‘Sorry, I ordered downstairs and then decided to come up here,’ Charlotte said in faultless Spanish, trying not to scrutinize her too obviously. She noticed she had three piercings in her left ear and that her ring finger on her left hand was still narrow at the base from her old wedding ring. There was a pale tracheotomy scar at her throat too and it struck her that Marina’s body had collected battle scars on her journey through life; Charlotte had the distinct impression it hadn’t been a smooth one thus far – all of which made for a powerful motive to come by easy money.

‘Okay.’ Marina gave a careless shrug and turned to leave again.

‘But I wondered—’ Charlotte said hurriedly.

‘Yes?’ She turned back, bored.

‘Are you Marina Quincy?’

Marina’s eyes narrowed, serving to make her look even more impressive somehow. ‘Who is asking?’

‘My name’s Charlotte Fairfax. I’m a freelance consultant for Steed Bank in London.’

Marina turned to face her fully but the name clearly meant nothing to her. It meant nothing to most people. Theirs wasn’t a high street offering. Ten million was the minimum investment with them. ‘Okay,’ she shrugged.

Charlotte decided to go in hard and see what she came back with. Her immediate response would be the most revealing. ‘I’ve come to offer my services to you. I’m a wealth counsellor.’

‘A what?’ Marina squinted, folding her arms over her chest now.

‘I help people adjust when they come into vast sums of money.’

Marina laughed out loud at that, dropping her arms down. ‘That must be a nice problem to have but I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong person. Vast sums of money are not a problem for me.’

‘Not yet maybe. But soon perhaps – in the next few weeks?’ She watched Marina’s features closely, looking for a narrowing at the eyes, a tightening sinew in the neck, a flattening of the mouth as she realized the game was up, her masterplan exposed . . . ‘Ms Quincy, do you know Carlos Mendoza?’

Marina was still for a moment, bafflement followed by recognition. ‘. . . You mean the Carlos Mendoza?’

‘I do.’

Marina shrugged, giving a dry little laugh. ‘No.’

‘Are you quite sure?’ Charlotte watched her closely, scanning her body language for clues she was lying. ‘I appreciate your connection with Mr Mendoza might be considered “sensitive”, but I assure you I’m here to act in your best interest.’

‘Connection . . . ?’ There was a long pause as Marina weighted her words. Finally, she shifted her stance. ‘I think I would know if I had bumped into a billionaire recently.’

‘He’s not quite that, actually. Not far off but not quite,’ Charlotte said levelly, still gauging her responses in microscopic detail.

The two women fell quiet, both weighing each other up, assessing, scrutinizing.

‘So you’re quite certain you don’t know him?’ Charlotte asked after another pause, making to sound weary herself as she pulled a fifty-euro note from her purse and laid it on the table, beneath the espresso cup. Regretfully, having had only one bite of her snack and a mere sip of her coffee, she stood up.