Acutely aware that through protectiveness towards his friends he’d made an illegitimate child sound shameful when the illegitimate child in question was sitting right in front of him, he looked for a way to shuffle back from the precipice of bad manners. ‘Sorry. I just meant – they must have been married when you were born. It would mean Durante …’

‘Cheated,’ she finished for him. ‘I share your disgust at that.’ Without another word she pushed the letter into the bag, gathered up her things, rose and headed off for her holiday accommodation. He called a polite goodbye but didn’t catch her response.

Like a dog in disgrace, he slunk off towards the terrace which, in summer, got more use than the house. The door stood open, flanked by a blooming passionflower. Piero pushed aside the fly curtain and called out, ‘Ciao.’

‘Siamo in ufficio,’ Lucia called cheerily. We’re in the office.

He went through the cool hall to find her and Durante sharing the desk.

‘Paperwork,’ Durante grumbled. ‘The government wants too many forms.’ He clicked his computer mouse and behind him the printer hummed into life.

Lucia had printouts and envelopes spread over the desk and patted her husband’s arm as if she’d heard it all before. ‘Any news?’ she asked Piero.

‘I’ve done a bit of reading. Unfortunately, where it concerns big corporations, much of it seems to be about people who lost cases they thought they should have won.’

‘Money talks.’ Lucia propped her fist against her double chin, the soft flesh spreading across her fingers, looking towards the door as a figure ambled past. She called, ‘Fiorella, caffè per tre, per favore.’

Piero turned in his chair to smile at the older woman in the doorway. ‘Ciao, Fiorella.’ Having lived next door to Lucia for so long, he knew many of her large family and her sister-in-law was a familiar figure in her wraparound apron, her grey hair drawn back. Most had given up even part-time work by their late seventies, the age he judged her to be, but Fiorella supplemented her pension by helping in the house or cottages. It was likely the euros Lucia put in Fiorella’s pocket were more than was adequate recompense for the light work, and food and drink usually came as part of the deal. Lucia was big on family and Fiorella and Lucia’s eldest brother Roberto had never been well off. Roberto also picked up casual work where he could.

Fiorella returned Piero’s greeting, repeating, ‘Caffè per tre,’ and shuffled off in dusty flip-flops.

Durante scrubbed his hand over his face and returned to their interrupted conversation. ‘So still everything we worked for can be taken from us.’

Piero nodded, the knowledge like a rock in his stomach. ‘I suppose,’ he said cautiously, ‘that you could negotiate the highest price you can and give in, rather than spend years fighting lawsuits.’