Maia began to make her way to the second deck. Ever since Merry had mentioned that Brouilly featured in the diary, her mind had been racing. What was Pa’s connection? She thought back to her own personal journey of self-discovery one year ago. The pieces of her biological jigsaw had been firmly assembled, and she was fully aware of the genetic inheritance that had gifted her the shiny dark brown hair and unblemished honey-brown skin. But now, Maia was beginning to realise that the picture was incomplete. Why had Pa chosen her to rescue? And how did he himself know so much about her family history?

Maia found Floriano luxuriating in a deep leather chair in the corner of the reading room, book in hand. The image sent butterflies fluttering in Maia’s stomach. It reminded her of Pa, who used to spend so much of his time on the Titan in that particular spot. The room was undeniably one of her favourite places on board – a grand floating library with bespoke bookshelves lining every wall, each packed to the brim with Pa’s favourite tomes. Maia recalled endless, sumptuous summers picking out novels and retreating up to the sun deck to spend a day reading under golden rays. She closed her eyes and inhaled the sweet, musky smell of the books. It hadn’t changed a bit since she was ten, and first took an interest in the contents of the reading room. She cast her mind back . . .

‘Pa?’ Maia enquired, not wishing to interrupt her father’s deep contemplation of Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables. He raised his eyes to his daughter.

‘Maia, my dearest. Are you enjoying the cruise?’

‘Yes, Pa, thank you. But I’ve finished my book. May I take one from one of your shelves?’

His eyes lit up. ‘Of course, my petite princesse! Nothing would make me happier.’ He stood up and took Maia’s hand, leading her towards the largest of the shelves. ‘Here is where I keep the fiction.’

‘The made-up stories?’

‘Ah, my dear, there are no made-up stories. They all happened once upon a time.’

‘Really?’

‘Oh, I expect so.’ He glanced at his beaten copy of Les Misérables. It looked to Maia as though it had been read many times before. ‘Eventually someone writes them down. Now, what do you wish for?’

Maia pondered the question. ‘I think a love story. But not a boring one.’

‘Hmm, a wise choice indeed. But you test my ability as a librarian. Let me see . . .’ He scanned the shelves, running his finger over the rows of books that he had accumulated over the years. Eventually he came to rest on one. ‘Ah! Of course.’ He removed it from the shelf and smiled as he examined the cover. ‘The Phantom of the Opera, by Monsieur Gaston Leroux.’

‘Phantom? It sounds frightening, Pa.’

‘I promise it is a tale of romance. You will love it, I am sure. In fact, if you do not, then I give you permission to throw me into the swimming pool.’ Maia laughed, and Atlas went to hand the book to her. ‘Ah, no! I am sorry, my darling, but this copy is in English. Allow me to see if I have a French edition.’

‘It’s okay, Pa, I’d like to try it in English.’

‘My goodness. You are brave indeed. Are you sure you don’t wish me to find a French version? You are on holiday after all, there is no need to force study upon yourself.’

‘It doesn’t feel like studying. I like it.’

‘Very well, my petite princesse.’

Floriano’s voice intruded on Maia’s memory. ‘Maia? Are you all right?’ he asked, looking at her from the chair.

‘Sorry, yes. I was in my own world there. Where’s Valentina?’

‘Ma has taken her and young Rory for a swim. Come and sit with me. Tell me about what happened upstairs. What’s this big pile of paper you have?’ he said, taking the pages from her and placing them on the old oak coffee table.

She filled him in on the morning’s events.

‘Meu Deus, Maia. That is a great deal to take in. How are you feeling?’

‘All right, I think. Merry is totally wonderful, and how she’s coping so well in the middle of this chaos I really can’t fathom. She must be Pa’s daughter.’

‘And the diary . . . you said she mentioned Laurent Brouilly? Is it possible your Pa Salt knew him?’

‘That’s certainly what it seems to suggest, yes.’

‘Well then, what are you doing speaking to me? Why aren’t you reading?’ Floriano gestured to one of the rich blue velvet sofas in the middle of the room.

‘It might sound odd, but I’m a little nervous. What if I discover something upsetting? I don’t know, Floriano, what if it turns out Pa was some sort of international drug kingpin?’

Floriano put a hand on her lap. ‘I do understand. Although I am unsure how many international drug kingpins are admirers of the works of Shakespeare and Proust.’ He glanced around the room.

Maia sighed. ‘No, but you understand what I mean.’

‘Of course. All I can tell you is that you have walked into the darkness without a candle before, and at the end of your journey, found a light. Truly, there is never a dull moment in the D’Aplièse family.’

‘You’re right there. Do you wish you’d found someone who lived on a quiet fazenda, with four chickens, a dog and an ailing grandmother?’

Floriano laughed. ‘My dearest Maia, I would not have it any other way. Remember that it was I who encouraged you to return to the casa of the Aires-Cabrals. And it is I who now tells you that, whatever you discover in that diary, you will find peace in knowing the full circumstances of your father’s connection to Brazil. What would my readers think if I presented them with a story only half told?’ Floriano moved his hand onto Maia’s stomach, and leant in to whisper. ‘Remember, in order to have hope for the future, one must look to the past.’ Maia felt immediately reassured, her partner’s easy nature providing the tether she needed to dive back into the past once more. ‘When will we tell the others, by the way? I know you’ve discussed it with Ally, but surely your sisters will start to question why you have swapped wine for water?’

‘Gosh. I’d thought about announcing it on the trip, but now there’s so much more happening . . . Would you mind if we waited a little longer?’

‘Of course not, my dearest. I will follow your lead.’ He leant in and kissed her. ‘I am glad that our little bebê is going to know exactly who his grandfather is.’

‘His? What makes you so sure it’s going to be a boy?’

He chuckled and shrugged. ‘Sorry, I misspoke. Although, what can I say, it would be nice to have a little garoto to share the pain of supporting the Botafogo football team.’

‘Agreed. It would certainly take some of the pressure off me.’

‘Quite. Now, I imagine you wish to have the room to yourself as you begin the diary?’

‘Thank you, Floriano.’

‘Not at all. Remember that I am close by if you need me.’

He made his way through the open double doors, and closed them behind him. Maia surveyed the empty room before heading over to the sofa, pages in hand. The silence, save for the low hum of the Titan’s engines, was just what she needed to focus on the task at hand.