Marina stopped at a door, so suddenly that Charlotte almost stepped on her heels.

‘Oh.’

Marina knocked and waited, after a while pressing her ear closer to the door. She knocked again. After another pause, she turned the handle and looked in.

Charlotte stood on the threshold behind her, waiting to see what was going on.

‘You can come in,’ Marina said, turning back a few moments later.

Barely able to conceal her curiosity, Charlotte followed, stepping into a dim room – the curtains were pulled to, not quite meeting in the middle, so that a seam of light crossed the floor, over a bed and up the far wall like a transverse axis.

‘She’s resting,’ Marina said in a quiet voice, stating the obvious, as Charlotte’s gaze came to rest on an elderly woman asleep in the narrow bed. A quick glance around the room told Charlotte this wasn’t a hospital – there were too many personal effects around: photographs on surfaces, more of those coloured crochet doilies, a bag of knitting . . . ‘But don’t worry. She’ll be awake soon. She never sleeps for long. Just catnaps really.’

‘Right,’ Charlotte nodded blankly. ‘And who is she?’

‘My grandmother.’

Charlotte struggled to keep her patience. Why had they just driven across the city to pay a visit to this sleeping old lady? ‘Marina, I’ve got a plane to catch. Why are we here? Surely your grandmother doesn’t have anything to do with whether or not you sign the contract?’

‘Actually, she has everything to do with it. That money is meant for her.’

Charlotte sighed. Had this woman missed the entire point of what she’d been telling her? ‘Look, if you want to spend the money on your grandmother’s care, then you can. There are no restrictions on how or when or where you spend it.’

‘No, you don’t understand. That money isn’t meant for me. It can’t be. I’ve never met old man Mendoza. It must be for her.’

Charlotte closed her eyes, her dream of getting back to London and Stephen tonight, of escaping Nathan’s casual abandonment, inching out of sight. They were back to square one. ‘I don’t know how I can say this any more plainly. It’s for you, Marina.’

‘It’s for Marina Quincy.’

‘Exactly,’ Charlotte said, exasperated now. Weren’t they agreeing exactly the same thing? ‘Marina Quincy. Apartment 8, 94 Calle—.’

‘And I already told you that was my parents’ apartment before it was mine. And my grandmother’s before them. It’s her apartment.’

Charlotte frowned, trying to keep up. ‘You’ve lost me.’

‘I keep telling you – I’ve never met old man Mendoza. Or any of them. So all the facts you’ve got about me living at that address might be right, but you’ve made one mistake – the birthdate.’ She jerked her head towards the sleeping form in the bed. ‘My parents named me after her. She’s Marina Quincy too.’

Charlotte’s jaw dropped down. ‘What?’

‘Yeah. So if that money’s meant for either one of us, it’s got to be her.’ Marina looked down at the sleeping woman, stroking the back of her hand tenderly. ‘For some reason, Carlos Mendoza wants to make my grandmother a multimillionaire.’