“It is actually.” I pause to observe the ant that has just landed on the back of my hand. “The nuptial flight is when the young queens all leave the nest to strike out on their own and start new colonies. They mate with the smaller male ants in the air.” I look up at the throng. “The male ants live for just a day or two after the flight – their only job is to mate with the new queens.” I smile at him. “As with so much of nature it all comes down to sex.”

Ben grabs my hand, dragging me away from the swarm, and in the direction of the villa.

“Maybe we should stay and watch,” I say. “It only happens one day a year.”

“Being attacked by a hoard of Hymenopteras was not high on my list of romantic activities,” he grumbles.

“You are using that word wrong,” I point out.

“This experiment is going to be a disaster if you won’t take it seriously,” Ben says crossly. “You’ve got the romantic soul of a … a … plank.”

“That is very unfair!” We are a safe distance from the ants and I pull my arm out of his grip. “And,” I add, “if you think that poetry is going to work on me then you’re wrong. Why were you waving your arms around like that?”

“It’s called emotion,” Ben says, giving me a dark look. “It’s usually something that women appreciate.”

By the time we arrive back at the villa we have settled into silence. We are greeted on the terrace by Filomena and Hero.

“Ah,” Filomena exclaims. “There you are! Your uncle was looking for you, Bea. I’m afraid he has had to go to Milan for a short time on business. He wanted to say goodbye, but we couldn’t find you.”

Although we haven’t been doing anything wrong, I notice with interest that Ben flushes a little at this.

“We went for a picnic,” I say, at the same time that Ben says, “We were having an art lesson.”

Filomena’s amused glance takes in both of us. “I see.”

“At least you managed to avoid getting covered in paint this time, Bea,” Hero says. “You must be improving. Not a speck of paint anywhere, in fact.”

There’s a pause.

“I think I’m getting better,” I agree at last.

“She’s certainly … trying,” Ben says. “In every sense of the word,” he adds quietly, so that only I can hear him.

I choose to ignore this. “How were your lessons, Hero?” I ask. I immediately realize this was a mistake as my cousin unleashes a rather disjointed rant about Signora Giuliani and her various shortcomings both as an instructor and as a human being. From the pained look in Filomena’s eyes, I suspect that she has heard this already.

“She’s just so awful!” Hero finishes. “Awful!”