The day began to pick up speed. Zia saw the Villino Il Pino guests to ask them not to bother Durante for anything they might need but to call Zia on Lucia’s phone. The departing guests from Villino Il Tasso and Villino La Quercia threw their things into their car with the resignation of those at the end of a holiday and Fiorella arrived, her gap-toothed smile absent for once and the seams of her face deepening as she clucked about Lucia. Zia had to concentrate hard to follow her Italian as she said that it was frightening how a hitherto healthy person could be attacked by mystery pain. ‘Where do these things come from?’ Fiorella demanded. ‘Why Lucia?’

Zia agreed, her eyes prickling as she thought of poor Lucia lying in a hospital bed … but also at the distress in Fiorella’s expression. The tiniest tendril of connection began to unfurl but, ruthlessly, she snipped it off. Much safer not to let those feelings develop.

When the guests from Villino La Quercia left with a toot of their car horn, Fiorella gathered fresh bed linens and towels and Zia began to strip the beds then Zia continued cleaning the cottage while Fiorella worked on the main house.

They broke for a lunch of bruschetta – mainly because the only bread was stale – then they readied Villino Il Tasso for guests, too. It was hot work but the cottage smelled pleasingly of fresh linen and kitchen spray when they’d finished.

Fiorella wiped sweat away with her overall. ‘What about your apartment?’

‘My responsibility,’ Zia assured her. ‘The guests at Villino Il Pino are only staying three days so there will be another cottage to service on Saturday.’

Fiorella looked doubtful. ‘There is a wedding in my family that day.’

An irresistible thirst for information surged through Zia. ‘How wonderful! Your close family?’

The older woman’s gappy smile flashed. ‘The daughter of Roberto’s niece. They’re to marry at the small church near our home. I haven’t bought a new dress as I have several. There are many weddings in my family.’

Zia smiled, wondering how many of those at the wedding would share Zia’s DNA. A lot, by the sound of it. ‘I’ll look after the changeover at Villino Il Pino on Saturday. Can you come again on Thursday, a week from today?’

Fiorella agreed as she gathered her things but added, sagely, ‘The garden will grow.’