‘Senhor Quintelas,’ the old woman sighed, ‘I told your friend yesterday that I cannot help her.’

‘Are you sure, Senhora Carvalho? Surely you only have to look at that portrait that hangs on the wall above the fire-place to see that Senhorita Maia isn’t here for some ulterior motive? She is not after money, but only wants to trace her family. Is that so wrong? Can you blame her for it?’

I glanced in the direction that Floriano had pointed and saw an oil painting of the woman I now knew to be Izabela Aires Cabral. This time there was no doubt in my mind. Even I could see I was the very image of her. ‘Izabela Aires Cabral was your mother,’ Floriano continued. ‘And you also had a daughter, Cristina, in 1956.’

The old woman sat, her lips pursed together in silence.

‘So you’re not prepared to even consider the chance that you may, in fact, have a granddaughter? I have to tell you, senhora, that proof of Senhorita D’Aplièse’s heritage is at this very moment being gathered by a friend of mine at the Museu da República. We’ll be back,’ Floriano promised.

The old woman continued to say nothing, not meeting Floriano’s gaze. Suddenly she winced in pain. ‘Please, leave me,’ she said, and I saw the agony in her eyes.

‘Enough,’ I whispered to Floriano desperately. ‘She’s sick, it’s not fair.’

Floriano acquiesced with a slight nod. ‘Adeus, Senhora Carvalho. I wish you a pleasant day.’

‘I’m so sorry, Senhora Carvalho,’ I said. ‘We won’t bother you again, I promise.’

Floriano turned tail and marched determinedly out of the room, with me following, embarrassed and near to tears, behind him.

We saw the maid was hovering in the hall and walked towards her.

‘Thank you for letting us in, senhora,’ said Floriano, as we followed her across the hall to the door.

‘Keep her talking,’ he whispered to me, ‘there’s something I want to see.’

As Floriano disappeared down the front steps, I turned to the maid, my face full of regret.

‘I’m so very sorry to have upset Senhora Carvalho. I promise that I won’t come back again without her permission.’

‘Senhora Carvalho is very ill, senhorita. She’s dying and has only a short time left, you see.’

As the maid hovered on the doorstep beside me, I sensed there was something else she wanted to say.

‘I just wanted to ask,’ I said as I pointed to the fountain that no longer played in the centre of the drive. ‘Were you ever here to see this house in its full glory?’

‘Yes, I was born here.’

I could see that she was reminiscing as she stared at the dilapidated structure with sadness in her eyes. Then she turned to me suddenly as, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Floriano disappear along the side of the house.

‘Senhorita,’ she whispered, ‘I have something for you.’

‘Excuse me?’ My thoughts had been temporarily diverted by Floriano’s disappearance, and I hadn’t heard what the maid had said.