A queue snaked back from the toilet entrance, excited ladies swapping opinions on Rhett Butler and Ashley Wilkes. The handsome bounder pitted against the weak ne’er-do-well. In that moment, haunting flashes of Arthur, loitering outside my flat, sprung to mind. I recalled the horror when I discovered he’d rented a room directly opposite my front door. Fate had offered me an escape route when Mitch and I fled to Italy and cowardice guaranteed that I’d never own up to the knowledge of Arthur’s subterfuge.

I leant against the door frame, willing the queue to move forward. The noisy blast of heat from the hand dryers muffled the conversations. I dug my fingers into my neck, scraping the surface with my nails to distract my thoughts. Unease crawled under my skin.

As I inched forward, a tall striking woman, familiar, with flawless pale skin brushed past me on her way out of the toilets. Where had I seen her before? There was something about her face; the perfect straight nose and full lips. Her blonde hair hung silkily over her face and for a moment I thought she might be an actress, an icon seen out of context. But no one else was looking at her or whispering behind hands.

I peered round and watched in horror as Mitch took a step towards the woman and she likewise moved in his direction. Oh my god. It was Rebecca.

Mitch and I had been sitting on the shores of Lake Trasimeno, at a small café, when Mitch told me he would be moving on. He wanted to travel, see more of the country. Surprise turned to shock, then despair, when I realised he meant to go it alone.

‘It’s not you,’ he said. It was a throwaway platitude. ‘It’s me. I’m just not ready to settle down, Amber. That’s why I left England, to travel and see the world.’ I knew it was a lie but it didn’t matter. I loved him. Oliver had told me the real reason why Mitch had left England so suddenly. Oliver confided, behind closed doors, the full story of how his friend had got involved with the wrong crowd. It was a drugs thing; but I didn’t care.

The first time I saw him I was smitten. Mitch was so handsome. Dark wavy hair showcased his perfect features. A strong aquiline nose, full sensual lips and deep mahogany eyes, framed by long thick lashes, conspired at perfection.

I remember lifting the cappuccino to my lips, willing myself not to cry, but unable to stop the flow of hot salty tears. Mitch leant across and wiped them away, using a serviette, and gently pushed back the straggling hair out of my eyes.