‘There’s no need to make me sound like a weeping wallflower,’ she protested with a shaky laugh.

‘No, you’re no weeping wallflower. In fact, I can’t imagine you ever weeping. You’re too strong.’

‘Strong? Are you sure you don’t mean hard?’

‘I might have thought so once. But not now. You have a deep-feeling heart, but you guard it carefully.’

‘As you do yourself.’

‘Yes,’ he said after a moment. ‘As I do myself. I think we’ve both learned to be cautious. But feelings have to be expressed one way, if not another. I still remember that dent in the wall.’

‘Dent-? Oh, you mean when I threw the ornament?’

‘That was why you did it, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ she said ruefully.

‘So you are an Italian deep inside, after all? The woman who arrived here wouldn’t have chucked things, merely uttered a few well-chosen words.’

‘I wasn’t quite as cool and collected as I seemed in those days,’ she admitted, ‘but I did feel that things could usually be sorted out with reason.’

She gave a brief inner smile, aimed at herself and the person she had been. How little reason seemed to matter, sitting here with the man who brought her to life as she had never thought to be.

‘And now?’ he asked.

‘Let’s just say that I’m having a re-think. There are times when a rush of blood to the head can be very satisfying.’

He grinned. ‘Your mother would be proud of you.’

‘Yes, she would,’ Alex said, realising that it was true. She gave a crack of laughter. ‘She’d have done exactly what I did. Oh, Mamma, I wish you could see me now.’

‘What did she think of your fiancé?’

‘She didn’t like him. She said he was too organised.’

‘A virtue, surely, in his profession? And yours.’

‘Yes, but it’s not just in his profession,’ Alex mused. ‘Everything in his life was organised, I see that now.’

She wasn’t looking at Rinaldo, but at the tablecloth as she moved spoons back and forth into patterns.

‘We had it all planned,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Our home, our marriage, the way our professional lives would entwine. Married to each other, we’d have dominated the firm. Of course, that was what he didn’t want. He wants to dominate it alone. I thought we loved each other, but all that time he was secretly planning to ease me out in any way he could. I guess he couldn’t believe his luck when I came out here.’

She shook her head over her own naïvety. ‘Lord, but I made it easy for him!’

‘Because you trusted him,’ Rinaldo suggested.

‘Oh, yes. Conspicuous trustworthiness is David’s big asset. It’s worth at least thirty per cent on the bill.’

She knew she sounded bitter, but she couldn’t help it. Fool! she thought. Fool to have been so deluded for so long!

‘How long did you know him?’ Rinaldo asked.

‘Years. He was there the day I joined the firm, when I was little more than a kid. I supposed I hero-worshipped him, chiefly because he was so good-looking. It took a long time for us to come together.’

‘You’re very focused.’

‘Decide what you want and go for it. That’s me.’

‘And what do you want now?’ he asked, watching her.

‘I don’t know. For the first time in my life I don’t know what I want. I feel cast adrift.’

‘Yet you seem as sure of yourself as ever, Circe.’

‘That’s really unfair,’ she said, smiling wistfully. ‘Did it ever occur to you that Circe was a very confused person?’

‘She wasn’t a person, she was a goddess, an enchantress.’

‘A witch,’ she reminded him.

‘A witch,’ he agreed. ‘But a witch who sows confusion all around her.’

‘I never meant to. But you and I had such preconceived ideas about each other. There was bound to be confusion.’

He nodded. ‘No more preconceived ideas, I swear. I’ll never again see you as an automaton who thinks only cold reason matters.’

‘Can I have that in writing?’ she asked sceptically.

‘No, I’ll just have to prove it to you.’

‘For that, I’ll let you drive the car home,’ she said, handing him the keys.

He pocketed them. ‘Is this you being sweetly feminine?’

‘Nope. I’m just tired. You can do the work.’

Laughing they made their way through the streets in the direction of the car.

‘I haven’t abandoned reason altogether,’ she hastened to say. ‘But I’ve come to see that it can sometimes be overrated.’

‘Only sometimes?’

‘It has its place, even for you. You were very reasonable in Varsi’s office.’

A noisy vehicle rumbled by as he answered, and Alex couldn’t make out his reply distinctly. She gave herself a little shake, trying to believe that he had really said, ‘But I don’t want to kiss Enrico Varsi.’

‘What did you say?’ she asked, dazed.

‘I said we turn here,’ he said quickly.

Strangely his denial convinced her. He might pretend what he liked. He’d said it. Suddenly she wanted this afternoon to last for ever.

He was silent on the journey home, and Alex was also content to say nothing. Something was happening that words would only spoil.

Later that evening, in the quiet of her room, Alex called Jenny, her one-time secretary.

‘I’m afraid I’m useless as a source of info,’ Jenny told her. ‘I’ve walked out of the firm. If I’d had to look at David’s smug face any longer I’d have done something to it. But I’ll always be glad I was there when you told him “what for” in front of everyone.’

‘Yes, I enjoyed it too,’ Alex mused. ‘But I’m sorry you’re out of a job.’

‘I’m not. I’ve gone to-’ she named another firm, equally prestigious, just across the street. ‘I think they’d quite like to have you as well.’

‘I’m glad you’re suited, but I have a job to do here. Jenny, does the name Andansio mean anything to you?’

‘I remember it from about five years ago, before I became your secretary. My then boss had some dealings with them.’

‘What can you tell me about them?’

‘A lot. Some of it’s quite sensational.’

Alex listened for half an hour, making notes. When she hung up she was thoughtful.

A few days later, Varsi’s secretary called to say that the books were ready to be returned, and should they be mailed? It was Alex who took the call, and volunteered to collect them. On her way out she met Rinaldo and told him her errand.

‘And of course you’ll deliver them to me without looking at them?’ he said ironically.

‘Did I say that?’ she asked, wide-eyed with innocence.

‘Well at least you play fair,’ he said appreciatively.

Having got the books, Alex shut herself up with them for several hours.

‘I notice that most of the pages were printed then put in ring-binders later,’ she said to Rinaldo.

‘My father used a computer for the accounts,’ he said. ‘He was very proud of the fact that he’d mastered it.’

‘Can I see his files?’

Rinaldo showed her into the study, switched on the computer and showed her what she needed. Then he left her.

Alex’s first impression was that Poppa’s pride had been well-founded. Comparing his files to the receipts she came to the conclusion that he’d kept his records perfectly. They were detailed, informative and easy to check.

Next she managed to access files for previous years, and, after a search, located the books that matched them. She spent a long night checking and cross-checking.

It was early morning by the time she’d finished and switched off the computer. Instead of going to bed she put on her work-out clothes and went running. Then she showered, ate a swift breakfast, and drove into Florence.

She began spending lengthy periods in the city, sometimes driving back late at night, sometimes staying in a hotel. Without saying very much she gave the brothers the impression that she was enjoying a pleasure trip, shopping and going to the theatre. Rinaldo occasionally gave her puzzled glances, but he held his peace.

Soon there was no time for questions, for the harvest was due to begin. Wheat, olives, lemons, now ripe under the burning sun, had to be brought in, stored and sold to the waiting markets.

‘And after them, the wine,’ Gino told her. ‘Maybe October.’

‘Maybe? You don’t know?’

‘Judging the right moment for picking grapes can be very tricky. You have to wait until they’re sweet enough, or you can end up with vinegar. Try this.’

They were sitting on the veranda enjoying the last of the sun. On the low table between them was a bunch of deep purple grapes that he had picked that afternoon. He took one, peeled it carefully with a tiny knife, and offered it to her.

‘Sweet?’ he asked.

‘It tastes very sweet.’

‘But not quite sweet enough. It needs more than this before it’s ready.’

‘And you can tell the moment by the taste.’

‘Rinaldo can, he’s the real expert. He says he’s never wrong. Mind you, he thinks that about everything.’

‘Talking about me?’ came Rinaldo’s voice from just inside the house.

He came out and pulled up another chair, acknowledging Alex with only a brief nod, but sitting close to her. It was the first time she had seen him all day.

‘I was just explaining to Alex how you value your taste buds above the achievements of science.’

‘What has science got to do with it?’ Alex wanted to know.

‘Nothing,’ Rinaldo said. ‘Judging grapes is an art. You either have it or you haven’t. And my little brother hasn’t, so he tries to pretend that science is the next best thing.’

‘No, it’s the very best thing,’ Gino said stubbornly.

‘But what science?’ Alex asked, baffled.

From his pocket Gino pulled a narrow metal tube, about six inches long. It reminded Alex of a small telescope, except that at one end was a piece of yellow glass that lifted, revealing a small box beneath.

Into this Gino inserted a grape and closed the lid, squashing the grape so that the juice flowed.