‘Since then he never speaks of them. If I try to mention them he just blanks me out. I’m not sure what he feels now. Probably nothing. He seems to have deadened that side of him.’

‘Can any man do that?’ Alex mused.

‘Rinaldo can. He can do whatever he sets his mind to. Why should he want to go through such pain again?’

‘But surely it could never happen again? No man could be so unlucky twice.’

‘I think he’s decided not to take a chance on it. Since Maria died the farm has been his whole life. Poppa left the running of it to him.’

‘What about you?’

Gino gave his attractive boyish grin.

‘Theoretically I have as much authority as my brother, but Rinaldo’s a great one for letting you know who’s the meat and who’s the potatoes. His being so much older helps, of course.’

There was something slightly mechanical about Alex’s smile. She no longer felt able to joke about Rinaldo. The image of the overbearing dictator that had dominated her thoughts had suddenly become blurred.

There was another image now, a young man agonising over the death of his wife and child, then growing older too fast, hardening in his despair.

‘Are you all right?’ Gino asked as she rubbed her hand over her eyes.

‘Yes, I’m just a little tired. I’m not used to so much heat.’

‘Let me take you back to the hotel.’

The night air was blessedly cool as they strolled back. To her relief he seemed in tune with her mood, and did not talk.

At the door of the hotel he took her hand and said, ‘I’d ask to see you again, but you’d only think Rinaldo put me up to it. So I won’t.’

She smiled. ‘That’s very clever.’

‘But it’s all right if I call you, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, but not tomorrow.’