‘Hi, you’ve come through to Stephen Rathbone. Leave a short message. I’ll call you back.’

‘Stephen, please . . .’ she hesitated, not knowing what else to say. ‘Please call me. We have to talk.’ She sighed and hung up, sinking back into her chair in a defeated heap. Three days, twenty-four messages, no reply. Fish learnt faster than this.

‘He’s here.’

She was standing in Señora Quincy’s room, watching as Marina brushed and styled her grandmother’s hair. The omens didn’t look good. She was wearing a funereal black linen dress, no jewellery today apart from a cameo brooch. It was a severe, unfriendly look. Hostile, even.

‘How did he seem?’ Señora Quincy asked, staring dead ahead as her granddaughter fussed over her.

‘Weak. I could barely see him, to be honest. They carried him through on a stretcher.’ She went and perched on the edge of the linen sofa, watching blankly. The bed had been made, the room so pristine it was almost as if everyone in it was hovering, not touching the surfaces.

‘Awake?’

‘Yes, seemed to be. I saw him grasp Mateo’s hand.’

‘That is awake enough then.’

Charlotte wondered what exactly the old woman planned on saying to her brother. What could she say to the man who had murdered her husband? What could he say to the sister whose husband had murdered their family? ‘Do you know what you’re going to do?’

‘Of course.’ But she offered no explanation. Instead she regarded Charlotte with her usual critical, clear-eyed gaze. ‘. . . You look pale.’

‘Do I?’ Charlotte’s hand rose to her cheek.

‘My granddaughter tells me you are getting married in a few days.’

Charlotte opened her mouth . . . but the lie stalled. What was the point? She was leaving now anyway. It was over – Carlos Mendoza had his sister back, Mateo had his answers, Marina’s rights as an heir were automatically protected by law even if her grandmother rebutted them. There was no further reason for her to be here. ‘Actually, no, I’m not.’

‘But last night—’ Marina protested, looking up.

‘I know. It was called off at the weekend, that’s why I was delayed coming back.’ She bit her lip. ‘I didn’t feel like I could tell Mateo after he’d gone to the trouble of organizing the present.’ She stared down at her hands. ‘I won’t accept it, of course.’

‘What happened?’ Marina beseeched her, looking concerned. ‘Or shouldn’t I ask? I shouldn’t ask – it’s personal.’

Charlotte gave a wan laugh. ‘I think we’re beyond that now, don’t you?’ She gave a sigh so weary, her shoulders rose two inches and dropped four. ‘The truth is, I can’t marry my fiancé – because I am still married to my first husband.’

‘First husband?’

‘A man not known for his organizational skills. Or any skills, in fact. He didn’t “get round” to filing the decree absolute and now my fiancé thinks I did it deliberately.’

There was an astonished silence.