‘I’ll definitely talk to her. Or probably, anyway,’ she added, trying to be honest without appearing too unflatteringly eager to do something that could distance her from Ursula. From the direction of Piazza Santa Lucia the rich tolling of church bells began rolling around Piazza Roma and Zia took the opportunity to change the subject. ‘That must be Santa Lucia church. I expect Lucia was named for that saint.’

Ursula refused to be deflected. ‘Definitely probably? Are you sure you don’t want to throw a “maybe” in there?’

Zia laughed, pausing to smile her thanks at the waiter who delivered a basket of deliciously fresh-smelling bread. She selected a piece to dip in oil and balsamic vinegar. ‘But it sums up how I feel. One moment I think I’ll say to Lucia, “My mother died when I was young but I believe I have a connection with someone called Lucia Costa from Montelibertà. I wonder whether it could be you.” But the next I worry I’ll find out something awful, like Mum stole me away. Then suddenly I’m itching to know, regardless.’

‘Tricky.’ Ursula gave Zia’s arm a consoling rub.

The pizza and salad arrived and Zia selected some of each for her plate, watching the delicious molten cheese drip from the side of the thin crispy dough, as she arranged leaves and slices of tomato and onion alongside. ‘It is,’ she agreed. ‘And my mind keeps circling around the question of the two Victorias. I might look up private investigators who could find out what happened to Harry Anstey so I can see what he knows. According to his letters, my mum Vicky Chalmers collected me from Lucia, here in Montelibertà. Why? Why did Lucia then travel to Devon asking about Tori, who Harry describes as “lost” and “disappeared” and Gran as “gone” and grieved for? It does sound like Tori is the younger Victoria Chalmers who we know died at about that time.’ She paused to consider, fork poised. ‘Her birth and death certificates were in Mum’s bag so she must be linked to Mum. Could she be a cousin with the same name? One I don’t know of?’

‘Or could a male in the Chalmers family have married a seventeen-year-old who happened to also be called Victoria?’ Ursula supplied.

Zia felt a worm of turmoil wriggle in her belly. ‘Or Tori Chalmers was my birth mother,’ she admitted. ‘Making Vicky Chalmers my grandmother and Gran and Pap my great-grandparents.’ She glanced at Ursula, comforted by her sympathetic expression. ‘Sitting here in a gorgeous old Italian town in the sunlight, part of me wants to just enjoy the holiday then go home to find a new job. Maybe meet a new man, one who won’t cheat on me.’

‘Giving up the idea of living here?’ Ursula probed, picking up a slice of pizza.