She sat down at the breakfast table with them both and poured herself a glass of juice, aware of Nathan’s hooded gaze flickering on and off her – taking in her hobble, her dress, her pale face, her silent contempt . . .

The table was set out on the terrace below a rush-matted pergola, dappled light sprinkling through the slats onto the bowls of watermelon, peach, nectarines and plums. Jugs of freshly squeezed juices stood like rainbow chimes, grapefruits and oranges like bowling balls.

‘It’s good of you to join me early,’ Mateo said brightly. ‘I thought we should have a debrief before our guests come through.’

‘You must be looking forward to meeting your aunt,’ Charlotte said lightly.

‘Let’s say I’m certainly . . . interested.’ He looked at Nathan. ‘Now, we kept to our promise and didn’t talk shop last night—’

‘Your brandy was too good for that,’ Nathan replied.

‘Indeed. You must take a bottle when you leave. It’s hard to come by.’

‘Thank you.’

Charlotte watched the love-in with jaded eyes as she began cutting up a grapefruit half.

‘But tell me now, where are we? What have you found?’

Nathan inhaled deeply, as though wondering where to start. ‘Well, we think we know why your aunt left – she was a Republican sympathizer. And her husband was an American who came over at the start of the war to fight as part of the International Brigade.’

‘. . . Republicans?’ Mateo asked as though it was a dirty word.

‘The political ideologies of the Left were pretty far-ranging – from socialism to full-blown anarchy; they could have been all-out communists or just forward-thinking liberals. But either way, that all came under the umbrella of Republicanism and that’s the side they fought for.’

‘Well, that would certainly account for things. Siding with the Left would have been a betrayal of all our family stood for – our principles. There would have been no way my grandfather could have condoned the match. He and all his sons fought valiantly for the Nationalists—’

‘Wait – your father too?’ Nathan frowned. ‘You’re sure?’

‘Of course.’

‘But I haven’t found any reference to that. In the local records I’ve seen, your grandfather and uncles Valentino and Montez signed up to join the Cavalry Regiment on 27 September 1936 – but your father’s name wasn’t there.’

‘No, he didn’t join the fight till the beginning of ’37. He was a lieutenant in the reconnaissance squadron of the National Infantry Division.’

Nathan looked at him intently. ‘And why was that, do you know?’

Mateo shrugged. ‘Age? My father was the youngest son; he would only have been sixteen when the war broke out.’

Nathan pulled a sceptical face. ‘Many soldiers were that age though, or not much older.’

‘Well, he was also fiercely pacifist. My father has always said there are causes worth dying for, but none worth killing for.’

‘So then what changed?’

‘He grew older? He grew up?’ Mateo shrugged. ‘Principles are well and good, in principle, but I suppose when men are dying around you . . .’