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the top of the stairs and her feet stopped. Carlos turned around, frowned, and held out his hand.
    â€˜Come.’
    â€˜I ...’ How could she explain the emotions zapping through her?
    â€˜You are all right?’
    â€˜Yes, fine.’ She hoped her forced smile would do the trick. He gave no reaction, as if he’d been subjected to female vagueness his entire life. She followed him into the dark hall, and her eyes strained to adjust to the dim light. Fairy lights hung haphazardly from the ceiling as Carlos and Dani moved through wide hallways to a large courtyard. Vegetation wrapped around the columns of the historic building and a white gazebo housed musicians dressed in formal attire.
    Carlos gestured with his cane to a small table in the corner. She wove between the clusters of chairs where women sat and stretched their long, tanned legs and stiletto-clad feet. Everywhere Dani looked people laughed, flirted and whispered in secluded corners. The place was reminiscent of a pick-up joint but the atmosphere felt distinctly different; it was more like a group of friends gathering for some saucy, yet harmless, dancing.
    A waiter brought over two glasses and a bottle of water. Carlos poured the drinks as Dani sat and tried to ignore the notes of the bandoneón filling the room. Instead, she concentrated on an older couple on the dance floor: the woman was as voluptuous as he was rail thin. Her generous frame followed the man with ease as he twisted and turned, guiding her gently, then they burst into a succession of staccato movements, making it look oh so easy.
    Dani nodded in the couple’s direction. ‘They’ve been dancing together for years, I take it?’, she said, hoping to break the silence.
    â€˜I doubt it.’
    â€˜But it’s like they can read each other’s minds.’
    â€˜That is the point.’
    â€˜Huh?’
    â€˜This is a question?’ The corners of his mouth twitched.
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜It sounded like an inflection at the end of your “huh”, yes?’
    â€˜You’re an English teacher now?’
    â€˜I believe this is another question. You dance.’ He stood, held out his hand and helped her up.
    Carlos’s cane hung off the back of the metal chair. She opened her mouth but closed it again. He motioned for her to take a place on the dance floor and as she stepped forwards, a lump lodged in her throat. Every molecule of her being told her to bolt but pride and ego wouldn’t allow it. Anyway, she couldn’t pass up an opportunity to see how Carlos danced without a cane, considering his pronounced limp.
    â€˜Â¡Carlitos!, ¿ cómo andas ?’
    Dani turned to see a short, round man with a wide grin and bright blue eyes. He ran his hand through greying hair then slapped Carlos on the back like an old friend. Carlos grimaced.
    â€˜Gualberto, I am fine. This is Daniela.’
    â€˜Hi, I’m Dani McKenna.’ She held out her hand and the man wrapped his fingers around hers, giving them a tight squeeze. His warm, smooth touch relaxed her shoulders, even though she hadn’t realised they were tense. ‘You’re Gualberto Ghilardi, the bandoneón player, right?’
    â€˜ Sí . The one and the same.’ The light caught his gold eye tooth and he gently let go of her hand. Even though he was renowned for his bandoneón skills, his long fingers looked like an average person’s. ‘You have heard of me?’
    â€˜Yes, of course! I read some articles about you and watched your performances on YouTube.’ She didn’t dare tell him that listening to him play had been torture. The man had talent, no denying it, she just wished he played an instrument that didn’t cause her to cringe every time she heard it.
    â€˜I am flattered, I think.’ He narrowed his eyes then said, ‘I hope you are not doing the stalking thing.’
    She laughed. ‘No stalking, I promise.