She heaved the cracked brown suitcase along the hallway of her airy Brighton flat. At the top of what once had been a Georgian town house the apartment gazed over the gardens of New Steine and the flowing silver figures of the AIDS monument. All the buildings had been converted into apartments or boutique hotels and most wore gracious pastel colours, though one was a jolly turquoise. Her tall sash windows opened onto a balcony with curlicued black railings. If she glanced right, she could watch the sea switch from blue to grey and to the left ran busy, bustling St James’s Street. She adored her home, a gem in trendy, quirky Brighton on England’s south coast, and thought Gran and Pap would approve of her selling their bungalow to buy it.

Ursula settled her long limbs at the table near the white marble fire surround. OK. What are we looking for?’

Zia pulled out the first few document wallets. ‘Anything that might lead to filling in the blank on my birth certificate where my father’s name ought to be. If he really was Italian it would be the easiest route to Italian citizenship.’

‘But you said anyone can apply for Italian residency,’ Ursula objected, pushing back the lock of blonde hair that dangled perpetually over one eye.

‘That’s right. Residency first, then maybe citizenship after a few years. It’s just that those applications will stand miles more chance of success if I can prove I have an Italian parent or grandparent.’ She pulled a face. ‘If dear McPherson & Partners had been obliging enough to make me redundant before Brexit I could have easily tried living in Italy – and I’d have avoided the relationship with Brendon.’

Sadly, her three months with Brendon, though they’d begun promisingly with flying sparks of attraction in the euphoria of a New Year’s celebration, had ended with his infidelity, particularly insulting as it had always been him trying to rush her into commitment. She’d been stupid to get involved with him; not only had he been a work colleague at the time but he was also the best friend of Stephan, Ursula’s husband. The latter fact had created an expectation that the two couples were a foursome and in the same place on the commitment scale. The former … Zia had always assumed that colleagues who dated kept their relationship out of the workplace but Brendon had been open about them sleeping together. She hadn’t enjoyed being exposed to nudge-nudge-wink-wink office gossip.

Then McPherson & Partners made staff cuts of which Zia was a casualty, while Brendon hung on to his job. When, hot on the heels of that disappointment, Brendon had cheated, Zia ended things – and there had been a ripple of relief beneath her shocked humiliation. Next, a drunken exploit of Ursula’s had prompted Stephan to demand their marriage was put ‘on a break’.