And then later, even through her own merry state, Grace remembered him being unusually monosyllabic in the taxi back to the hotel. Or maybe it was the hare-brained way the driver had chatted on in Italian without drawing breath and gesticulating animatedly as he tore around the hairpin bends in the road, boldly close to the cliff’s edge. Grace recalled gripping the door handle so tightly that her knuckles had still been aching when she’d climbed into bed what felt like just a few hours ago. She pulled her own shades on and sipped some more water from a bottle in her hand.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said, seeing that it was almost ten past eleven on the clock on the dashboard and they had agreed to meet outside the hotel at 11 a.m. ‘It took me longer than usual to galvanise myself into action.’

‘No worries, Grace,’ Ellis said, more formally than usual, continuing to look out of the window and away from her. She pulled the seatbelt over her shoulder and wondered what was up with him. She hadn’t seen him hungover before so maybe this was just his way, detached and quiet.

‘Are you OK?’ she checked.

‘Sure. You?’ he replied, folding his arms.

‘Yes, just about. I’m not used to late nights or grappa shots, come to think of it. But I had a great time. Did you?’ she tried again.

‘Yes. A great time.’ He didn’t expand any more than that and stayed staring out of the window. Grace, not wanting anything to spoil their last whole day here, decided not to question him further, and so instead settled back in the worn leather seat and focused on admiring the view as the driver set off. She was grateful to be on the sea-view side of the car and stared, mesmerised, at the magnificence of the rugged, rocky shoreline as the taxi zipped along the costal road, imagining herself to be Audrey Hepburn in the Galaxy chocolate advert with ‘Moon River’ playing in the background. With the timeless, pastel-coloured houses coming into view and the lack of the commercial petrol stations, Costa coffee outlets and suchlike that were on every corner in London, Grace was able to imagine being back in the Fifties and to experience the view just as Connie had done when she had travelled in the open-top car to Portofino and then on to San Fruttuoso, which she wrote so beautifully about in her diary.

On arriving in Portofino, Grace stepped out of the taxi and was delighted when the driver told them they weren’t far from the main piazzetta square, just a short walk away in fact, and where the bustle of the shops and cafés were beside the water’s edge.

‘Shall we head to the harbour first?’ Grace said, keen to see if she could find the spot where Connie had been standing in the photo that had fallen out of the back of her diary. The one where she couldn’t be sure if Connie was feeling sad or shy.