‘Not really ready to.’ Zia exhaled hard. ‘As usual, that brings me back full circle – everything’s easier if I can prove my father was Italian. And if Vicky Chalmers took baby-me from Lucia Costa who lived in Montelibertà, then chances are she can throw light on my father’s identity. What the hell was I doing here so young when I was born in England?’

She fell into pensive silence. Ursula began to check out her phone. After a few minutes, again feeling that a change of subject would be welcome, she ventured, ‘Fancy a look at a nineteenth century theatre with a neoclassical interior? All that pretty gold stuff? According to this tourist site they have a gelateria and Il Caffé Teatro.’

Before Zia could reply her phone began to ring. She dug it from her bag and pulled a face when she saw who was calling. ‘Brendon.’

‘Shall I make myself scarce?’ Ursula suggested.

Zia shook her head as she answered. ‘Hi Brendon.’ She aimed for coolly polite rather than welcoming.

His voice came down the line rising and falling on the rhythms of North East England where he’d spent his childhood. When they were first together at the beginning of the year, his voice had ignited flames inside her but at that time she hadn’t caught him having sex with someone else. He said, ‘I thought I’d call and say hello. Are you out of the country? I got the single ring tone.’

As Stephan knew where Ursula was and with whom, Zia was pretty sure Brendon would be clued in. ‘That’s right. Italy.’

‘I know the attraction there.’ He sounded indulgent, friendly, eager to curry favour.

She chose not to discuss her daddy issues. He knew her background … at least what she’d thought was her background until a couple of weeks ago. ‘It’s a fantastic country. Are you calling for anything in particular?’ A flock of pigeons were helping clear up the square in the wake of the market and she watched them pecking amongst the cobbles, sticking out their self-important chests and remarking ‘Brrrroop,’ to each other. A laughing blond boy charged at them and they clattered into the air, only to settle again in a different place. Ursula had gone back to her own phone, tapping and scrolling while Zia took the call.

‘I was hoping to talk,’ said Brendon. He gave a nervous, unconvincing chuckle. ‘Obviously, I didn’t realise I’d be interrupting your holiday.’

Although she wanted to say, ‘Yeah, right, like Stephan didn’t tell you,’ she maintained a civil veneer. ‘Talk about what?’

Another chuckle. ‘To make sure you know how sorry I am for what happened. Again.’

Yet again, he meant. It felt uncomfortable, as if he thought there was a route back to her if he just rattled the door often enough. ‘I know you are. But it doesn’t change what happened.’