With her words, a pinprick of light at the end of the tunnel – one Zia hadn’t even realised she was holding out hope for – was extinguished. She let bitterness creep into her voice. ‘You can’t help who you love; I can’t help who I am. It must be an enormous thing to discover your husband has a child from before your marriage. I can see why you wouldn’t want to have to explain me to your own children or bear the gossip.’ Along with her bag of letters from the past she’d carried dreams with her to Italy. But now she said goodbye to them with one steady, resigned sentence. ‘Don’t worry. I’m going home in a week.’

The lines on Ilaria’s face relaxed. She said simply, ‘Thank you.’

Then Piero raced up the terrace steps. He hesitated when he saw Ilaria. ‘Buongiorno.’

The older woman nodded. ‘Buongiorno. I will leave now,’ she added in Zia’s direction and was soon striding purposefully past Piero. In a minute they heard her car tyres crunching down the drive.

He frowned as Zia let her breathing even in the wake of her unexpected visitor. ‘That’s Gerardo’s wife, isn’t it? Are you OK?’

For a second she let herself wonder how it would have felt if, instead of thanking her for leaving, Ilaria had asked Zia if she’d like to meet her siblings. Impatiently, she shook herself free of such fruitless fantasy. ‘I’m fine,’ she said brightly.

Then Lucia and Durante appeared and demanded Piero stay for dinner, falling into their familiar easy ways with each other. Zia escaped into the kitchen and took fish from the fridge ready to grill and serve with sautéed potatoes.

Ilaria wasn’t happy to know she existed. Ilaria seemed a sensible woman – except for the marrying Gerardo thing – and Zia could completely see her point of view. She couldn’t help a stray tear.

Piero came into the kitchen just as she was wiping it away. ‘Zia,’ he began, his deep voice rich with sympathy.

But Durante barrelled in behind him. ‘Birra o vino?’

Zia plastered on a smile because if she had to talk about the meeting with Ilaria just now she’d howl. ‘Vino, grazie,’ she said in as cheery a voice as she could dredge up. A huge glass of wine would be great right now.

She drank several with dinner, in fact, listening to the chatter around her without often contributing. Aware of Piero and not looking at him. Her phone rang twice but the screen advised her it was from an unknown number and didn’t connect. She dismissed them as probable nuisance calls. Eventually she excused herself for an early night. ‘I’ve always been a lightweight with alcohol and I’ve pushed my limit.’