When they weren’t with Paulo’s parents, they spent their evenings at parties and fashionable restaurants. At weekends, they visited the Portofino Kulm Hotel, which Ginie loved because of its luxurious ­decoration and modern gadgets and the Miramare at Santa Margherita; the first grand hotel in the area to have its own beach resort. There were special car trips to Turin and Spezia.

They went on a spending spree for their villa, buying antique furniture, paintings and ornaments in silver, crystal, porcelain and majolica, a handful of modern appliances such as a freezer and a gramophone. Some of these came from Genoese and local suppliers, while others were purchased from abroad, most often from London or Paris. For a time, there was a continuous to and fro of goods, many of them difficult to transport being bulky or fragile, and the long-suffering Malerba had his hands full with complicated bureaucratic and customs transactions and transport.

Ginie tried to keep moving, so that she wouldn’t have to think too deeply about anything. She was perched at the edge of a chasm that kept threatening to open at her feet, sending her spiralling into darkness.

One morning, Ginie decided on the spur of the moment to visit her parents in Santa Margherita. It was midday by the time she got there, the sun bore down on her bare head and the shadows in their courtyard lay dense and thick. A servant opened the front door and told her that Rosa and Riccardo were out for the morning.

She decided to wait for them in her father’s study, a cool, high-ceilinged room with French doors opening onto the garden. She missed Riccardo and the room was full of him – his books, his collection of model ships, even his smell: lemon and spice.

She sat down at his desk and ran her hands over the inkstand and blotting pad. She picked up his dark blue fountain pen and twisted it in her hands. A breeze from the sea drifted in, stirring the pile of letters on his desk. She began to peruse the one on top. . . her pulse quickened as she realised it was from Malerba. She picked it up.

I would be grateful if you would confirm in writing at your earliest convenience that in addition to the dowry that has been set and paid, you have agreed to write a cheque to Marchese Paulo Spinola, annually for the next five years, for the sum of eighteen thousand lire. Payment should be made on the first day of January to the following account. . .