‘Don Mateo passes on his apologies that he could not be here to welcome you himself. He is in Seville this morning.’

‘Yes, he said,’ Charlotte replied. ‘Has Señor Mendoza been discharged, do you know?’

‘Soon, I understand.’

‘Does he know Señora Quincy is here?’

‘I believe not yet.’ The housekeeper gave a brief smile. ‘Please follow me. I will show you to your rooms.’

‘Shouldn’t we wait for the others?’ Nathan asked.

Charlotte looked over at Señora Quincy, still immobile in the golf buggy. Three members of male staff had rushed out and were assembling a makeshift step to help her navigate her way down from the cart. It would be easier just to lift her down – she must weigh practically nothing – but she could see from the old lady’s patience and posture that she wouldn’t allow it. Was it a matter of pride? Dignity? As if, having once run from here, she would not allow herself to be carried back in?

‘Señor Mendoza has arranged for Señora Quincy and her granddaughter to reside in the west wing. There are some bedrooms on the ground floor there; he felt that would be best for ease of access. The main house has stairs that are difficult to navigate.’

‘How thoughtful.’

‘He has liaised with Señora Quincy’s carers and assigned a medical team to take care of her during her stay here. You and Professor Marling, however, are in the hacienda. Señor Mendoza thought you would like to experience the authentic Andalusian lifestyle?’

‘Great.’

‘My name is Mayra and if there is anything I can do for you during your stay, please do not hesitate to ask,’ she said, as she began leading them up the steps.

‘Thanks, Mayra,’ they said in unison, the harmony making them both glance at, and recoil from, one another.

‘This is the great hall,’ Mayra said, fanning her arms lightly as they walked into a dark-panelled, double-height hallway. The floors were laid with terracotta tiles, an intricate staircase winding up and around, the walls studded with the mounted heads of at least a hundred bulls. Charlotte couldn’t suppress her gasp in time, nor Nathan his look of disgust. ‘The Mendoza bulls are of course very famous. All the heads you see here are of the champion bulls that were granted pardons.’

‘Pardons?’ Nathan questioned.

‘For bravery in the bullring. On occasion, when a bull impressed the matador or the crowd with his big heart, nobility and courageous spirit, he would be pardoned and allowed to live out his days in the pastures. These bulls you see here all died of old age.’

‘The lucky ones, huh?’ Nathan smiled, but Charlotte recognized the edge in his voice. She remembered how he had clashed with her shooting-hunting- fishing friends at Cambridge; clearly bullfighting wasn’t going to become a great love of his anytime soon either.

They walked through the space to a narrower hall, the inner courtyard Charlotte had spied from the air now off to her right. It was laid to lawn, with an ornamental pond and fountain in the centre, elegant orange trees dotting each corner. She spied some benches in the shade and wondered whether anyone ever came out to use them, or whether they were purely ornamental.