‘Charlotte works with the bank. She has been advising us, trying to make me want to be rich again,’ the señora said wryly, meeting Charlotte’s eyes with amusement. ‘But she has also been helping Marina adjust to the idea of having Mendoza blood – and for that I am grateful. Perhaps there will be some advantages.’

Charlotte smiled and hobbled back. The old man looked weaker than she had been led to believe by Mateo’s reports. This reunion surely couldn’t be a long one.

Carlos looked back at his twin again. ‘You made it almost impossible, Nene. I had all but given up. I thought you must be dead. I never would have thought to look for that name.’

‘I know . . .’

Charlotte cocked an eyebrow.

‘But still you found me,’ the señora shrugged, almost carelessly, as though it had been a game of hide and seek. She tipped her head to the side. ‘How did you do it?’

‘Sheer luck. Or perhaps serendipity?’ His voice was raspy and weak. ‘We were in Bilbao, for a gala at the Guggenheim. A tyre on the car burst.’

‘Ah,’ she nodded, seeing immediately.

‘We called out a mechanic and I saw the name on his van: S. Quincy. I had never considered it and yet – how could I ever forget it?’

She stared straight at him, both of them remembering something shared, a common memory. ‘No.’

‘After that, it was easy. The lawyers had it done in a day.’

‘And now here we are,’ she said, patting his hand affectionately again.

Charlotte watched on, their half conversation weaving in and out of public comprehension. Was it a twin thing? She could feel the past pulsing in the room with them. It clung to every word, look.

There was a sound of footsteps, bounding up the stairs as though at two at a time, striding down the hall.

‘I . . . Oh.’

She turned. Nathan was standing in the doorway, his fist held up ready to knock. He looked into the room with dawning realization. ‘My apologies . . . Sorry. I came to say goodbye.’

‘As have we all,’ Señora Quincy smiled.

‘I’m leaving now. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were—’

Charlotte felt her heart race as she watched him, the embarrassment evident on his face. It made him look young, boyish, innocent. The earnest academic she had first met. Forever the odd one out with his hand-knit jumpers, regional accent, true heart.

‘Please come in,’ Señora Quincy said. ‘Before you leave, you should at least meet the man who has been behind your hard work.’

Nathan set down his bag by the door and walked in. He had changed into jeans and a t-shirt, already off-duty; in his head, she knew, he had already left. Charlotte watched his every footstep, feeling her heart might leap out of her chest. These were their dying moments. Their final few minutes. She knew when he left here, she would never see him again.