He frowned. “Let us hope that we British can put up a jolly good fight and make sure Hitler does not invade. Mr Churchill has taken over now, you know. He’s not a namby-pamby like that lily-livered Chamberlain. If he’d been in power all along, maybe we would have stopped Hitler in his tracks before Poland. Although maybe not.” He shrugged. “The little blighter has been dreaming of world domination for years. Building up a mighty army. But we English have more grit and stamina than the Germans. Hitler won’t find us easy to conquer, I can assure you.”

“I hope you are right,” I said. “Can I make you a cup of tea?”

“Very kind of you.” He took a seat in one of my armchairs. “That’s something you won’t be able to find much longer,” he said. “They are instituting strict rationing here, and you’ll not get a ration card. Besides, Italians don’t drink tea, and the British expatriates have nearly all left.”

I went to put a kettle on. “And what will happen to you, now that we’re at war?” I asked.

A spasm of pain crossed his face. “Ah, that’s the problem. I’ve been recalled as of today. I’m to go across Spain to Portugal, where an aircraft will take me home.” He looked at me with kindness. “I wish I could take you with me, but I can’t. So I have an ulterior motive for visiting you, apart from saying goodbye. I wondered if you’d care to work for your country?”

When I looked surprised, he went on, “What I have to say from now on is all top secret, and you must sign a document to verify this.” He reached into his pocket and put a sheet of paper on my table. “Are you prepared to sign?”

“Before I know what is entailed?”

“I’m afraid so. That’s how it works in wartime.”

I glanced across at Angelo’s cot. “I have a baby,” I said. “He’s my first responsibility. I can’t be a spy or run messages for you. I couldn’t leave him or take that kind of risk.”

“Of course not,” he said. “You wouldn’t have to leave your own home. I think you’d be quite safe. And you’d be doing a great service to your country.”

I hesitated, staring at him, then walked over to the table. “I suppose there is no harm in signing. I can still say no to what you propose?”

“Oh, absolutely.” He sounded far too cheerful.

“Very well, then.” I scanned the document, noting that betraying the trust could result in prison or death. Hardly reassuring. But I signed. He took it back and slipped it inside his jacket.

“You have a fine view here, Miss Browning,” he said.

“I know. I love it.”

“And I understand you own this place.”