A woman stood at the top of the stone steps that fronted the villa’s main entrance. Her height was dwarfed by the broad building behind her and a bell tower that rose dramatically into the sky. The tower was squared at the edges and built to an open balcony at the top. The woman was following the movement of the carts eagerly. She held herself confidently and shouted to the workmen.

‘Branco, make sure you get all the grapes into the store! We cannot risk leaving them out tonight, for I feel a frosty bite in the air.’

The overseer doffed his broad hat and turned back to the task, heaving a basket of grapes out of one of the carts and trudging towards the storage barn on the opposite side of the courtyard.

Livia stood close to Luna’s side. ‘Go, go, Leonarda,’ she whispered urgently. ‘Greet your hostess.’

Luna took a deep breath, steadying her step as she went up the stairs; she was still a Fusili. The lady wore a woollen dress, unadorned and plain. Her hair was the colour and thickness of a barn owl’s winter feathers and was tied back with a simple length of twine. She was framed by the broad stone archway of the entrance doors and the ochre tiles on the roof set a painter’s touch to the image. Luna came to a standstill in front of her.

‘Good morrow, Signorina Fusili.’ The woman smiled and as she did, Luna saw delicate lines wrinkling from the edges of her eyes. ‘Forgive our activity.’ She jerked her head in the direction of the courtyard and as if in answer, a rowdy cheer broke out as the last basket was unloaded. ‘We’d hoped to get the harvest in before you arrived, though I’m sure you’re used to bedlam, coming from the city.’

She spoke with an easy familiarity that Luna was not used to. In Florence there’d always been a sense of fear around stepping outside the strict order of social manners; her parents worried about the judgement of others. But even in this small exchange, Luna sensed this lady had no such qualms. Her eyes creased again when Luna suddenly remembered to curtsey.