It was later, after she’d gone to bed and was trying to lose herself in a book that another of the phone calls came and this time it connected. It was a man and as Zia had been expecting the recorded voice of some attempted scam it took her by surprise when he addressed her by name. ‘Who is this?’ she asked, drowsy and tipsy and not instantly able to place the voice.

‘I’m Ursula’s boss. We’ve met at the parlour,’ a rumbling voice reminded her. Then he explained sombrely that the ‘quiet word’ Ursula had tried to have with Stephan about passing information to Brendon had become a screaming, catastrophic row.

She breathed, ‘Oh, no!’ And as she listened with horror to what Ursula had done next panic and regret threatened to choke her.

She shouldn’t be in Italy.

Ursula needed Zia.

Piero had gone home on Saturday evening filled with plans to get Zia alone on Sunday. For the past couple of weeks, she’d acted as if, emotionally, she’d already left. He needed to break through that invisible, yet formidable, barrier. They needed to talk. When he awoke on Sunday morning to a text from Zia his heart gave a hopeful hop.

But then he read the message.

Piero, I have to leave early but I’ll never forget this summer. Wonderful things happened and also some that were horribly real. I hadn’t planned to go without saying bye but maybe it’s for the best. What we shared was like a skydive. We flew, we floated, almost as high as your ‘Italian stars’. It was exhilarating, exciting, glorious, addicting, joyful … but then the ground rushed up and we didn’t know how to land. It’s best for everyone that I’ve decided not to try and live in Montelibertà, isn’t it? I’m so, so happy that it looks as though you’ll keep Il Rifugio. I might visit Lucia, Durante and my grandparents next year and, if I do, let’s meet as old friends. xx

As if his muscles had turned to cooked spaghetti he fumbled through dressing and stumbled out of the house, birds singing their welcome to the mellow morning light as he hurried across the uneven ground between the cypress trees. There was no red car parked behind the gazebo.

He found Lucia alone on the terrace, her eyes heavy.

‘Zia’s gone already?’ he demanded incredulously, as if it were Lucia’s fault.

She nodded. ‘Very early. Ursula’s boss telephoned Zia last night to say Ursula’s in hospital. Her husband locked her out of their house.’ Her eyes widened. ‘She took pills.’

‘Oh, no,’ he murmured, trying to imagine willowy, sassy Ursula doing anything so desperate.