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cycle.
    ‘How much longer do you think it will take us to reach the village where we are going to stop for the night?’
    Diego glanced at the instrument panel. ‘We’ve driven one hundred and forty miles. Inua village is two hundred and fifty miles from Manaus and because of the damned potholes in the road we’re travelling at an average speed of thirty-five miles an hour.’
    ‘So we should reach the village in just over three hours,’ Clare said instantly. She caught Diego’s surprised look. ‘I have a freakish brain when it comes to maths. At school, when my friends were trying to decide what careers to choose, I always knew that I wanted to be an accountant.’
    ‘So, did you go to university?’
    She nodded. ‘I have a degree in Accountancy and Marketing and after I graduated I was headhunted by a top bank in the City of London. I worked for the bank for eighteen months, before I became chief accountant at my parents’ public relations company. Recently, I’ve become much more involved in the actual PR side of the business.’
    Diego frowned. ‘I’m trying to understand what made you give up a good career and cut yourself off from your family and friends. How do your parents feel about your decision, especially as you have chosen to leave England and join a holy order in Brazil?’
    Clare regretted telling him so much about herself. It was a sign of her insecurity that she felt she needed to boast of her academic achievements to make up for the fact that she wasn’t beautiful, she acknowledged ruefully. For a few moments she had forgotten that the Mother Superior had persuaded her to pretend to be a nun for her protection. She felt uncomfortable about her deception but she did not dare risk telling Diego the real reason why she was going to Torrente.
    ‘My parents support what I am doing,’ she murmured, remembering how her father had hugged her tightly when she’d said goodbye to him before leaving for Brazil. ‘What about you?’ She steered the conversation away from herself. ‘Do you have a family?’
    ‘No.’
    When it became clear that Diego wasn’t going to add anything more, Clare tried again. ‘So, you’re not married?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘I imagine being a gold prospector means you spend a lot of time on your own. It must be a lonely way of life.’
    ‘I like my own company,’ he drawled.
    Clare gave up. She wanted to ask him how he had developed an appreciation of classic literature if his education had been as poor as he had said. There was something about him that made her think he was more than a rough, tough prospector. It was not just because of the books she had found. She could not explain why she sensed an air of mystery about him, but the idea that he was hiding something reinforced her decision to keep the truth about her identity a secret.
    * * *
    The surface of the dirt road grew worse the further west they travelled. Twice more the Jeep became embedded in mud. The first time, Diego managed to free the wheels by placing wooden planks beneath them, but on the second occasion he had to use a specially designed jack to lift up the front of the Jeep. It was a lengthy procedure and Clare had to get out to help and found herself ankle-deep in mud which dried to the consistency of cement in the sun.
    By the time they reached Inua she was wilting from the humidity and exhaustion and visualised a clean hotel room, hopefully with air conditioning and perhaps even a bath.
    ‘Where is the rest of the village?’ she asked Diego when he parked in a clearing in the forest where a few huts with thatched roofs were grouped around a larger hut that seemed to be a communal place for the villagers. The men sitting on the floor outside the large hut were mainly dressed in shorts and shirts, but the women were topless and the children who rushed up to greet the white-skinned strangers simply wore loincloths.
    ‘This is it,’ Diego told her. ‘Inua is home to a small community called the