Zia nodded but the feeling of being an unlucky black cat jinxing others washed over her again. On the stage, a man began to talk into the microphone. He introduced the mayor, who seemed young for the task, a short man with mid-length curly hair. After a short welcome he introduced the first band and the audience clapped and whistled. It was Durante’s friends’ band. Zia didn’t catch the name, boomed out in sensational style. Six musicians arrived on stage. One sat at an electric piano, one at the drums, the rest carried their instruments – saxophone, clarinet, double bass and some other kind of horn. The vocalist ran on last, a tin whistle in his top pocket.

As the jazz combo crashed, tarrum-tan-dah-dah-de-DAH, into the first number, Zia sipped wine and watched the rangy, scruffy-round-the-edges Gerardo Costa, laughing uproariously with his buddies, a beer bottle like an extension of his hand.

The bottle was swiftly emptied and exchanged for a full one. Was Gerardo always this way? Or just enjoying the festival? Piero’s words floated back to her. He’s not good at keeping a job or looking after money and doesn’t spend much on new clothes or haircuts. He has a favourite bar. She turned to Lucia. ‘What’s his job? Gerardo?’

Lucia’s lower lip tightened. After a hesitation she said, with the air of one owning up, ‘I do not think he has a job at the moment.’

‘Does he love his wife and children?’ Zia demanded.

The older woman’s face cleared. ‘He does,’ she said firmly. She paused again, obviously gathering her thoughts. ‘Gerardo is Gerardo. He’s not a bad person but he lives life on the surface. He likes the easy way.’

Slowly, Zia nodded. That fitted. ‘And his wife, Ilaria?’

Lucia smiled. ‘Oh, Ilaria, she has a manager’s job in an office and she’s a good mother, too.’ So, he liked strong women but what did strong women see in him? Ilaria obviously looked after the family and Tori had once gone to huge lengths to try and get him back.

All the nebulous feelings of curiosity and restlessness she’d experienced not just since she’d discovered her natural mother’s birth and death certificates but, to some degree, all her life, coalesced into a deep, burning need, a fierce urge to know the story of how she came about. She leaned across the table to Lucia. ‘The investigator sent me Harry’s address last night. I need to see him.’

Slowly, Lucia’s face sagged. ‘You’re leaving?’