‘Yes, if you have the time.’

‘I do. Tchau.’

He waved goodbye, and I watched him walk purposefully down the street. As I turned in the opposite direction, I realised this man – historian, writer, celebrity and occasional tour guide – was a human being who was full of surprises.

11

‘So . . .’

I could see Floriano was brimming with excitement a few hours later as we took the lift to the terrace bar on the top floor of the hotel. ‘I have news for you. And as it is good news, I believe this is the moment for you to indulge in your very first caipirinha.’

‘Okay,’ I said, as we took a table at the front of the terrace, and I watched the sun setting over the beach, gently lowering itself behind the Twin Brothers mountains as a balmy dusk began to fall.

‘Here.’ He handed me a sheet from a plastic wallet. ‘Take a look at that. It is a list of every recorded birth, marriage and death in the Aires Cabral family since 1850.’

I glanced down at the list of names, still unable to believe they held any relevance to me.

‘So, you will see there that Gustavo Aires Cabral married Izabela Bonifacio in January 1929. They then had a baby girl in April 1930 called Beatriz Luiza. There is no death certificate recorded for her, so we should presume for now that she is the old woman you met at the house yesterday.’

‘And did she have any children?’ I ventured.

‘Yes, she did. She married Evandro Carvalho in 1951 and they too gave birth to a baby girl by the name of Cristina Izabela in 1956.’

‘Carvalho was the old woman’s surname! I heard her maid call her that. And Cristina? What happened to her?’

‘That’s where the line seems to end, as far as any recorded births or deaths in Rio are concerned,’ Floriano continued. ‘I can find no further records regarding any child that Cristina may have given birth to. But then we don’t know the surname of the father, or indeed, whether she ever married. Sadly, the office was closing and I didn’t have time to cross-check everything.’

‘So . . . if I am related to this family, and it’s a big “if”, then Cristina is the obvious candidate to be my mother,’ I said quietly as my drink arrived. ‘Saúde,’ I said, toasting Floriano and taking a healthy slug of the cocktail, nearly choking as the potent, bitter liquid slid down my throat.

Floriano chuckled at my discomfort. ‘Sorry, I should have warned you that it is strong,’ he said, sipping his own caipirinha as if it was water. ‘I also ran across to the Museu da República and asked my friend to take a quick look at the inscription on the back of the tile with his special UV machine. The only thing he could tell me for certain is that the first name on the tile is “Izabela". Who, from the records I found, would technically be your great-grandmother.’