‘It’s the oldest story in the world, Clotilde. Dangerous Liaisons, you remember, the book you were reading on your bench, in the Port de Stareso, opposite the Aryon? Your mother was playing with me, she used me because she loved someone else … and like a total fool I didn’t realise what was happening, I fell for it completely. Palma was very charming, she had class, she was interested in my project, she was an architect, she had concrete ideas. I almost believed that we would be able to make it happen together. I felt that there was some kind of bond forming between us. When in fact …’

It was my turn to scour the beach. No buried jewel, only cigarette butts, beer bottles and perhaps some condoms if you dug the sand a little deeper.

‘When in fact,’ Natale went on, ‘that bond was really between you and me … not with Palma, with you. I think that mattered too.’

Clotilde reached out for Natale’s hand, grabbed it in mid-air and pulled him towards her so that he spun round until he was facing her. After all, if the carnival was over, if they were throwing their masks into the sea …

‘Fantasising about the mother while letting the daughter fantasise about you was a slightly twisted plan, don’t you think?’

‘No, Clotilde. Of course not. You were a stunning fifteen-year-old, even if you looked barely thirteen. But there was no ambiguity there. Absolutely none. It’s just that I’d guessed.’

‘Guessed what?’

His foot rummaged in the sand, embarrassed. Adorably embarrassed.

‘I’d guessed what you would become, over time. A girl steeped in imagination, a lively and intelligent girl, effervescent, a wonderful girl who would devour life. A girl who, even when she was older, would look at it through the same glasses as I did.’

A faraway voice echoed in Clotilde’s head. ‘We’re the same, you and me, Clotilde. Fishers of dreams against the rest of the world.’

‘But I was ten years too old, Clotilde, that’s no small thing, ten years … for us, it meant two curves that were already crossing, yours rising towards the peak of your seductive charm, and my own that was already beginning to tumble.’

‘Stop!’

He bent over suddenly, as if to escape her arms.

‘Stop it, Natale. Stop blackening everything. Stop destroying yourself. You know very well that …’

He stood back up without letting her finish. Between his thumb and his index finger he was holding a silver ring.

‘Is it yours?’

Incredible!

Magic. Pure magic.

‘Thank you.’

You should never fight against magic, Clotilde thought. It brings bad luck. Her thoughts suddenly fell into place, like the enchanted wrinkles on Natale’s face.

It was so obvious. Kiss him.

Just one kiss. To honour a twenty-seven-year-old contract.

Just one kiss to put to rest a twenty-seven-year-old ghost.

Just one kiss, then that’s it.