They reached the house just before five. The road brought them down into a valley where a wide river cut through, green water moving slowly beneath a stone bridge with several arches, houses nestled along the banks. The village, they understood, was very old, some of the buildings medieval, and as they followed Valentina’s instructions and turned on to the little road that travelled alongside the wall of the riverbank, they marvelled at the higgledy-piggledy nature of the houses somewhat precariously balancing against each other in alternating heights and states of disrepair.

‘It looks Photoshopped,’ Mark commented, the car slowing as they sought out the house.

‘It’s beautiful,’ Abi said, and it was.

Trees grew at a bend in the river, branches sweeping down to touch the water. A stone cross stood as a monument on one side, faced on the opposite bank by a small chapel, itself flanked by stately looking houses. Norman turrets, slate roofs, many-paned windows glinting in the sun between half-closed shutters. Something safe and wholesome and other-worldly about it all, like nothing bad could ever happen here. The knots of tension in Abi’s muscles began to ease.

The house was at the end of the lane. It rose imperiously above the bank, caught in the full orange glow of the early-evening sun. The heat hit them as they opened the car doors and climbed out. Abi felt the hot air wrapping around her bare legs and she rubbed the back of her neck and looked up at the old stonework of the house swarming with the still-green leaves of Virginia creeper. Shutters in peeling blue paint were opened to show tall casement windows, and high up in the eaves, she could hear a bird singing.

Mark was opening the boot, already looking to unpack the car, but she motioned for him to wait.

And there was Valentina at the top of the run of steps. She stood for a moment with one hand raised in welcome, the other lifting the hem of her voluminous dress to reveal dainty brown ankles over silver sandals. The dress was sky-blue, a string of large yellow beads hanging over it. With her hennaed hair piled high on top of her head, she seemed drenched in colour. There was something stately and regal in her manner, her poise, as she descended the steps slowly, her dark eyes crinkled by her broad smile and fixed on Abi as the two women approached each other. Val was small, diminutive against the backdrop of the large house. She reached up for Abi, kissing one cheek then the other, the brush of her skin soft and warm and faintly scented.

When she drew away, Val clasped both of Abi’s hands in hers, exclaiming: ‘You are here at last! It makes my heart glad to see you!’