“I know, I know,” Filomena says soothingly. “But we must respect your father’s wishes, my dear.”

Hero’s mouth sets in a straight line. “I don’t see why, if he’s not even going to be around!” she exclaims and then she turns and stomps into the house. With a heavy sigh, Filomena follows.

“Hero!” she calls. “Hero! Wait!”

Ben and I are left standing on the steps. We don’t look at each other.

“Well,” I manage at last, clearing my throat. “It looks as though our romantic rendezvous was a bit of a disaster, doesn’t it?”

“Not at all,” Ben replies quickly. “I think it just means that I need to increase my efforts.”

“The picnic was a nice idea though,” I say encouragingly.

“Next time I’ll try and keep the swarming insects to a minimum.”

“Don’t bother on my account,” I respond cheerfully. “I would have been very happy to stay and watch.”

“You really would, wouldn’t you?” Ben rubs his neck, ruefully. “I can see I’m going to need to rethink my tactics.”

“I don’t think it’s supposed to be a military operation.”

“Oh no?” He raises an eyebrow. “Well, it’s a challenge at least and one I mean to win.” There’s a glint in his eye as he says it, one that sends a prickle of awareness down my spine. There’s also a swagger in his step as he turns and walks away.

I watch his retreating back, until he disappears around a corner, and then I sit on the steps with a sigh.

It seems that young men are going to prove even more interesting than glow-worms.

Chapter Twenty-One

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Although I would have sworn that my time in Italy could not possibly become more relaxed, it seems I was wrong. My uncle’s absence has a curious and unexpected effect on the atmosphere at the villa. Everyone seems to breathe out a little. As the days pass, melting seamlessly into one another, our tenuous grip on routine is lost completely.

“What time is it?” I ask one morning from the lounger where I am sprawled, my wide-brimmed hat pulled down low on my face. A battered copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover dangles from my fingers. Ursula gave it to me to read, saying that if I was going to take my romantic education seriously then this was the proper place to start. So far it has been quite illuminating.

“I have no idea,” Ursula murmurs from the lounger beside me. “You’re the scientist. Can’t you work it out from the position of the sun or something?”

“I can’t believe it’s so hot,” I moan, ignoring this. “How can it keep getting hotter?”