‘Sorry, Bernie. But I have to go.’ And Grace did what she wished she’d had the courage to do at least a year ago, and pressed to end the conversation with her sister, Bernadette, because there was no point in trying to make her see how far removed from the reality of the situation she was. Bernie was perpetually busy, and blinkered, and convinced that her life was a trillion times more stressful, or indeed important, than anyone else’s, and that’s just the way she was. Grace doubted if Bernie would ever change; she had been like it as a child, always trying to curry favour with their mother, to be her favourite, even if it meant telling tales or defending Cora’s criticism of her siblings. But it didn’t mean Grace had to put up with it any more. So, after dropping her phone back inside her bag, she drained the last of her wine and vowed to enjoy the rest of the evening, in fact all of the time she had left here in Italy. She would call home later. But for now she was going to work on the assumption that Jamie would, as he had promised to, let her know right away if Cora really was upset by her absence.

‘Top-up?’ Ellis said, lifting the bottle of wine.

‘Oh, yes please,’ she said, gratefully, pushing her glass towards the centre of the table.

‘I see what you mean, Bernie sounded very fierce,’ Ellis said, softly.

‘Could you hear?’

‘Sure, it was hard not to with her yelling at you like that. And sorry for probing you like I did before … guess you should have ignored the call after all. You look totally ashen.’

‘Sorry,’ Grace instinctively said, her kneejerk reaction to perceived criticism born from learning early on with caring for her mother that it was the best way for an easier life.

‘Hey, don’t apologise. I shouldn’t have been a jerk and interfered. It was none of my business.’ And he shook his head apologetically.

‘You did me a favour, I think …’ Grace said, tentatively.

‘I did?’ he asked, looking baffled.

‘Yes, standing up to Bernie isn’t what I would normally do, but I actually feel better for doing so,’ she said, nodding her head in confirmation.

‘Then that’s a good thing. Want to talk about it? I promise not to interfere again,’ he said, pouring her an extra generous measure of wine.

‘I shouldn’t really, it will only ruin a perfectly lovely meal.’ She busied herself with taking a piece of rustic bread from the basket and biting into it.

‘You wouldn’t be doing that. But I knew something was up, you’ve been …’ he paused, clearly searching for the right word, before settling on, ‘different, for the whole day.’