The contessa patted her knee. “No need for that. A favour for his dear sister. Nothing too threatening. Just a gentle warning that your ex-husband needs to do the right thing.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Caroline said.

“You can say thank you.” The contessa smiled. “Luca is fond of you, you know. I haven’t seen him so animated since . . .” She looked up. “I hope something comes of it. I’d like a daughter-in-law I could chat to without worrying about making a grammatical error.”

After Luca’s mother had gone, Caroline stood in the window, thinking about what she had said. Luca was fond of her. Her hand moved idly over the desk. Such a beautiful piece—could she have it shipped back to England, or would she keep it here, to admire when she came on holiday? And how often would that be? Was she foolish to think that Luca’s interest was anything other than passing? But she would keep the flat, at least for now. It would be her escape, her bolthole and her little nest egg.

She examined the desk, wondering how big it was and whether it would fit into her room at Granny’s house. It was actually quite deep. She paused, frowning. That was interesting, because the sketchbooks had taken up most of a drawer. She pulled open the drawer and measured it. About eighteen inches, but the desk was definitely more than two feet.

“I wonder . . .” She tapped on the back of the desk and heard a hollow sound. Excited now, she took out the drawer, then removed the other drawers. And behind one of them was a panel that slid back and a tiny keyhole. She rushed to find the small silver key, placed it in the keyhole, turned it and the hidden section slid open. Trembling with excitement, she reached inside and pulled out a thick notebook and then a folder. The first, it seemed, was a diary. The second contained more of Juliet’s drawings. Why were these hidden away when so many others were in plain sight? She carried both items over to a chair, opened the diary and started to read.

It was several hours later when she telephoned Luca. “I’ve found my great-aunt’s diary,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion. “Can you come over? I want you to read it. It’s important. It concerns you, too.”

He came, an hour later.

“You’ve been crying.” He reached out to brush a tear from her cheek.

Caroline nodded. “It’s so sad, and the worst thing is that we don’t know what happened.”

“What do you mean?”

“The diary leaves off after Angelo is taken.”

“Taken?”