‘Yes, she did!’ Grace suddenly remembered. ‘She wrote about her new friend … a beautiful, vivacious Italian woman called Cristal.’

‘Ah, that’s Connie, always with a compliment. But where did she go?’ Nonna Maria said vaguely, gently tracing an index finger over the screen. Silence followed. Grace wasn’t sure if this meant that Nonna Maria didn’t know her friend had died. She could feel them all looking at her.

‘I’m very sorry … she …’ Grace started, but faltered on seeing Tom quickly shake his head.

‘Nonna, you told me she went to London, remember?’ Tom intervened, and Grace inwardly sighed with relief, for it was true: Connie had gone to London … when she’d left Italy. Maybe Nonna Maria didn’t need to know that her friend had since moved on to a permanent place of rest.

‘Ah, yes. When Gio died,’ Nonna Maria sighed. ‘Such a handsome, charismatic man, so young at heart and so full of life. Practically a boy, but the heart, it stopped beating. Just like that!’ she tutted, clicking her fingers dramatically. ‘But he adored Connie … until those bastards took him from her.’

‘What do you mean, Nonna? Who took him?’ Tom prompted tactfully, as Nonna Maria pulled a packet of long, thin cigarettes from her bag and lit one up. After tilting her head, she puffed a regal smoke ring up into the air, turned to Grace and told her.

‘When Gio died, his relatives couldn’t wait to drag his body back to the family plot in their private cemetery in America. Connie had no say in the matter and I tried to get her to fight but she was far too broken with the grief. They had worn her down. They never liked her.’ Nonna Maria pulled a face of disgust.

‘Why was that?’ Ellis said.

‘Where is your ice cream?’ Nonna Maria replied, tapping the table in front of Grace. ‘Get the girl her ice cream,’ she added, just as Georgie returned carrying two cups and spoons.

‘Sorry about the wait.’ Georgie grinned amiably, before sitting down next to Nonna Maria. ‘It’s crammed in there, but so worth it … wait till you try this gelato.’ And she placed a cup in front of Grace that contained a gloriously peach-fragranced swirl of creamy loveliness.

‘Thank you,’ Grace said, unable to resist scooping a spoonful into her mouth right away. The taste was sensational, of fresh, juicy peaches with a hint of warm cinnamon and vanilla, reminiscent of a peach cobbler with custard. Grace could see why it was Nonna Maria’s favourite. Hers too now.