He checked the time. ‘It’s an hour at least to the hospital, even with sirens. They also have to admit her and get some idea of what the problem is.’ He took a bottle of wine from the rack and put it in the fridge, adding wine glasses to the table setting.

Zia sliced fresh tomatoes to toss in oil and basil to go with the bread and pasta and presently they ate at the terrace table, burning a citrus candle to discourage the evening insect attack.

‘Depending on how you look at it,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘I either haven’t known Lucia very long or I’ve known her all my life. Anyway, I’m scared for her.’ She lay a hand over her abdomen as if to indicate where her fear lay.

He took her other hand, her fingers hot and slender in his. ‘By finding her, you made her very happy. She told me about you years ago but didn’t think she’d ever see you again. It was always a sadness.’

Her eyes swam, tears spiking her lashes, but she smiled as if comforted. ‘Vicky’s friend Harry said they were all scared of her. They thought she’d create trouble by involving the Italian authorities.’

‘But you’re British,’ he pointed out. Her skin had lost the overheated feeling of this afternoon and he circled his thumb on the silky back of her hand.

‘But Mum took me from Italy,’ she returned. ‘Apparently, she was very bold.’ Then, as if she needed to fling open her mental filing cabinet and empty it, she gave more detail of the story Harry had poured into her ears. Darkness gathered. Fireflies flickered gold and the stars silver. Zia’s voice was the only sound apart from the rhythmic whirr of the cicadas. Piero found himself under the spell of her voice as she brought the chapters of her story together. She breathed life into a young Vicky as a defiant single mother in a less tolerant society, Vicky and Harry bringing up their kids in one household and later sharing the misery of Gerardo failing to love Tori as she yearned for. Her voice dropped as she talked of the psychosis that had sent Tori careering off to Italy, only to leave her baby with Lucia. Vicky snatching back Zia then arriving home to news of Tori’s death. Lucia clamouring for information. Vicky fleeing, living the lie she was Zia’s mother. Gran and Pap eventually perpetuating Vicky’s lie because telling the truth seemed too fraught with difficulties.

‘You know Lucia now. I’m sure Vicky didn’t need to be so scared,’ he murmured when she finally showed signs of winding down.

Zia nodded. ‘Perhaps grief for Tori and guilt she’d snatched me from Lucia magnified the situation and brought Vicky to desperation stakes.’ Quietly, she added, ‘I wish she hadn’t had to live with those feelings. She was a special woman. Loving and capable. Kinda quirky.’