The grass grew steadily greener as they approached the cortijo estate, the human element meaning scrubland became fields, pastures and ultimately lawns. In the near distance she could see an ancient oak forest, old stone walls and the remains of a metal water store; she wondered as to the people who had farmed this land and the stories they could tell. She wondered what had made the old woman in the buggy in front run from here and never come back.

The grass grew shorter, the bosky bushes tamed, clipped and shaped as they drew ever closer until finally they drove beneath a grand arched gateway. The studded wooden gates were almost as high as the main house, with casitas incorporated on either side, creating a walled courtyard. In contrast to the arid land outside these walls, within was an oasis – bright blooming bushes of hibiscus and oleander planted in rustic, white-painted stone planters and troughs, a large black dog sleeping in the shade and oblivious to their arrival.

They drew up to the hacienda compound, every one of them looking around greedily at the lush sight. At ground level, the building – though vast and sprawling – was surprisingly low-built, squat even. It seemed somehow friendlier up close, the thick, rough walls punctuated with round-arched windows, like a gingerbread house, and yellow pinned-back shutters. Deep bushes of hot pink bougainvillea were trailed up every wall and around every orifice, the decorative black grilles against the ground-floor windows making pretty lace patterns on the walls, froths of jasmine spilling from giant clay pots at the bottom of the steps.

The cart in front had come to a stop but Señora Quincy was still sitting in hers, taking it all in. Charlotte could imagine it would be emotional even just seeing the house – her childhood home – again, and she could see Marina holding her hand and stroking it.

‘Is there a problem?’ Nathan asked, tipping his head slightly in the Marinas’ direction but keeping his gaze forward.

‘I think it’s a bit overwhelming for her, that’s all,’ she murmured. ‘She’s been away a long time.’

He gave a hard shrug. ‘Why? The past is dead. It can’t hurt her now.’ And he swung himself out, grabbing his travel bag off the rack at the back.

Charlotte watched him go. Her heart felt like a rock in her ribs, heavy and inert. Who was he now? It was clear she had no idea at all.

Forcing herself to put one foot in front of the other, she followed after him to where a woman in her sixties was standing on the steps, her hands folded in front of her stomach. She too was all in white, her dress rather like an old-fashioned nurse’s outfit.

‘Welcome,’ she said, nodding deeply, her hair tucked back in a low bun. ‘We are delighted to have you as honoured guests at La Ventilla. I trust your journey was pleasant?’

‘Very comfortable, thank you,’ Charlotte smiled, aware that Nathan had arched a wry eyebrow, somehow managing to mock her even without words. A private jet comfortable? It was the height of luxury for most people.