When the plates were cleared, against the constant background of rustling breeze and droning insects, her dining companions chattered about Italian ceramics, British seaside cities and Umbrian vineyards. She listened as she enjoyed the magnificent view of the valley, hugging her pleasure that she was to remain in this wonderful place for a while.

This morning she’d approached Lucia about renting their annexe, phrasing her request so as to make a gracious refusal easy. ‘I’d like to stay in Montelibertà a little longer and before I look elsewhere I thought I’d ask about your apartment—’ Then she’d found herself enveloped in a huge hug while Lucia crowed, ‘Sí, sí, of course! Durante, listen! Zia-Lucia is to stay longer with us!’

Durante had barrelled into the office from the kitchen, exceeding his customary speed in his eagerness to give her smacking kisses on each cheek. Then they’d all tumbled into the apartment to inspect its dusty interior. ‘The walls need paint, the bed a new mattress and bedclothes,’ Lucia had proclaimed.

‘I don’t need all that,’ Zia had protested. ‘I’ll just buy bedclothes and a shower curtain—’

‘You will not.’ Lucia had hugged her again. ‘The apartment is not occupied except for when Durante’s brother comes and we will make it nice for you. Durante was to do this soon, anyway.’

Ever since that conversation, Zia had been experiencing bubbles of joy whenever she remembered the warmth of their welcome. Much as she loved Ursula, she’d shared her living space with her for three months now and liked the thought of having her own patch for a while.

Whether she would ever meet her birth father or trace Harry were questions for the future. It was enough to know that instead of packing up the car and embarking on the long drive home across Europe on Monday, she’d drop Ursula at Perugia airport on Wednesday and return to this ravishing spot. She’d eke out her redundancy money and savings while she explored the full potential of this wonderful summer in Montelibertà.

Ursula had moved on to talking about her tattoos and her job as a tattoo artist which, Zia was the first to admit, called for great artistic skills, but was quite different to replicating nineteenth century wall tiles. Then Zia realised: Piero had his gaze on her. She flushed, wondering whether she’d looked particularly vacant, lost in her thoughts.

His eyes were hard to read, so dark and deep.

As if divining Zia’s thoughts, Lucia said, ‘Piero, do you know that Zia—’ But then the telephone rang inside the house and she excused herself to answer it.

Zia, guessing Lucia had been about to impart the news about her extended stay, opened her mouth to tell him herself but then Sister Paola asked him how the grapes were doing this year and he turned to answer her.