‘Of course, I should have realised. How stupid of me. It’s just that I’d hoped for a little more time-that is, she hoped for a little more time-I’m afraid Miss d’Estino isn’t here just now.’

‘Can you tell me when she will be here?’ Marco asked patiently.

‘Not for ages. But I could give her a message.’

‘Could you tell her that Marco Calvani called to see her?’

Her eyes assumed the blankness of someone who was playing ‘possum’.

‘Who?’

‘Marco Calvani. She doesn’t know me but-’

‘You mean you’re not a bailiff?’

‘No,’ Marco said tersely, with an instinctive glance at his Armani suit. ‘I’m not a bailiff.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘I think I’d know if I was a bailiff.’

‘Yes,’ she said distractedly. ‘Of course you would. And you’re Italian, aren’t you? I can hear your accent now. It’s not much of an accent, so I missed it at first.’

‘I pride myself on speaking other languages as correctly as possible,’ he said, enunciating slowly. ‘Would you mind telling me who you are?’

‘Me? Oh, I’m Harriet d’Estino.’

‘You?’ He couldn’t keep the unflattering inflection out of his voice.

‘Yes. Why not?’

‘Because you just told me you weren’t here.’

‘Did I?’ she said vaguely. ‘Oh-well-I must have got that wrong.’

Marco stared, wondering if she was mad, bad or merely half-witted. She pulled off the woolly cap, letting her long hair fall about her shoulders, and then he realised that she was speaking the truth, for it was the same rich auburn shade as Olympia’s hair. This was the woman he’d been considering as a wife. He took a deep cautious breath.

Harriet was watching him, frowning slightly. ‘Have we met before?’ she asked.

‘I don’t believe so.’

‘It’s just that your face is familiar.’

‘We’ve never met,’ he assured her, thinking that he would certainly have remembered.