Ursula hopped out of the car and regarded the shadowy bulk of the square stone house. ‘He’s got quite the place here. It’s bigger than Bella Vista.’

Zia opened the boot and carefully lifted the glass in its white protective wrap. ‘Let’s try his workshop.’

They wended their way past scrubby shrubs and a gnarled and stunted olive tree. Ursula, grumbling that the mosquitos were like fighter jets, lit the way with her phone and tried the door. It swung open and she reached for the light switch. ‘Wow,’ she breathed, as light flooded the room, bouncing from hulking green machinery with grinning blades. Fresh wood chippings scented the air.

‘Hot Piero certainly gets his manly-man on, doesn’t he?’ observed Ursula, gazing at the racks of well-used power tools. ‘When we first met he looked like a business type but I can imagine him in here, being good with his hands.’ She giggled. ‘Do you think he is? Are you planning to find out?’

The lantern roof still stood on the bench. Zia lowered the glass carefully beside it then texted Piero to tell him where it was. She tucked her phone away with an air of unconcern. ‘I’ve only had a couple of conversations with him.’

‘So?’ Ursula nudged her. ‘He checks you out when he thinks no one’s watching … all the time. And I told you he asked if there’s a man in your life.’

As Zia was still processing her feelings towards Piero she didn’t answer as she switched off the lights and waited for Ursula to step out before rolling the door back into place.

Ursula heaved a great sigh and turned to head back towards the car. ‘Just as well you didn’t wet your knickers over him. I told him about Brendon and he lost interest.’

‘What?’ Zia swung about.

Her friend executed a little jig on the gravel. ‘Har, har. Gotcha,’ she crowed. ‘Actually, he just smiled … but in an interested way.’

Despite interrupted sleep, on Tuesday morning Zia woke early so she could steal out to sit outside Villino Il Pino and watch the coming of a peacock dawn.

Fruitlessly, she wished back loved ones she could no longer consult, though she could imagine her grandparents’ reaction to her search for her father. Why stir things up? He walked away from his handiwork before you were born and again when you were tiny. Doesn’t that tell you enough? She imagined Gran’s lips pursing and Pap’s white brows meeting in a scowl.

And what about Vicky? How would she have explained the little matter of having pretended to be Zia’s mother? There must be a reason smiling, honest Vicky acted out of character. She’d been the person Zia had thought she could rely upon most; and now it turned out she couldn’t.

Then there was Tori …