Zia waved that away. ‘Wanting citizenship brought me here in the first place but it doesn’t seem so important now. I wouldn’t disrupt everybody’s lives just for the right paperwork.’ Her voice thinned as her throat constricted again. ‘I think I started out with the idea I was entitled to it, if my father was Italian. But I’ve realised that he’s a real person. His relationships, your relationships, they could all be changed and maybe ruined, if I start blabbing secrets. Especially when I don’t know what all the secrets are.’

‘But, Zia.’ Lucia’s hand continued its rhythmic, soothing movement, passing lightly over her head, smoothing back her hair. ‘What about you? What do you want and need? You will not return to England and never tell anyone but Durante and me who you are?’

Zia sighed. ‘I haven’t made that decision but I suppose I’m trying the idea out. But I don’t have to make up my mind about everything all at once, do I? I could leave my car here and get a cheap flight home for a few days. Get the train to Chichester. Less exhausting than driving both ways on my own.’

A delighted smile took over Lucia’s face. ‘Then when you’re home here again you can take time to make up your mind,’ she agreed.

Zia managed to smile back, as much over Lucia’s use of the word ‘home’ when referring to Montelibertà as at making some kind of plan. They made coffee and by the time Durante returned from the festival, puffing after his day as a roadie, Zia had booked a flight from Perugia to Stansted on the following Friday, the 16th of July. Rome-Gatwick had been an option but Lucia insisted on driving her to the airport and Perugia was half as far as Rome.

With a rush of affection, Zia hugged Lucia. ‘Thank you. I’ll work out the return journey once I know how long I need to stay.’

Lucia hugged her back. ‘If you leave your car here then you will definitely return.’

‘Oh, I’ll come back.’ And, sitting out on the terrace and drinking wine with Lucia that evening, watching the stars pop, Zia found that she was looking forward to coming back to Bella Vista before she’d even left.

Chapter Fifteen

Since the scene with Nicoletta in Piazza Lucia, everything in Piero’s life had turned to crap.

Zia was treating him like a mistake. He felt like his twelve-year-old self in California, yelping at the pain of messing up a bare-handed baseball catch. Coach Brady would cry bracingly, ‘Smarts, eh, kid? Bet you’ll be smarter next time.’ While resenting the smug play on words he’d always vowed that next time, yes, he would play smarter. But Zia was giving him no opportunity.