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“The Chilean equivalent of a meat pie?” Casildo pulled into the kerb.

“The car’s missing,” Bea whispered, her gaze scanning the street around them.

“Why are you whispering? Does your mother have supersonic hearing as well?”

“She does, but it’s odd the car’s missing when they invited us for dinner.”

“Could she have hidden it out the back?” he asked. A ridiculous question when the house sprawled across the block with a car port at the front.

“Now, you’re crediting her with levitation skills.” Bea was hyperventilating for no reason.

“Do you think she’s out collecting the rest of the family?”

“I hope not. She just said come for dinner and bring Casildo.”

“But at a minimum, this is Mrs. G., Mr. G. and the two demons.”

“You will not call them that at dinner.”

“I’ll try very hard not to. Tell me their names.”

“Elisa, but she prefers Lisa, and Francesca, but she only answers to Fran.”

“Wow, where’s theAto tidy up that alphabetical list of names?”

She glanced at him to discover he was smiling.

“Mamá is Antonella.”

“I won’t reveal any secrets, Beatriz.”

She took another risk, leaning forward to kiss him. Not a casual kiss, but a hold-em-down-until-they give-in kind of kiss. If anyone was looking out of windows, so be it. She couldn’t keep him, but she’d take every scrap of joy from being with him while she could.

“Al’ama.” He placed her hand on his groin. “We might wait a second or two before we go in or everyone will think my brain’s in my pants.”

“Ready?”

“I wasn’t ready for you, Beatriz. No, that’s the wrong word. I wasn’t expecting you.”

“C’mon, tiger. I’ll take you in.”

Bea unlocked the front door. The house smelled of home, the flowers her mother always had on the hall table. Mostly from their garden, but occasionally store-bought or a present. Her daughters knew flowers were always welcome as a present or an apology. With six women living together, there was often a need for an apology. Bea discovered that the few short weeks at Anna’s apartment had made her reluctant to be peacemaker anymore.

“Someone must be home,” Casildo whispered. “Dinner smells divine. Chilean?”

“More likely to be Italian. It’s a favourite.” Bea turned her back on him. “Anyone home?”

Doors banged upstairs, then her two youngest sisters appeared on the upper landing. She noticed the second their sulky expressions shifted to interest and almost laughed. Casildo might not have been expecting her, but her sisters sure didn’t expect her to walk in the door with a certifiable hunk. Casildo could be a male model—lean, athletic. One colleague said he reminded her of Virat Kohli, minus the beard and moustache. Her sisters’ mouths widened into smiles, and they sauntered downstairs.

“My sisters, Lisa on the left, Fran on the right.”

“I didn’t hear the door,” Lisa said.

“I thought Mamá and Papá were back,” offered Fran.

“We are.” Her mother pushed through the door behind them. “Papá’s just parking the car.”

“Did you forget something?” Bea asked. “We could have picked it up.”