‘You’re a good girl, tesoro mio,’ Nonna Maria said to Georgie, ‘and you are my favourite,’ before shooting another look in Tom’s direction. He just shrugged and smiled, as if he was used to being continually chastised by his grandmother and took it all in his stride. ‘Take your pick of my rugs when I die! And don’t let the vultures beat you to it.’ And then Grace realised that Nonna Maria was actually tipsy; she was slurring her words and almost toppling over in her seat … and she didn’t give a damn.

‘Oh, Nonna, come on, less of that talk. I don’t want your rugs, not when I’d rather have you.’ And Georgie patted Nonna Maria’s arm affectionately.

‘Nonna, you were talking about Gio.’ Tom surreptitiously smiled at Grace as if to telepathically tell her they’d be here all day at this rate …

‘Yes. They took him away from Connie. To punish her.’

‘Why?’ Tom said.

‘Because Connie was a Jew and they were Catholics. But worse than that … she was the mother of a bastard child born out of wedlock. When Gio fell in love with Connie, his father, of the wealthy Donato dynasty, was running for office, to be a US senator, and the scandal of his son marrying a Jew with an illegitimate child would ruin his chances. This was the Forties. Everything was different then,’ she clarified, shaking her head. ‘Not like today when a woman can go to a clinic to pick a father for her baby and we are all happy for her. A baby is always a gift!’ she declared passionately, before leaving them all to ponder on this thought while she took a long drag of her cigarette and exhaled another smoke ring away from the table and up into the air above her head. ‘That’s why they come here, to Italia. Gio was banished with his new bride. And because he was an artist. Not a lawyer like his father wanted him to be. The pink villa was the sweetener, somewhere to hide them away like a dirty family secret.’

‘Sweetener?’ Grace ventured, feeling intimidated, but in awe too of Nonna Maria.