Rocked by a wave of regret at the desolation in the voice of the woman she’d begun to hold in deep affection, the idea of leaving her and this beautiful place made her throat stiff with tears. ‘I don’t know!’ She felt as if her feelings had been ripped from her and flung on the ground for everyone to trample on. To her horror, her facial muscles gave an involuntary spasm and a sob wrenched itself from her throat. It was such an ugly, alien sound that everyone at nearby tables swung around. Snatching up her napkin, she buried her face in its folds, biting back the convulsions.

Vaguely, she was aware of Lucia calling for the bill and explaining that her friend was feeling ill. In a daze of grief, Zia let Lucia take her by the hand like a child and lead her away from the playing band and clapping people to where they’d left the car. Ten minutes later, they were back at Bella Vista and Zia was curled in a corner of a squashy sofa in the coolness of the salon, eyes swollen, vision blurry, throat aching, sipping iced water and trying to calm down.

‘Sorry,’ she sniffled. ‘I never go to bits like that.’ She blew her nose, dismayed at the boiling tears still lurking at the backs of her eyes, ready to gush out again if she didn’t force them back. Knowing she’d upset Lucia, she hiccupped a laugh. ‘What a drama queen. If you want to go back to the festival—’

‘No.’ Lucia stroked her hand, her silver-streaked hair waving around her concerned face. ‘I would not enjoy leaving you so …’ She gestured to Zia’s face, presumably blotchy and puffy from the tear storm.

Zia’s breathing began to even out as she sipped water and groped for logic. ‘I feel torn. I love it here but I need to get answers from my mother’s – from Vicky’s – old friend.’

‘Write to him,’ pronounced Lucia with the air of one solving a puzzle. Then she sighed. ‘But I remember this Harry. He is good at keeping secrets, I think.’

‘Yeah. My instinct is to see him in person.’ Zia wiped away a tear with the back of her hand.

Lucia stroked her hair back. ‘You could go, then return here.’

Throat constricting once more, Zia nodded. ‘If that would be OK,’ she said, half-shyly. ‘I don’t have a job to go home to at the moment. To spend a nice long time in Italy would be wonderful.’

‘You still want the Italian passport?’