Back at the villa, I lit a small fire and boiled water for coffee. When Joe returned, I poured hot water into a cup and passed it to him. I was holding my precious secret inside me; turning it over in my mind. I had found a place where I might be able to reach Daniel; but I couldn’t talk about it yet; especially not to Joe. It was too fragile a thing to put into words, something that might dissolve if it was scrutinised, and I didn’t want to lose it. It was best I kept it to myself.

‘Did you speak to the agent?’ I asked brightly.

‘He’s going to come out to give us a valuation. He says they can sell the villa as a job lot, with the furniture – if this woman wants the furniture.’

‘Her name is Matilde Romano and I think she probably will.’

Joe sipped his coffee. His eyes were downcast.

‘It’ll probably take a while to sort everything out,’ I said, to comfort him. ‘These things usually do. There’s no rush, is there?’

‘No. But we need to find the Madonna. I don’t care about anything else, but I promised Anna I’d find the picture.’

‘We will find it,’ I said. ‘We will.’

Joe searched the upstairs rooms that I’d already searched in case I’d missed anything, whilst I tackled the downstairs methodically. I went from room to room, lifting the dust sheets from the furniture that hadn’t yet been exposed. In the living room, I discovered a nest of mice living inside the grand piano, the babies hairless, blind, half formed, so I left them alone. I uncovered elegant sofas and one delightful and louche chaise longue upholstered in aqua velvet, the colour hardly faded at all. I found a pair of matching glass-fronted display cases tucked into alcoves in the snug and a table, its surface as glossy as oil, the patterns of the old wood as clear as if they’d been drawn onto the surface the day before. I wondered who had furnished this lovely room; who had chosen the wallpaper, a shimmering pattern of bamboo stalks and leaves in muted golds, reds and greens.