‘I have something to give you. But please, if I entrust these to you, you must swear you will never tell Senhora Carvalho. She would never forgive me for my betrayal.’

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘I understand completely.’

The maid drew a slim brown-paper package out of her white apron pocket and handed it to me.

‘Please, I beg you, tell no one I’ve given you these,’ she said, with a rasp in her voice. ‘They were passed down to me from my mother. She said they were part of the history of the Aires Cabral family and gave them to me for safekeeping just before she died.’

I stared at her in wonder. ‘Thank you,’ I breathed, glad to note that Floriano had now reappeared and was standing by the car. ‘But why?’ I asked her.

With a long, bony finger, she indicated the moonstone hanging on its slim gold chain around my neck. ‘I know who you are. Adeus.’ She scurried back inside the house and closed the front door.

Dazed, I stuffed the package into my handbag and descended the steps towards the car.

Floriano was already inside it and had the engine running. I climbed in and we set off at his usual fast pace down the drive.

‘Did you see the sculpture?’ I asked him.

‘Yes,’ he said as we drove off down the road and away from the house. ‘I’m sorry she refuses to acknowledge you, Maia, but my devious brain is now putting together the odd piece of the jigsaw puzzle. And I think I might understand her reticence. When we get back to the city, I’m going to drop you straight off at the hotel then go back to the Museu da República and the biblioteca. Shall I call you later with any news?’ he asked as we arrived at the hotel.

‘Yes please,’ I said, as I climbed out of the car.

With a wave, he drove off along the street and I took the lift upstairs to my suite. Closing my door and hanging the do not disturb sign on it, I walked to the bed and took out the package. Inside was a bundle of letters held tightly together with string. I put it on the bed, untied the knot and picked up the first envelope, which I saw had been split open meticulously with a paper knife. Studying the writing on the front, I saw all the letters were addressed to a ‘Senhorita Loen Fagundes’.

Painstakingly pulling out the letter inside, I felt the fragility of the tissue-thin paper beneath my fingers. I unfolded it and saw the address at the top was Paris and the date 30th March 1928. Checking through the next few letters I realised that the pile in front of me had not been put in any form of chronological order, as there were some letters sent in 1927 to Loen Fagundes at another address in Brazil. As I opened more of the envelopes, I saw the signature at the bottom of each of them was ‘Izabela’, the woman who may have been my great-grandmother . . . The maid’s words came back to me.