Grabbing my laptop, I opened it, and as I’d promised him I would, I wrote Floriano an email. I explained to him as succinctly as possible what Beatriz had told me this morning. And that I was going back to the convent to see her again tomorrow.

Rather than hesitating as I would normally over my closing statement, I followed my instincts. And pressed ‘send’ without editing it. Then I left the hotel and crossed the road to have a swim in the bracing waves that flung themselves onto Ipanema Beach.

The following morning, Yara was waiting for me in the entrance hall of the convent, as she had been the day before. Today, however, she greeted me with a bright smile and reached shyly to clasp my hand.

‘Thank you, senhorita.’

‘What for?’ I asked her.

‘For bringing the light back to Senhora Beatriz’s eyes. Even if only for a short time. And you are feeling all right after what she had to tell you?’

‘To be honest, Yara, it wasn’t what I was expecting, but I’m coping.’

‘She did not deserve that child as a daughter, nor did you deserve her as a mother,’ Yara muttered tensely.

‘I think we often don’t deserve what we get. But then, maybe in the future we get what we deserve,’ I said, almost to myself as I began to follow her along the corridor.

‘Senhora Beatriz is lying down, but she still insisted that she wanted to see you. Shall we go in?’ she asked me.

‘Yes.’

And today, for the first time, we walked into the room together, without any need for Yara to check first that her mistress was prepared for me. Beatriz was in bed looking dreadfully frail, but her features broke into a smile when she saw me.

‘Maia.’ She indicated for Yara to pull up a chair by her bed. ‘Come and sit down. How are you today, my dear? I was concerned for you overnight. What I told you must have been such a shock.’

‘I’m fine, Beatriz, really,’ I said as I sat down by her and patted her hand tentatively.

‘Then I am glad. I think you are a strong person and I admire you for it. Now,’ Beatriz said, ‘enough of the past. I wish to hear about your life. Tell me, Maia, where do you live? Are you married? Do you have children yet? An occupation?’

For the next half an hour, I told my grandmother everything I could think of about myself. About Pa Salt, and my sisters and our beautiful home on the shores of Lake Geneva. I told her about my translating career, and was half tempted to tell her about Zed and confide in her about my subsequent pregnancy and the adoption of my baby. But I realised instinctively that all she wanted to hear was that I’d been happy, so I didn’t elaborate.

‘And what about the future? Tell me about that very attractive man who accompanied you to see me at the Casa. He’s quite famous here in Rio. Is he just a friend?’ She eyed me slyly. ‘Something told me he was more than that.’