Up close, he was even more imposing than on the speakers’ floor, the intensity he brought to his words carried through with a rough physicality: tobacco, sweat, stubble; cuts and bruises on his hands.

‘Hello,’ she said simply, still with a hesitation for it had been hard work to break the habit of using the formal introductions she had been raised with.

‘Señorita Marquez, I was grateful for your efforts tonight. It is good to see our womenfolk so committed to the cause.’

‘I believe many of us are, sir,’ she said, sweeping her gaze over Paloma and Luciana, who were still engaging the departing crowds, still exhorting them to rally their peers, their friends, their neighbours . . .

‘Sir?’ he queried. ‘There are no hierarchies in this room. We are all equals, are we not?’

‘I apologize. An old habit. My mother raised me to show deference.’

‘And what was your mother?’

‘A cook,’ she said quickly. ‘For the local landowners.’

‘Not the Mendozas?’ His eyebrow was arched but there was a playfulness to it, as though her questions about them somehow bonded them now. A shared joke perhaps.

‘No, señor. My people are in Seville.’

He nodded. ‘It is tragic what has happened there.’

‘It is,’ she agreed.

‘Are your family safe?’

‘I have no family now.’ It was a truth, at least. Her heart ached for Arlo and her mother but they had neither one of them been strong enough to act decisively against her father, to make the changes she could not live without, and their apathy had been as effective as the others’ brutality in casting her out.

‘Well, I am sorry to hear that, though it is a common enough story.’ His eyes never moved off her and she could only imagine what it would be like to be questioned by this man with a revolver on the table. ‘Which is why it is all the more important to bind closely to our friends and comrades. I trust your supporters here tonight will have taken my words to their hearts and heard the warnings I am giving them. Conditions here are only going to get worse – a lot worse. It is imperative you know who you can trust, who can keep you safe in times like these.’

He seemed to be saying something more than his words, a double-binded message. But was it a promise or a threat? She had heard too much about him to discount the rumours of his violent excesses, and if he was offering her safety, his protection, it was at what cost?

‘Marina! We need you here.’

She looked over, to find Paloma and Luciana standing by the doors as the last of the followers filed past. Paloma beckoned her over.

‘I’m sorry, I must go. Will you excuse me?’

Modesto smiled again. ‘You really do have fine manners for the daughter of a cook, señorita.’

She inclined her head fractionally. ‘Then I shall take that as a compliment to my mama.’