‘Buongiorno,’ she replied. It was a shock seeing him when almost two weeks ago, after listening to the damning things Harry had had to say, she’d made the decision not to interact with him. And now … was there a meaningful glint in his eyes as if he were recognising some connection between them? She tried to shake off the fanciful notion but her smile felt stiff as her inner voice told him: Yeah, here I am, buddy. You wanted me gone but I made it without you and I’m doing fine.

She addressed herself to Fiorella, leaving it to Durante whether Gerardo was there as an affectionate nephew or paid labourer. ‘OK, we’ll leave your son to the weeding. Let’s begin Villino Il Tasso.’ She fished the key to Tasso from her pocket and grabbed the caddy of cleaning equipment but her heart took up an unpleasant rhythm as if it didn’t know what it was meant to be feeling. She’d developed a shy liking for Fiorella, the woman she was coming around to mentally labelling ‘grandmother’, but Gerardo? She couldn’t attach to him at all.

Energetically making up beds while Fiorella squirted bleach in the kitchen, her mind wouldn’t leave him alone. Maybe he had caught on to who she might be. Her skin and hair were right for a British-Italian and even a man who hadn’t wanted anything to do with his baby would probably remember she’d been named Zia, a bizarre choice of name to an Italian – as so many people had told her. So what? It made no difference now. She’d been disappointed when she met him at the Montelibertà Festival, Harry hadn’t had a good thing to say about him and even Lucia and Durante were aware of his weaknesses. A shower and a change of clothes didn’t make up for all that.

When lunchtime came around, she put out meat, cheese and pane di Terni, a round, rustic loaf. A blue bowl of green leaves and sliced red tomatoes provided colour to the repast and water and orange juice sparkled in their jugs. She couldn’t say she felt the degree of pleasure she would have felt if her companions had been Lucia and Durante – or Piero – but the meal passed off OK. She was getting better at understanding Fiorella and Gerardo seemed genuinely concerned about Lucia.

‘She is my favourite aunt,’ he said. ‘She and Durante lived in town when I was a boy and I would visit them often. They worked, of course, but at the weekend Lucia would bake cakes for me and sometimes they took me to Lake Trasimeno.’

‘But not your brothers and sisters?’ Zia couldn’t help asking.

‘Sometimes.’ He nodded. His T-shirt was grubby following the gardening. ‘We are a big family but special relationships sometimes grow.’