‘Ooh, really,’ Grace said, trying to calm down. She couldn’t deny the bubble of excitement building inside her, but did she dare take – she glanced again at the boarding pass – six days off from caring for Cora to actually go away to Italy? Could she really do it? And how on earth had Jamie managed to swing it with Cora? Her mother had always absolutely refused to even discuss it whenever Grace had broached the idea of taking time off with her.

‘Yes, I’ve got a copy of Constance’s marriage certificate right here,’ Maggie said, patting her iron-grey bob and lifting a pair of glasses that were hanging on a colourful beaded chain around her neck, up on to her face, before unfolding a long piece of paper. ‘Married in January 1946, so shortly after the end of World War II. She married Giovanni di Donato in Marylebone Register Office in London.’ Maggie showed Grace the marriage certificate with the words written on in old-fashioned swirly cursive handwriting. Grace touched an index finger to it, imagining Connie doing likewise with the original certificate. ‘I wasn’t able to find a death certificate for Giovanni …’

‘Oh?’ Grace said hopefully.

‘Ah, but don’t get your hopes up as he might very well have died in Italy,’ Maggie surmised.

‘And Lara?’

‘The same, I’m afraid. If she died in Italy too, then it isn’t impossible to find out, but may take me a little longer. I’m sure you’ll be able to find out more when you visit as there’s bound to be someone there who knew Connie, and if she did take Lara to Italy after the war, then she would have gone to school, had friends, hung out in cafés eating gelato. You must leave no stone unturned, so I expect to hear that you’ve visited and sampled every gelato shop within a ten-mile radius of the powder pink villa.’ They all laughed. ‘Now, getting back to the certificate – the most interesting thing on it is Giovanni’s profession and address. See here.’ And she pointed to the piece of paper where it said that he was a soldier and living at an address in Woolwich. Repository Road, to be precise.

‘Could it be the American soldier she met at the Red Cross dance?’ Grace suggested hopefully, thinking how wonderful it would have been if Connie had found happiness to help ease her pain on being parted from Lara when she returned to London to do her bit for the war effort.

‘Yes, it very well could be,’ Maggie nodded. ‘Perhaps an Italian-American GI, given his gorgeously romantic name. They were very popular with the British women during the war,’ she chuckled saucily.

‘But hadn’t the war ended by then? If Giovanni was an American GI, then would he have still been in Britain in 1946?’ Grace checked.