We left the car at the side of the road and crossed the boardwalk. The restaurant was quirky, entirely made of wood, open to the elements save for mosquito nets. Most of the tables were occupied by workers in steel-toe-capped boots and hi-vis clothing, but Joe pointed out four nuns wearing coif, wimple and veil. We found a table, ordered Coca-Cola and gazed at the flatlands through the netting while we waited for Matilde Romano.

At last we spotted her coming through the restaurant’s saloon doors. She looked around the restaurant where the manual workers were eating octopus and the four nuns were tucking into tiramisu. She didn’t spot us until I stood and raised my hand.

‘Oh, there you are!’

She trotted across to our table, taking little mousy steps, her handbag dangling from her wrist. She seemed nervous. When one of the workmen laughed loudly, she jumped and nudged the table, slopping my drink over the rim of the glass. I patted the spilled liquid with paper napkins while she apologised, and when all was calm, Joe asked: ‘Can I buy you a drink? Something to eat?’

‘I think I’d like a small brandy,’ she replied.

While Joe went to the bar, I fished in my handbag, took out the envelope containing the photographs. ‘I’ve a surprise for you, Signora Romano. Look what I found.’ I passed the envelope to her. She opened it and shook out the photographs, the pictures of the three young friends: Anna, Matilde and Gina. She spread the pictures on the table. I watched her closely, anticipating delight.

As she recognised the subjects of the photographs, her hand went to her mouth, her fingers touched her lips and the colour drained from her face.

‘They’re such lovely pictures of you all,’ I said gently.

Her mouth open and closed.

‘I expect you haven’t seen these for a long time. Do you remember when they were taken?’

‘I… I…’

‘This is a good one, this one here, you’re closer to the camera. You’re all wearing lipstick. It must have been some kind of celebration. And this one… with the puppet theatre, it’s so sweet how you’re standing together. Look, Anna’s arm is over your shoulder, and Gina…’

She pushed the pictures away.

‘I can’t look at those,’ she said, ‘not with Anna only just gone and barely cold in her grave. I can’t bear to see her face.’

‘Oh!’

‘I loved her so much! We were so close and you’re putting pictures of her in front of me without so much as a warning! Don’t you know how they make me feel? How they break my heart? I don’t know how you can be so thoughtless! So unkind!’