‘History isn’t about culture,’ he finally reassured them. ‘It’s about people living and dying, loving and hating-just like us. Now, go with your teachers and behave yourself, or I’ll drown you in lava.’

A cheer showed that this threat was much appreciated.

‘Thank you,’ Hilda said. ‘You really do have a gift with children.’

He grinned, his teeth gleaming against the light tan of his face.

‘I’m just a born show-off,’ he laughed.

That was true, Della mused. In fact, he was exactly what she needed.

Hilda thanked her and turned to shepherd the children away. Carlo looked at her in surprise.

‘Aren’t you with them?’ he asked.

‘No, I just happened along,’ she said.

‘And found yourself in the middle of it, huh?’

They both laughed.

‘That poor woman,’ Della said. ‘Whoever sent her here on a culture trip should have known better.’

He put out his hand.

‘My name is Carlo Rinucci.’

‘Yes, I-’ She was about to say that she knew who he was, but hastily changed it to, ‘I’m Della Hadley.’

‘It is a great pleasure to meet you, signorina-or should that be signora?’

‘Technically, yes. I’m divorced.’

He gave her a gentle, disarming smile, still holding her hand.

‘I’m so glad,’ he said.

Watch it, warned a voice in her head. He plays this game too well.

‘Hey, Carlo,’ called the other man, ‘are you going to give the signora her hand back, or shall we put it in the museum with the others?’

She snatched her hand back, suddenly self-conscious. Carlo, she noticed, wasn’t self-conscious at all. He just gave a grin that he clearly knew would always win him goodwill.

‘I forgot about Antonio,’ he admitted.

‘Don’t mind me,’ Antonio said genially. ‘I’ve just been doing the work while you do your party tricks.’

‘Why don’t we finish for the day?’ Carlo said. ‘Time’s getting on, and Signora Hadley wants a coffee.’