‘You need to understand that the relationship between your family and the workers had completely broken down. Tensions had been at breaking point for years beforehand and there had been a sharp increase in the number of altercations in the weeks before the outbreak of war. In the June, for instance, a report was made to the Civil Guard, alleging a man was shot in cold blood by Valentino and Montez Mendoza, but it was never followed up. Shortly after that, a grand fiesta at La Ventilla was disrupted by the slaying of a prize horse in the stables and then, a few weeks later, workers stormed the estate: they killed some of the bulls, plundered the kitchens, reclaimed some of the land. But it was a short-lived victory. Franco invaded the mainland around the same time, reaching Ronda by the end of the summer. When the Nationalists seized the area and the old paternalists’ power was restored, retribution was theirs – and it was merciless.’

‘Merciless, how?’

‘This bullring?’ He nodded his head in the direction from whence they’d come. ‘If you looked closely – or had known to look – you would see the bullet marks still in the stone wall from where they had the Republican prisoners rounded up and shot.’

Marina’s mouth opened. ‘No . . .’

‘They were herded in, in small groups, and . . . picked off, one by one. There was no escape. Over two hundred men and boys shot. They even invited other landowners and dignitaries along to join in as a way of showing thanks for their support of the rebel cause. Some of the prisoners were guilty simply of being a union member, or the brother of a union member. Or the uncle of a man who had stolen from the orchard because his family were starving . . .’

‘“They”? You mean the Mendozas? My family did these things . . . ?’ Marina looked aghast. Shaken.

‘There were atrocities on both sides,’ Nathan said quickly. ‘No war is ever as bitter or bloody as a civil war and the Spanish war was no different.’

Charlotte didn’t know what she could add. She had expected some uncomfortable secrets to be unearthed during this process; every family had them but particularly those that became dynasties – wealth and power were rarely accrued through wholly legitimate means. But this? It was a whole other level.

Marina looked at Nathan again, her features set in a grim expression. ‘So what happened to my grandfather? After he killed my great-grandfather, I mean . . .’

‘It looks like he got away from here and moved up to Madrid. From the records I’ve seen, Jack Quincy was killed in March ’37 in Madrid. American, International Brigade ID, estimated to be mid-thirties. Everything suggests it was him.’

‘What happened to him?’ Marina asked.

‘He was shot during a siege in a church.’

Marina nodded and fell quiet again. Every revelation was like a punch. To learn that so many of her family had been murdered, were murderers . . .