She dropped a backpack by the kitchen door as she joined him. ‘That’s the guests sorted.’ She looked less shaken now, as if the small task had settled her down. She washed her hands then checked the oven. ‘Good job someone’s organised.’ After giving him a hug, she took out plates and cutlery, evidently taking it for granted that they’d dine together, then emptied the dishwasher and refilled it while Piero wiped down surfaces. Presumably Fiorella hadn’t been in for a couple of days and Durante, preoccupied with Lucia, had let chores slip.

Zia paused to sigh. ‘I wonder when Durante will let us know what’s happening.’

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.