Zia gave a strangled laugh. ‘You’re right, mind-reader. I’ll look for a hotel—’ A thought struck her. ‘I wonder if Lucia and Durante would rent me that apartment at the side of their house? I know they said it’s not ready for guests yet but it might be OK as temporary accommodation.’ Zia felt both lighthearted and lightheaded at the prospect of staying on in Italy, possibly for weeks. Without so much of a time pressure, she could think more about what she could or should do.

Her appetite returned and after another glass of wine and a pistachio semifreddo, she linked arms with Ursula and rambled back to the car feeling a hundred per cent better now the decision was made.

Chapter Ten

Never had Ursula sounded more Irish than on Friday lunchtime when she halted at the head of the terrace steps and exclaimed, ‘Nuns!’

Zia had been prickling with irritation that her phone had just beeped with an email from the private investigator to say her enquiry was still pending; she’d forgotten to complete the transaction after she’d been reunited with her credit card. Ursula’s dramatic exclamation distracted her and she looked up from her phone to regard the lunchtime revellers already seated at the table. Whatever birthday guests she’d expected to see, it certainly wasn’t two women wearing black habits and beaming smiles. No wonder Piero had laughed when she’d asked whether his other guests would be ‘particular female friends’. She blushed.

‘Zia! Ursula!’ Piero called now. ‘Come meet Sister Paola and Sister Priscilla.’

‘How do you greet a nun?’ Zia hissed. She hadn’t been brought up in a particular religion.

Ursula started forward. ‘Sure, you shake hands. Do you know nothing?’

‘Not about nuns,’ Zia murmured, following. ‘Buongiorno,’ she called, wondering whether the black habit and coif with the close-fitting white cotton cap was comfortable in the summer heat. Though the table was situated in the shade, temperatures were well over thirty degrees Celsius.

Piero rose and kissed both Zia’s and Ursula’s cheeks – a new development. ‘Buon compleanno, Piero,’ Zia said, examining the sensation of his lips brushing her skin.

‘Yes, happy birthday!’ Ursula beamed.

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Sister Paola and Sister Priscilla were just telling me how life’s going on at the Benedictine monastery.’

Sister Paola, who had very fair eyebrows and grey eyes responded in heavily accented English as she shook hands with the newcomers. ‘All is well. We have many guests this summer, enjoying our simple life.’

Zia liked her smiling eyes. ‘You have guests at a monastery?’ she asked Sister Paola as she took the seat beside her.

‘Yes, they come to volunteer. In exchange for four or five hours’ work a day we provide a bedroom and meals. They join us in prayer if they wish. People come when they’re tired of modern life, I think.’