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Maragua, is so often overlooked. It’s very small—hardly larger than El Salvador—and similarly has only a Pacific coastline.’
    ‘I don’t think I’ve really ever heard of it,’ Celeste said apologetically.
    ‘ De nada —not many Europeans have,’ he said. ‘Which, overall, is probably a good thing.’ His voice was edged. ‘After all, the reason most developing countries are known about in the Western world is their wars and disasters! Fortunately we have few—though like all Pacific Rim countries we are subject to earthquakes.’
    ‘Because the Pacific Ocean’s floor is moving under the continental plates,’ she acknowledged. ‘Does that mean you have volcanoes, too?’
    He nodded his head. ‘One or two—fortunately inactive.’ He paused. ‘Your geology is as good as your astronomy, it seems.’
    His eyes rested on her expectantly. He felt another ripple of satisfaction. Beauty, even so notable as hers, was one thing, but it was inadequate on its own. Her stargazing had told him that she was informed and intelligent, and here was further proof.
    ‘I like plate tectonics,’ she answered. ‘It makes sense of so much.’
    ‘The whole planet earth is a living jigsaw—endlessly changing, endlessly renewing itself.’ Rafael paused. ‘I find that quite encouraging. If even the ground beneath our feet can change, then so can we. We can make ourselves anew.’
    She looked at him. Her eyes flickered. His words echoed in her head. We can make ourselves anew.
    For just a second she could feel something flare inside her—then it died. Crushed by the weight of the past. The past that was always her present. And her future...the only future possible for her.
    Feeling a stone suddenly in her chest, she turned her head to look out of the car window. They had reached Hyde Park Corner and were turning into the park now.
    Rafael indicated with his hand. ‘What is that enormous house there, do you know?’ he asked. He wanted her to keep talking to him—not slip away into that separate world she inhabited, shutting him out.
    But she answered readily enough. ‘Oh, that’s Apsley House,’ she said. ‘It’s the London home of the Duke of Wellington—you know, the Battle of Waterloo. Well, his descendants anyway. It’s always known as Number One, London. I suppose it’s because it’s the premier private residence in London.’
    If she was gabbling, she didn’t care. This kind of innocuous exchange was all she could cope with. It blocked those tormenting words he’d said— We can make ourselves anew. Anguish gripped her. But I can’t—I can’t make myself anew! It’s impossible—impossible!
    His voice relieved her. ‘Is that the Serpentine?’ he asked, glimpsing a dark mass of water to one side of the car as they cut across the park.
    ‘Yes,’ she answered. The stone was back in her chest. She launched into relating everything she knew about the Serpentine, then moved on to Rotten Row as they crossed it.
    ‘It’s still a bridle path,’ she said. ‘In the nineteenth century it was very fashionable for the upper classes to ride their horses there.’
    Somehow she managed to make the subject of Victorian high society last till they reached her flat, and as the car pulled up along the quiet kerbside she turned to Rafael.
    ‘Thank you so much,’ she said brightly. ‘It really is very kind of you.’
    The chauffeur was holding the door open for her and she climbed out gracefully. The night air seemed cool after the interior of the car. Or perhaps it was just because she felt heated in her blood.
    ‘Please don’t get out,’ she told Rafael.
    ‘Which is your flat?’ he asked, ignoring her and stepping out onto the pavement.
    ‘Um...second floor,’ she said. She was fumbling for her keys in her clutch.
    She’d coped with the car ride, sounding like a tour guide to London, but her nerves were at breaking point. She had to get in. Get away from him.
    ‘I’ll wait until I see your light come