‘My mother was Enrico Mori’s niece. He came to visit us a couple of times. He was an excitable man, very intense and emotional. Just like her.’

‘But not like you?’

She laughed. ‘Well, I couldn’t afford to be intense and emotional. Mum filled the house with her melodrama. I adored her, but I suppose I developed my common sense as a reaction. One of us had to be cool, calm and collected.

‘I remember Enrico frowning and saying, “You must be like your English Poppa,” and it wasn’t a compliment. Poppa died when I was twelve, but I remember he never shouted or lost his temper.’

‘And you don’t either.’

‘What’s the point? It’s better to talk things out sensibly. Mum used to say that one day we’d visit Italy together, and I’d “see the light”. She even raised me to speak Italian and some Tuscan dialect, so that I wouldn’t be all at sea when we visited “my other country”.’

‘But you never went?’

‘She became ill. When she died three years ago Enrico came over and I met him again.’

‘Are you his only heir?’

‘No, there are some distant cousins who inherit his house and land. He was a rich man, with no wife or children. He lived alone in Florence, having a great old time, drinking and chasing women.’

‘So where did Vincente Farnese come into this?’

‘They were old friends. A few years ago he borrowed some money from Enrico, and charged it against Belluna, that’s the farm. Last week, apparently, they went out on a binge, drove the car home, and had the accident that killed them both.’

‘And his sons had no idea that there was a hefty mortgage against the land?’

‘Not until Enrico’s will was read, apparently.’

‘So you’re going right into the lion’s den? Be careful.’

‘You surely don’t think I’ll be assassinated down a dark lane? I shall go to Florence, make an arrangement with the Farnese brothers, and then come home.’