They spent the remainder of the day sharing the details of their lives, holding up memories and incidents for the other to discover. He told her about his restaurant in Cape Town, how successful it had been and how he could not bear to walk into the place after his family had gone. He had known, even in the first numbing moments of his loss, that he must leave it and go away if he was to remain sane. For a time he had drifted, returning to his family in Tuscany. But last year he had come across an ancient building in the countryside close to Siena, and he had bought and restored it. Now it was gaining a reputation for hospitality and fine cooking.

‘It is a way of passing the time,’ he said, shrugging. ‘Maybe one day I will turn the rest of it into a small hotel. For now, it is a way to get through my life, and that is all I need to think about.’

The days passed swiftly, and she spent them mostly with Mario, not caring what anyone else thought, grasping the allure of this wonderful man who understood her needs, and tried to anticipate her every wish. Sergio was anxious, she knew. But he did not press her to discuss the situation, and it was clear that Elena was not critical of the affair. Lottie had never dreamed that she could be unfaithful to her husband, but when Mario kissed her and began to caress her she drew him into her with a passion that was thrilling, and she could not look beyond the moments of their lovemaking, or think of what might happen in the future. It was as if she had been transported to another existence and she hardly knew herself. A surge of initial guilt was swept away in the relief and joy of being a desirable woman once more.

Five days later they were lying in Mario’s hotel bed, sated and half sleeping, when the telephone rang. It was like the force of a hurricane, ripping apart the fragile structure of her happiness.

‘Carlotta.’ It was Sergio, and his voice was grave. ‘There’s been a phone call from Rhodesia. Jan’s cousin, Kobus.’

She sat very still, the sheet draped across her breasts, the receiver clutched in her hand.

‘There was an ambush. Jan has been injured. They took him to the hospital in Bulawayo several days ago, but they did not know where to find you.’

‘How bad is it?’ She found herself whispering for no reason. Mario was sitting up, his hand in the small of her back, supporting her, watching her with concern.

‘He had a head wound that became infected. Turned into blood poisoning. He’s very ill. I don’t know what you want to do. But if you feel you should go, I can book you on a flight tomorrow morning.’