The two women, who had in fact bought an apron for her, pretended to be surprised and embarrassed.

‘You didn’t think of us then?’

Bachisia gave a shriek of laughter but, when her daughter went on looking chastened, the older woman grew serious again.

‘We never gave you a thought. But Giovanna will let you see some of the things we bought.’

Giovanna got up, lit the candle, and went into the next room. Brontu followed her with burning eyes, and Martina thought she had gone to fetch the present. Several minutes passed but Giovanna did not return.

‘What are you doing in there?’ demanded Brontu.

‘Nothing.’

Another minute passed.

He got to his feet. ‘I’m going to see,’ he said.

‘No, don’t,’ Bachisia mumbled, but Martina turned to her. ‘Ssh,’ she said.

Brontu tiptoed through the door. Giovanna stood before the open chest, reading a letter that she had found pushed under the door. It was from Costantino. In rough simple language he begged Giovanna for the last time not to do what she was about to. Reminding her of the long gone days of their love, he promised to return, swearing his innocence. ‘If you don’t pity me,’ he ended, ‘pity yourself, your own soul, think of the mortal sin, think of eternity.’

Porredda’s words, her very words. Isidoro must have delivered the letter, for it was a long time since Giovanna had had direct news from the prisoner. Tears filled her eyes, more perhaps at the thought of the past than of eternity. Suddenly she heard the door open and someone enter softly. Quickly she bent down and, with trembling hands and misted eyes, pretending to rummage in the cupboard. When Brontu came up behind her and grasped her by the shoulders, she trembled all over.

‘What are you doing?’ he murmured hoarsely.

‘Oh, I was just looking for the apron we bought for your mother. I don’t know where I put it. Leave me alone. Leave me alone.’ She tried to free herself from his eager arms. As she turned she saw Brontu’s teeth gleaming between his smiling red lips, glossy as cherries, and she closed her eyes as if hiding from the temptation to kiss him. Then she felt his hand behind her head and his lips fierce as fire found her own.

‘We aren’t thinking of eternity,’ she said fearfully, as they drew apart.

They went back to the kitchen, and soon Giovanna was laughing again with the fresh pure laugh of a young girl, while Brontu looked at her with the special expression he had when he was drunk.

Winter passed. Costantino’s friends went on plotting as the ill-starred marriage had not yet taken place. But the Dejas and the Eras seemed driven by fate. They were unyielding, and neither prayers, threats, nor gossip could move them.