From the moment Salvatore had revealed her meddling, Graziella had sat frozen and pale. Now, giving Salvatore a jerky nod, she stumbled to her feet and from the room.

After the door closed behind her, Salvatore sighed, slumping in his chair as if the past couple of minutes had knocked the stuffing out of him. ‘This is difficult. She’s acted badly and tried to make me a puppet but I should have been paying attention. I apologise and I won’t let it happen again. But …’ His hands rose and his eyes softened. ‘If you don’t object too much, I don’t want to end the relationship. She had a fixed vision of our joint future and I don’t think she saw much wrong with taking a shortcut to achieve it. She was selfish but it’s not as if she was trying to pocket our money.’

Another silence. The vineyard tractor roared into the yard outside and paused, its engine idling. Piero smiled to take any sting from his next words. ‘I think she’ll always want to spend your money for you.’

His father half-smiled in return. ‘And if I’m a stupid old man who chooses to indulge his younger girlfriend with trips to the Azores then that’s my business. My sons will already have extracted their fortune from Tenuta Domenicali.’

Emiliano nodded. ‘Your decision.’

Piero agreed, adding, ‘But you’re not a stupid old man. You care for her.’

Salvatore gave a short laugh, his moustache turning up at the ends. ‘I’ll speak to the agent now, while you’re both present, and agree that any of the three of us can communicate with them.’ But no one else hung in the air. Although none of them said it.

They completed the transaction on speaker and Salvatore left the office for the day, presumably to have a difficult conversation with Graziella. Neither Piero nor Emiliano saw either of them for the rest of the day but both of their cars remained outside the house.

Emiliano buried himself in the cellars and Piero only sought him out to say goodbye for the day, finding him as subdued as Salvatore had been earlier, perhaps sampling the hollow feeling that came from facing losing something you loved. Fatigued by tension and upheaval, Piero drove home with the air conditioning blasting as if it could soothe his heavy heart.

He parked his car and made for the gap in the cypress trees, bound for Bella Vista. Did he hope to see Zia? Part of him tingled at the prospect but part simply yearned for a beer and a grumble with his friends. When he climbed up onto the terrace he found Durante alone, in the shade, a crossword book in his hands, a pair of gold-rimmed glasses on the end of his nose, one foot elevated and bound in a wet tea towel.

Piero regarded the foot. ‘What’s up?’