‘I know who you are, Senhor Quintelas,’ the maid said, keeping her eyes on me. ‘Senhora Carvalho is taking coffee in the morning room, but as I’ve already informed your friend, she is a very sick woman.’

As I listened to the formal way in which the maid spoke, I wanted to giggle. It was as if she was acting in a second-rate Victorian melodrama.

‘Why don’t we come in with you and explain to Senhora Carvalho who we are?’ Floriano suggested. ‘And then, if she feels she is not up to a conversation with us, I promise we’ll go away.’

Floriano already had a foot over the threshold, which forced the flustered maid to back up and lead us both into a grand tiled entrance hall, with a sweeping curved staircase rising to the floors above. An elegant mahogany pedestal table sat in the centre of the floor and an imposing long-cased clock was positioned against one wall. Under the curve of the stairs, I could see a long narrow corridor running off the hall, which clearly led to the back of the house.

‘Please be so kind as to lead the way,’ Floriano invited the maid, adopting her formal tone.

She paused hesitantly, as though weighing something in her mind. Then she nodded to us and headed for the corridor, with the two of us following in her wake. However, as we all arrived outside a door towards the end of the dim passageway, the maid turned to us. And this time I could see she was adamant we would not gain entry until she had spoken to her mistress.

‘Wait here,’ she said firmly.

As the maid knocked and then entered the room, closing the door in our faces, I turned to Floriano.

‘She’s simply an old, sick lady. Is it right to upset her?’

‘No, Maia, but equally, is it fair that she may be refusing to divulge the details of your true parentage? That woman behind the door may well be your grandmother. Her daughter, your mother. Do you really care if we are disturbing her morning routine for a few minutes?’

The maid emerged from the room. ‘She will see you for five minutes. No more.’ Again I felt her glance at me closely as we walked into a dark room that smelt musty and damp. The decor clearly hadn’t been altered for decades and, as my eyes became accustomed to the gloom, I noticed the thread-bare oriental rug beneath our feet and the limp, faded damask curtains that hung at the window. However, the general shabbiness was offset by the beautiful antique furniture of rose-wood and walnut, and the magnificent chandelier suspended overhead.

Senhora Carvalho was sitting in a high-backed velvet chair, a blanket across her knees. A jug of water and numerous pill bottles were sitting on the side table beside her.

‘You’re back,’ she said.

‘Please forgive Senhorita D’Aplièse for bothering you further,’ began Floriano. ‘But you can imagine that for her, finding her family is a serious business. And she will not be deflected.’