Zia swung round in time to see Gerardo almost falling through the door to her apartment growling, ‘Merda!’ and swatting at a wasp that whizzed threateningly around his ears. Astonished, she leaped up. ‘Gerardo?’

He halted mid-stride, obviously as surprised to see her as she was him. A hank of his hair had fallen from its ponytail. He smiled awkwardly. ‘Ah, Zia. Um … my hands are covered in apricot juice and it attracts the wasps. I went in to wash.’

‘In my apartment?’ she breathed in blank astonishment. Anger propelled her feet towards him, then she got close enough to smell alcohol, sour and strong. She halted. ‘Have you been into Durante’s stash of liquor?’

Gerardo assumed an injured air. ‘This is the home of my aunt and uncle. I’m always welcome to refreshment here.’

Zia had to accept the truth of this but persisted, ‘But nobody made you welcome in my apartment.’

Then Gerardo completely changed tack. He treated her to a conspiratorial smile and assumed a syrupy croon. ‘Lo sapevo. Volevo solo essere sicuro.’ She gaped at him, unwilling to trust she’d heard him correctly, so he repeated it in English. ‘I knew. I just want to be certain so I look at the letters.’

All the moisture dried from her throat. ‘You looked—?’ she croaked.

He took an eager step. ‘I understand. You search for passaporto Italiano. I will sign the forms so you get.’

She blinked at him. ‘You’ll help me get an Italian passport?’ she clarified.

‘Sí. I know you want. I help you.’ He made an extravagant, arms-wide gesture as he returned to Italian. ‘You have a thousand euros? I know you have the money.’

‘A thousand euros?’ It was as if her lungs had filled with sand. It wasn’t that she didn’t comprehend the words but she was robbed of speech that he’d said not a single thing on a human, personal or emotional level. He was talking business. He was speaking to his daughter but all he saw was a euro sign. Nausea rolled and sweat popped on her forehead. She stared at him with revulsion, this grubby man, this reluctant sperm donor, this little shit. She recalled her pleased surprise when he’d rocked up to help at Bella Vista. Had it all been an act? An opportunity to look good in Zia’s eyes before he made his move? ‘How—’ she licked her lips. ‘How do you know who I am? And about the letters?’ There were only three people in Italy who knew her story and two of them were currently in Perugia.

‘Your man,’ he said simply. ‘Your man told me. I have a wife and children and he said—’