The families met at dinner in the Villa Spinola. Ugo, Paulo’s father, was large and imposing, with a spade-shaped beard and piercing blue eyes. Paulo’s mother, Solferina, had a stiff smile and thick, grey-streaked hair drawn into a chignon. Her face still held traces of past beauty: her skin, though lined, was the colour of milk; and she had fine dark brown eyes. Her clothes were cut in the latest fashion and she carried herself with grace.

Ginie went forward to kiss her, blushing and murmuring, ‘I’m so very happy to meet you.’ Solferina drew back before Ginie’s lips could touch her cheek and offered the tips of her fingers instead. Embarrassment stung Ginie like a whip, but as she watched the parents greet each other, she thought she understood; Solferina was a Marchesa, Ginie had been too hasty, too informal. She resolved to try again when they knew one another better.

They were swiftly directed to the dining room. Ginie was immediately struck by its grandeur. It was decorated in the rococo style, with gold leaf smoothed onto cornicing and doorframes and dove-grey silk walls, from which huge gilt-framed portraits of past Spinolas gazed down. The silver was huge and solid, the Murano glasses were shaped like tulips and the china had royal-blue borders engraved with the family crest. They were waited on by servants in blue and gold livery.

Rosa was overawed by the ambience and said very little. Her face was filled with an avid expectancy that made Ginie’s heart ache. They ate foie gras smothered in glossy gelatine, followed by roast guinea fowl, occasionally making inconsequential small talk about the weather, the beauty of Liguria and a threatened rise in the price of meat. The Spinolas seemed strangely reluctant to discuss the wedding.

By the time dessert came, the conversation had meandered into a number of dead ends. Ginie filled a particularly long pause by saying how pleased she was that hers wasn’t the only marriage taking place on the estate.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Ugo, puzzled.

Ginie told them she had heard about their head footman’s daughter, who had fallen pregnant by accident. Her wedding had been hastily arranged for the following month.

‘How on earth would you know?’ demanded Solferina. The small pleat between her eyebrows had deepened. Ginie bit into a velvety, succulent-looking peach.

‘Oh, your servants tell me all sorts of things,’ she said, wiping juice from her lips. ‘They know I’m a sympathetic listener.’

A heavy silence fell. Ugo, smiling imperturbably, turned to Riccardo.

‘I am sure that Ginie will enhance the House of Spinola with her beauty and her, uh, liveliness.’ He cleared his throat, the smile fading. ‘But as you know, we are an old family, and we keep to certain traditions and codes of behaviour. Reserve with the servants is one of them.’