Now they were driving through the city and out again, taking a country road leading to a village, then turning into a lane lined with poplar trees. After half a mile the house came into view, a huge, gracious three-storeyed villa stretching wide, surrounded by elegant grounds.

She knew little of Italian architecture, but even so she could tell that the building was several-hundred years old and in fine condition, as though Drago, the builder and restorer, had lavished his best gifts on his home.

The entrance to the house lay through an arched corridor where the walls were inlaid with mosaics, and the ceiling adorned with paintings. At first sight it was so impressive as to be almost forbidding, but as they went deeper inside the atmosphere became more homely, until finally they came to a large drawing-room where Alysa gasped.

Everywhere she saw Carlotta’s face. On one table stood a huge picture of her alone, while on the next table another picture showed her with Tina in her arms. The next one showed mother, father and child together. Various other pictures were dotted around the room, plus souvenirs, as Tina eagerly explained to her.

‘That was Mamma’s medal for winning a race at school,’ she said.

‘My wife was a fast runner,’ Drago explained. ‘We always used to say that she could have been an athlete if she hadn’t preferred to be a lawyer.’

‘She could run faster than anyone, couldn’t she, Poppa?’

Alysa saw Drago’s suddenly tense face, and realised how cruelly double-edged this remark would seem to him. But he gave his child a broad smile, saying, ‘That’s true. Mamma was better at everything,’ he said with a fair pretence of heartiness. ‘Now, we must entertain our guest.’

Tina set herself to do this, the perfect little hostess. If she hadn’t been functioning on automatic, Alysa knew she would have found her enchanting, for Tina was intelligent and gentle. When supper was served she conducted her guest to the table, and in her honour she spoke English, of which she had a good grasp.