Furiously, she pulled the skirts free. ‘We were just climbing trees and watching the harvest!’

‘You know what Papa has said about you talking to the campesinos. They are dangerous.’

‘No, they are hungry! They have not been paid for months now.’

‘That is not your concern, Nene. Papa has said these are things we cannot yet understand.’

‘Papa says, Papa says . . .’ she catcalled. ‘I tell you what I understand. I understand it is not right to make people work extra hours for no extra money! To make sure they have no land to grow their own food! How can they survive? They are starving, Arlo!’

He gripped her by the shoulders again, seeing how her voice rose through the octaves. ‘Nene, control yourself. These are not matters to concern you.’

‘Why? Because I’m a girl?’ she spat.

‘No. Because you are a Mendoza.’ The words hung like a death sentence – stifling, oppressive, immutable. ‘There are standards to uphold. Other people look to you for an example. They must see through you – through us – that there is an order to things. And where there is order, there is safety. For everyone. It has always been this way. Why should it change now?’

‘You sound just like Papa,’ she sobbed.

He loosened his grip on her shoulders again; it was the worst insult she could have hurled at him. ‘I am trying to protect you, Nene. I don’t like to see Santi whipped any more than you do. He is your friend, I know that.’

‘So then why did you let it happen? You could have stopped Pedro! If not me, he would have listened to you!’

Arlo tipped his head to the side sadly. ‘I worry about you. Your impetuousness. Your passion – it will lead you into danger. You have to learn to pick your battles, Nene. You cannot fight them all.’

‘You don’t fight any!’ she spat.

‘That is not true. I will always fight for you.’

‘I don’t need fighting for. I can look after myself.’ She wiped her tears away furiously, inadvertently smearing the dust into muddy streaks over her cheeks.

‘No. You are ruled by your heart, Nene, and that frightens me. Consequences mean nothing to you.’

‘So you think you are the one to protect me?’ she cried mockingly. ‘You? You are weak, Arlo! It is you who needs me.’

‘Nene, wait, come back!’ he cried as she began walking away. But she didn’t turn around, and though the sobs wracked her frame, her arms sliced the air like blades and her legs struck the ground like swiping swords.

Chapter Four

They stopped at the crowd of people huddled around the Velásquez painting Las Meninas, both of them staring up at it in silence for several moments. ‘So this is pretty much the most famous painting here,’ Charlotte said in a low voice. ‘The Prado’s equivalent to Mona Lisa.’

‘Yeah . . .’ Lucy murmured in agreement, before her neat little nose wrinkled. ‘I’m not loving it though.’