‘Healing? Really?’ Mateo shifted position in his seat, looking uncomfortable again. ‘At our last meeting, you said you thought my father was acting from shame, as though there’s something we should be ashamed of.’

‘That was just a hypothesis, I could be completely wrong. But even if I’m not, Dr Ferrante is an academic, not a gossip and not a journalist. The point of the exercise would be simply to try to identify the reasons why your father is doing this. Is it just about her – an infatuation – or is something else compelling him?’

They lapsed into silence as the waiter set down their drinks – Pisco Sour cocktails – Charlotte taking a moment to soak up the view. They were on the rooftop terrace, a gentle breeze and cream umbrellas softening the glare of the heat, neatly clipped box trees dotting the perimeter as white-jacketed waiters glided between the baroque white-iron tables and chairs. Every table was booked, Madrid’s chic set enjoying their aperitifs before they headed down to the mirrored two-Michelin-star restaurant downstairs.

‘Well it all sounds intriguing,’ Milton drawled, with a tone that suggested it was an amusing diversion. The ‘soft’ politics of wealth were always lost on him. He was driven by bottom lines, risk and growth. ‘He’s a history professor, you said?’

Charlotte gave a polite smile. ‘That’s right; he’s attached to the Humanities division at Carlos III University. He’s done similar work for me on other clients several times now. It’s amazingly interesting. Illuminating even. Mateo, do you have that TV programme here, Who Do You Think You Are?

He shrugged. ‘I don’t watch television.’

‘Ah. Well, it’s similar to that. Every family has stories that have been forgotten or lost. It’s something of a privilege really to be acquainted with your own personalized history.’

‘I will have to reserve judgement on that.’

‘Of course. But please remember, you’re not being judged in any way. Dr Ferrante is a very skilled and discreet man, methodical in his work.’

‘But this is an odd request for him, is it not, to do a research project like this? I would have thought he would look down on something like this. Academics are purists, they hate selling out.’

‘He told me once he views these projects as history in the singular – the macro-events of the political and social climate of the time, playing out in the confines of the family unit.’ She smiled confidingly. ‘And let us not forget, every academic has an overdraft. And at this time of year, when the university term is over and they’ve got a little time to dedicate to a few weeks or so of private work . . .’ She shrugged. ‘He’s got to eat.’

Mateo sighed heavily. ‘Well, let us hope your professor is—’ He shifted position slightly, just as his gaze caught on something – or someone – behind her, an interested look coming into his eyes. ‘Ah, Dr Ferrante I presume? We were just talking about you.’ He rose, holding out a hand.