‘Well, I think that went better than expected,’ Marina murmured.

But her voice sounded far away. Charlotte could see the dust plumes billowing up from the distant estate road and knew the red jeep was heading for the airport, taking him far away from here. ‘. . . Yes. Very positive.’

‘He’s not at all what I expected. I was thinking he would be . . . grand.’

Charlotte glanced at her. ‘That’s one of the assumptions people make with great wealth. You’ll have to start getting used to people foisting expectations on you too.’

Marina’s face fell. ‘I suppose so. It’s hard to imagine.’

Mayra came out with a tray of drinks. ‘Iced coffee?’

‘Thank you,’ Charlotte murmured, taking hers, grateful not to have even had to make a choice.

They sipped in silence for a few minutes. ‘What do you think they’re talking about?’

‘Who knows? I don’t think they’ll be short of conversation. Eighty-two years is a long time to have to catch up on.’

‘It was sweet he called her Nene. She always called me that growing up. I didn’t know it was her nickname too.’

‘I’ve never heard it before. What does it mean?’

‘It’s more a term of affection. Darling. Baby.’

‘Ah.’ Charlotte stared ahead, watching as one of the groundsmen worked in the flowerbed around the jacaranda tree. He was digging slowly, making shallow cuts into the hard earth.

She gave a small gasp of recognition, remembering something suddenly. ‘Oh . . . That must be what the initials were.’

‘What initials?’

‘In that tree over there, someone’s carved some initials into the bark: NM and SE. I couldn’t work out who NM was. But it must be her – Nene Mendoza.’

‘Oh. I guess so.’ Marina looked over at the tree curiously. ‘What about SE?’

‘I don’t kn—’ Charlotte shrugged. But as she did so, a name floated to her as though brought on the breeze. ‘. . . Santiago Esperanza.’

Marina looked sharply at her. ‘The man who—?’

Had murdered her family? Had died beside her grandfather? Had been killed by her great-uncle? Nathan’s words reverberated in Charlotte’s head: This was personal.

‘It can’t be,’ Marina said dismissively. ‘Why would his initials be beside my grandmother’s? He was one of the workers. They can’t have been friends.’

‘No,’ Charlotte murmured, even as her brain asked, couldn’t they? The señora had mentioned her best friend lived in the mercadillo – but that was the peasant district of the town. And the . . . the shark’s tooth she had been holding. A childhood relic, she had called it. Her best friend’s. It was the most precious thing he owned. Was that what she had retrieved from the tree, the first day here? Wasn’t it extraordinary she should have even remembered it after so many years? Charlotte could still see how she had pressed it to her lips and kissed it as she was driven back to the house again. It meant a lot to her. I promised to bring it back to him.