Their eyes met unpleasantly. If Paulo had wanted his freedom and been prepared to look for work elsewhere, Ginie would have sacrificed the allowance. But she couldn’t galvanise him into action and give up her comfortable life – she wasn’t strong enough for both. So she said nothing and watched him carry on with his preparations, noticing small tics she felt she should have noticed before. As he straightened his tie, his hands shook slightly. It seemed a sign of weakness, that tremor. He was checking his reflection in the mirror. Surely, it wasn’t manly to care so much about your appearance? She wondered bleakly if she had been deluding herself. He left, kissing her on the forehead.

A dove called in the garden, a lonely sound. Another dove murmured throatily in return. Ginie stretched both arms above her head and wondered how to fill the vacant hours ahead of her. They were dining with Ugo and Solferina that evening, but she had nothing to do until then. They saw Paulo’s parents for supper two or three times a week and went to mass with them on Sundays. Before her marriage, Ginie had imagined the world of the Genovese nobility was full of wonders, but the reality was very different. She hadn’t simply married Paulo, but a whole family.

She could hear Elena, her maid, go into the bathroom and begin tidying up. Elena used to be Solferina’s personal maid, but Solferina had insisted that she look after Ginie now. Elena was a tiny old woman with shrewd dark eyes and a face so lined, it looked as if someone had drawn a road map of Italy on her cheeks. Ginie heard her click her tongue and wondered if she had seen the sanitary towels in the rubbish basket. Ginie harboured a growing suspicion that Elena was spying on her. No doubt she would report back to Solferina that another month had passed without sign of the eagerly anticipated Spinola heir.

Anger and shame bubbled in Ginie’s stomach. With the elder brother, Franco, away at sea and showing no inclination to settle down, the pressure of producing a child to carry on the noble name had fallen squarely on her and Paulo. Pouff, their black poodle, came into the room and nuzzled into her side, wanting her to get up. She stroked his woolly head and told him she’d be up soon, while he gazed at her with human eyes. It was still early days, she assured herself. Nobody would suspect anything was wrong with her yet. She had time to work out what to do.