had been married, and, for the first time, confessed to himself honestly how their relationship had deteriorated. It had reached the point where he felt that, only six months on, they led separate lives. He also admitted brutally to himself that much of this was to do with him and the fact that he’d been spending too much time here at the club, drowning his feelings of inadequacy in alcohol.

Gustavo could suddenly see clearly how it was that he had failed his wife.

No wonder she seemed so unhappy. Between the coldness of his mother and his own descent into drunkenness and self-pity, Izabela must feel as though she had made a dreadful mistake.

‘But I love her,’ Gustavo whispered desperately into the bottom of the coffee cup.

Surely, he thought, it wasn’t too late to mend their relationship? To return to the level of affection and communication they had shared before they’d married? Gustavo remembered that at least Izabela had seemed to like him back then.

I will take control, he vowed, as he signed his bill and went outside to his waiting car, determined to speak to his parents on his arrival back at the Casa. For he knew if he did not, he was bound to lose his wife for good.