‘Nathan told me once he sometimes feels like more of a detective than a historian,’ Charlotte said lightly instead.

‘That’s a good analogy. Is there much of a difference, I wonder?’

Charlotte thought for a moment. ‘I suppose the detective wants justice.’

‘And the historian?’

‘The truth.’

Mateo narrowed his eyes, regarding her interestedly. ‘The truth, yes, there’s no room for sentiment there. It’s about the facts. The cold, hard facts.’

Mayra came in, announcing dinner was ready, and Marina gratefully finished her beer with one long gulp – prompting a look of bemusement from Mateo.

‘By the way, Charlotte, I have something for you,’ he said, shooting her a conspiring look. ‘Come. It is out here.’

He put down his drink and walked out into the hall. Charlotte struggled to her feet and hobbled over, leaning against the doorway. There, a magnificent saddle gleamed astride the back of a chair. It was decorated with a Hermes-orange satin bow.

‘To get you back in the saddle, so to speak,’ Mateo said. ‘You remember our first conversation?

‘I do. And it’s beautiful,’ Charlotte gasped. ‘But . . . why?’

‘It’s a wedding gift of course!’

What? She looked up at him, just as Marina joined her in the doorway.

‘You’re getting married?’ Marina asked excitedly, placing a hand on her arm.

‘In just a few days,’ Mateo nodded.

‘Charlotte, why didn’t you say?’

But Charlotte couldn’t reply, because the reason why was standing frozen on the spot at the other end of the hall, a jacket in one hand and eyes that told her he had heard every single word.

Dinner was brief. Mateo was a charming and self-assured host but even he was struggling to keep a conversation going single-handedly for more than three courses: Marina, overawed by the unexpected social situation, could only dumbly agree to anything he said, and Charlotte could scarcely hear a word that passed, her brain going into overdrive as she tried to think of ways to explain things to Nathan. But he wouldn’t look at her; for the entire dinner he had kept his attention on either his plate or his host, smiling at Mateo’s anecdotes and doing an all-round fantastic job of acting (as he had tried to in the jeep) as though she wasn’t even there.

‘Will you excuse me?’ she said finally, as the dessert plates were being cleared and Mateo started making noises about finishing off the meal with some brandy. ‘I think I need to get to bed. My foot is throbbing and I need to elevate it.’ She didn’t know how much longer she could sit there, pretending to be fine when she was anything but.

‘Me too,’ Marina said quickly. ‘Not the foot. Just the bed bit.’ She smiled nervously. ‘Big day tomorrow.’

‘Quite,’ Mateo said, tipping his head in agreement and smiling broadly as she slipped from the room. ‘You’re sure we can’t persuade you to stay for a nightcap, Charlotte?’

‘I’m afraid not. It’s Nurofen and an early night for me.’