Back in the car, Joe passed the document wallet to me and I held it on my lap.

‘I told the lawyer we wanted to sell the villa,’ he said. ‘He’s going to put us in touch with an agent, but he’s already had an enquiry from someone interested in buying it.’

‘Do you know who?’

‘Some friend of the family.’

Joe reached for his seat belt and pulled it across his body.

‘So, it shouldn’t take too long?’ I asked.

‘No.’

‘And you’ll get the money you need.’

‘Yes.’

‘What are you going to do with it?’ I asked. He’d been evasive last time the subject was raised and I wondered if he was intending to spend the money impressing a new partner or something similar. His answer surprised me.

‘I want to help young addicts.’

‘Oh?’

‘To give them the skills they need to set themselves up for work. Practical skills, I mean: garden design, landscaping, that kind of thing.’

‘Sounds great,’ I said, and it did, and it was great that Joe was going to use his inheritance for the good, but of all the disadvantaged young people he could have helped, why had he chosen addicts? Well, I knew why obviously, but it irked me nonetheless. I couldn’t help feeling badly about it.

‘So, is that it?’ I asked, to change the subject. ‘Are we done now? Can I go home?’ I’d bought an open ticket, not knowing how long I’d be in Sicily, but the prospect of returning so quickly was enticing.

‘There’s still stuff that needs doing.’

‘What stuff?’

‘The contents of the villa…’ He glanced to me. ‘We need to decide what to keep and what to sell.’

‘You can do that,’ I said. ‘They’re your family’s possessions.’

Joe started the engine and lowered the windows.

‘Some of it’s quite valuable,’ he said, ‘and half of it belongs to you.’

I detected a note of bitterness in that observation and replied quickly: ‘I don’t want anything.’ Certainly nothing that used to belong to Anna. ‘You decide what to do with it. You’ll know what to keep.’

Joe took off the handbrake and manoeuvred the car out of its spot. As we moved, a flock of sparrows fluttered out of the tree; tiny shadows flickered over my arms and face. Behind us, Ragusa’s walls basked in the golden glow of the lowering sun.

‘There’s a particular painting,’ Joe said. ‘Anna meant to take it to the bank last time she was in Sicily, but she never got round to it. It haunted her.’

‘The painting? Why?’

‘She’d promised her mother she’d look after it.’

‘Is it valuable?’

‘I don’t know,’ Joe said. ‘It’s old.’

‘I’m sure it’ll be okay,’ I said.

‘Yeah,’ replied Joe. ‘Let’s hope so.’