For unknown reasons, some hair resisted the Lanfredis’ secret formula. Most strands would be immersed in the pans and emerge milky white, ready to be dyed anew, but a few would retain their original colour. These rebel hairs posed a very real problem: it was unthinkable for a client to find a rogue black or brown hair in a meticulously dyed skein of blond. The delicate task fell to Giulia, with her very sharp eyes: she would sort the hairs, one by one, and weed out the stubborn individualists. It was a merciless, meticulous witch-hunt, pursued day after day.

Paola’s voice interrupted her reverie.

‘Mia cara, you look tired. You’ve been up all night reading again.’

Giulia didn’t bother to deny it. There was nothing you could hide from Paola. The old lady was the doyenne of the workforce. Everyone called her La Nonna. She had known Giulia’s father when he was a boy, and liked to tell everyone how she used to tie his shoelaces for him. From the vantage point of her seventy-five years, there was nothing she did not see. Her hands were worn, her skin was wrinkled like parchment, but her eyes were still piercingly sharp. Widowed at twenty-five, she had raised four children alone, refusing ever to remarry. When asked why, she would say she cherished her freedom: a married woman was accountable, she said. Do whatever you like, mia cara, she would tell Giulia, but above all, never marry. She often talked about her marriage, to a man chosen by her father. Her future husband’s family were lemon-growers. La Nonna was made to work gathering the fruit, even on her wedding day. There was no rest in the countryside. She remembered the smell of lemons, forever on her husband’s hands and clothes. When he died of pneumonia only a few years later, leaving her alone with four children, she was forced to move to the town and look for work. That was when she met Giulia’s grandfather, who hired her for his workshop. Five decades had passed, and she was still employed there.

‘You won’t find a husband in a book!’ Alda told Giulia, laughing.

‘Leave her in peace,’ grumbled La Nonna.