‘We didn’t think you were coming back,’ Marina said as they rearranged chairs around the table to make a leg rest for her.

Nathan looked down guiltily. Had he thought she’d taken him at his word on Saturday – fled from here, away from him?

‘Mateo thought it was best if I was here for the reunion.’

‘Yes, but Mayra thought you were due back yesterday,’ Marina said.

‘Well, I got a little held up. But the driver was taking me back from the airport and said you were here, so I thought I should rejoin you as soon as possible.’

Their coffees were set down and Marina gave the waiter a delighted smile, as though relieved that for once she wasn’t the one serving it.

‘. . . I assume your grandmother isn’t here?’ Charlotte asked her conversationally, seeing how Nathan stared into his coffee, lost in thought. Was he thinking about what had just happened between them – again? How it seemed unstoppable, no matter what he said?

‘God, no.’ Marina’s expression changed. Charlotte looked back at her, hearing the note of concern in her voice. ‘She is resting again. To be honest, she is not quite herself here.’ She looked back at them both with a concerned expression. ‘I’m worried this has taken more out of her than she will admit. Perhaps it was a mistake coming here. I shouldn’t have pushed her—’

‘Marina, you didn’t push her – your grandmother came here because she wanted to see her brother again. She is a strong woman, here on her terms.’

‘Mmm, maybe.’ Marina gave a noncommittal shrug. ‘She just seems so . . . quiet, here.’

‘Has she left her room at all?’

‘Once or twice. They take her out in the carts and she goes to the garden or the stables. Then she comes back and rests for the day. There are so many memories for her. Too many, I fear.’

‘It’s bound to be emotional for her,’ Charlotte agreed, fiddling with the spoon on her saucer and glancing at Nathan again. Had he heard a word they’d said? He looked so . . . lost. ‘And she’s still said nothing to you?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Has there been any word yet when Mateo and his father are due to arrive?’

‘Tomorrow now. Apparently there was a dip in one of his readings they weren’t happy about and they decided to keep him in to run a few more tests.’

‘Does your grandmother know he’s coming tomorrow?’

Marina nodded. ‘She has said barely a word today. I didn’t want to leave her but she insisted. I think she wanted some time there alone before Carlos arrives.’

Charlotte frowned; they were still no closer to knowing the reason for their estrangement. ‘Nathan?’ Her soul stirred as his eyes met hers again. ‘Have you found anything yet that could help?’

She watched him visibly pull himself back into the conversation. ‘. . . Perhaps.’ He tapped his finger against the coffee cup as both women looked at him, gathering his thoughts. His focus. ‘As you know, I’ve been principally looking into her husband – your grandfather, Marina. As a start point, I took a view that he may be the most likely antagonist for the breakdown in relationships between your grandmother and her family: his name, being foreign, immediately suggested he was one of the overseas volunteers in the International Brigades, which in turn meant he was Republican – and that would have been a big problem back then. So I dug around and, sure enough, found a Jack Charles Quincy, from Oregon. He was thirty-four when he joined the Abraham Lincoln battalion, one of twenty-eight hundred Americans volunteering to fight for the Spanish Republic. Thirty-four was pretty old for a brigader. Most of them were kids – seventeen, eighteen.