Tightly, she said, ‘Even alcohol doesn’t excuse you having so little respect you’d “do that” while I was at the same party. You stomped into a minefield and our relationship blew up.’ She added, ‘We were going through a tricky time anyway.’

‘Erm …’ he interrupted, as if ready to argue.

She ploughed on before he could. ‘We wanted different things. We’d only been exclusive a couple of months and you all but suggested I use my redundancy as a career break to have your kids.’

A long silence. Then he said stiffly, ‘Somewhat of an exaggeration but if I was insensitive, I apologise. But I’m not giving up on us. You keep going to Italy searching for whatever connection you think you feel with the frigging place but you’re a wonderful, intelligent woman who has a man pining for you in England. Why can’t you forgive me? I promise I won’t push you to come and live with me.’

She recoiled. ‘Good, because I love my flat. It’s something I can rely on.’ Aware her voice had sharpened she smoothed it out. ‘Brendon … I can’t forgive you. Forgiving someone isn’t a choice. It’s a reaction, something that comes from within.’ She said a brusque farewell and ended the call with a stab at the screen.

Ursula whistled. ‘That sounded as if it went almost as well as my last chat with Stephan.’

Zia’s hands were sticky with sweat. ‘’Fraid so. He thinks if he’s persistent enough it will revive the relationship, I’ll take him back and that will be tantamount to me admitting I overreacted to his teeny tiny mistake.’

‘I suppose he could also genuinely miss you and care for you,’ Ursula mused fairly. Then she heaved a sigh. ‘But as I exploded my own relationship by getting wrecked, I suppose I would go easy on him. Thanks for sticking up for me. He might pass it on to Stephan.’

‘Hopefully,’ Zia agreed. She drew on a determined smile. ‘Now, let’s pay our bill and get off to that neo-thingy theatre and eat ice cream. Chocolate, with nuts.’ She wanted to banish the memory of Brendon’s dogged attempts to rekindle past flames.

All the warmth she’d once felt for him had been left on the other side of his infidelity.

Friday was a workshop day for Piero. Today, rather than being enveloped in the roar of the machines, he was working on a drawing. From outside the open doors came the whistle and chirp of birds and a wild boar snoring beneath a bush. Last year he’d caught glimpses of piglets too, striped like the bark of the trees they were learning to forage around. Better they were up here than learning to eat grapes down in the vineyard.