“Look,” he said, glancing at his watch, “it is lunchtime. I should get something to eat. I have a busy afternoon ahead.”

“That’s all right,” she replied. “I will take my document to the city hall and find the right department to verify its authenticity.”

“To what?” His English had been remarkably good so far, but this stumped him.

“Whether it still belongs to my aunt and therefore to me.”

“Ah,” he said. “Would you not care to join me for lunch?”

This threw her off guard. “What would your employer say about taking a lady to lunch when you should be working?” she asked.

This made him smile, completely changing his face. He was younger than she had thought, and the smile had a sort of cocky confidence. “Ah, well, you see, I am Luca Da Rossi. I have just taken over the running of this company from my father.”

“Congratulations,” she said.

“I am not so sure about that. I fear I have inherited a big headache.” He paused. “You know my name, but I do not know yours.”

“Caroline,” she said. “Caroline Grant.”

“So, Caroline Grant, you will come to have lunch with me?”

She hesitated and wanted to say, “Are you trying to soften me up?” but instead she nodded graciously. There was no sense in having the owner of the building as an enemy. “Thank you,” she said. “I was beginning to feel hungry.”

Caroline locked the door behind her as they came down the stairs. She was already feeling possessive about the lovely space above. Now she could see why Aunt Lettie loved it here. They went down the three flights of stairs in silence and came out into blustery rain. Luca Da Rossi opened the umbrella he had retrieved from beside the front door.

“Come under,” he said. “I know a little place around the corner. Not far.”

Feeling awkward, Caroline allowed him to hold the umbrella over her. She was conscious of his shoulder touching hers. The wind was driving the rain so forcefully that the umbrella didn’t protect them very well. They were both damp and windswept by the time he steered them into a small trattoria. Once inside, he helped her off with her mac and hung up his own overcoat. Having been in the fashion industry, she noticed the label. Armani. Very expensive. Apparently Luca was well known and was shown to the table in the window by a large, florid man with a moustache. A quick exchange happened in something that didn’t even sound like Italian, then the man disappeared and came back with a bottle of white wine.

“Oh, I don’t think I should drink at lunchtime,” Caroline protested.

“But everybody drinks at lunchtime. Why else would there be a riposo ?” He laughed. “The patron tells me that he has good fritto misto today. You like?”

“I’ve never tried it. But I’m happy to.”