Lucia kept her attention on the table she was dusting but Zia felt she was acutely aware of the conversation, and bore any discomfort Zia and Fiorella being together might cause her stoically. By the time the cottage was ready for its next guests, Zia had decided Fiorella was a likeable old lady, free with her opinions and open in her curiosity about others.

For most of the week that followed, Zia worked on the apartment. She painted the walls and visited a homeware store on the edges of Montelibertà for yellow curtains, white bed clothes, a shower curtain, crockery and cutlery. She oiled the hinges on the terrace door so it no longer squawked in protest when opened. Durante produced an old table with two chairs from an outbuilding. Zia painted them green and arranged them at ‘her’ end of the terrace. It made her happy to think the setting up of her temporary home would help Lucia and Durante when the time came for them to let the apartment out next summer.

The property management company where she’d interviewed on that first day emailed to ask whether she’d yet established her right to work in Italy. Feeling guilty she’d misled them into thinking she’d even begun an application to live, and therefore work, in Italy, she replied that she’d made no progress so couldn’t take the job if offered. Then she turned her hand to fitting a blind of green leafy fabric at the kitchen window.

Zia knew through an ecstatic call and a series of texts that Ursula had removed her things from Zia’s flat in the New Steine and was cosily re-established in her own terraced house up near Brighton race course with Stephan. She rang again on Wednesday evening and Zia took the call on the terrace, her feet up on the railings, watching the sun set fire to the mountaintops as they talked. ‘I’m surprised you have time to ring me,’ Zia teased.

Ursula giggled. ‘I haven’t forgotten you but I am kinda taken up with my own stuff. My man here’s even buying me gifts.’

Zia heard the rumble of a male voice and Ursula giggled louder. ‘Well,’ she clarified, ‘it’s all sexy lingerie so they’re joint presents, really. Anyways, are you missing me?’

‘I am,’ Zia agreed, wistful despite the joy in Ursula’s voice. ‘Having lived together since March I got used to your ugly mug.’

Ursula dropped her voice, making it hollow and mysterious. ‘And have you heard from the private investigator? Or met Gerardo?’