‘What thing?’ Claudia asked, relieving him of his burden.

He didn’t answer at once. Instead, he turned back and closed the door to the living room. That was something he had never done before. For a moment she wondered…

But that was silly. It was only Ricco, and besides those days were over. She set the plates down on the counter and looked at him with a touch of asperity. These sociable afternoons with the Zuccottis had a fixed, reassuring rhythm that nothing ever disturbed. The fall of the cards was the only invariable permitted, and even there she and Danilo virtually always won.

‘What are you talking about?’

The question seemed to confuse poor Riccardo still further. And when the answer came, it was in a disjointed stutter, like a terrified declaration of love.

‘That body. Corpse, I mean. In the mountains… What a terrible business.’

He rubbed his hands together helplessly.

‘It had been there thirty years, they say.’

Claudia wrinkled her nose in disgust.

‘There was something about it on the news. Yes, of course, terrible. So why bring it up?’

Riccardo looked at the floor, at the sink, then out of the window at the roofs of Verona, anywhere but at her. It looked almost as if he was going to cry, and the answer to her heartless question was suddenly obvious. He must of course have known the victim, or at least the family. Lightly burdened by remorse, she stepped over and took his hand, rubbing it gently.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said.

It was at this moment that the door opened and Raffaela walked in.

‘Oh!’

She set down the coffee pot she had carried in as a pretext. This too was new. When they met at the Zuccottis’ home, Raffaela served and Danilo helped her clear up. Here at Claudia’s, she and Riccardo did the work. As at cards, they never cut for partners.

‘I do hope I’m not interrupting anything!’ Raffaela went on archly.