She didn’t immediately answer but stirred her coffee long enough to dissolve the entire container of sugar. ‘Context,’ she said at last. ‘And objectivity, maybe. Lucia and Durante are so closely involved … I can’t expect them to …’ She was obviously struggling to express herself and he remained silent while she searched for words. Then she burst out, ‘All my life I’ve felt different. Separate from people. I thought it was because I didn’t look much like Mum – Vicky, I mean – and we moved around a lot, which really affects lasting friendships, and I didn’t have a dad. When Vicky died, Gran and Pap took me on. I’ll be forever grateful for their sacrifice but I still thought: I’m not getting the life I should have had. Now I learn I didn’t get the life I should have had twice and it’s not just that I didn’t know my dad – I didn’t know my mum either. I’ve been up half the night trying to make sense of it. I actually put the light on to look in the mirror and ask myself “Who the hell are you?” I read internet articles and one said the human brain develops most in the first few weeks of life, which makes me one big fuck-up. Unplanned, unwanted, dragged across Europe, abandoned, wanted, snatched then left motherless. All before I was six weeks old.’

He liked the sudden F-bomb. It felt like a sign she was comfortable with him because he’d seen enough of her to know profanity didn’t litter her conversation. He couldn’t resist her vulnerability. ‘How can I help?’

She held his gaze for several moments. ‘Do you know him?’

‘Gerardo? Your father?’ he stalled, wishing she could have asked him something easier.

Her mouth twisted wryly. ‘The “father” who wanted me aborted.’

‘He was frightened and immature,’ he observed fairly. ‘His parents have mellowed a lot now but teenagers having illegitimate children … It doesn’t surprise me they would have been scandalised thirty years ago. I imagine my grandparents would have been the same and you acknowledged yours were.’

She didn’t argue but fidgeted with her cup. ‘You’re not related to him or one of his friends?’

He shook his head. Gerardo wasn’t someone he’d choose to hang out with.

Again, that steady gaze. She had pretty eyes, like a tiger’s eye ring Nicoletta had liked to wear. Not as dark as his, Zia’s irises were gold as well as brown. Bare of make-up, her lashes were thick silk fringes. Nicoletta wouldn’t have gone out in public without several thick coats of mascara, even when on holiday, but Zia suited the natural look. Even unadorned, her eyes were dramatic and her skin was smooth. She dropped her voice to a whisper as if inviting him to share a secret. ‘What’s he like?’