‘I had an uncle once,’ Jackie said. ‘He was a travelling salesman with a girl in every town and a line in flattery that would charm the birds off the trees. And no matter what he did everyone forgave him, just for the sake of his smile. Dad used to say Uncle Joe hadn’t just eaten the Apple of Life, he’d gone to live in the tree.’

‘And you think he’s the same?’ Della mused, scrutinising Carlo’s laughing face.

‘I’d take a bet on it.’

Privately Della agreed, but she kept that thought to herself. Her hard-won caution was warning her not to go overboard for this young man just because he looked good. Very good. Marvellous.

His resumé was certainly impressive. George Franklin, her assistant, who was helping to research this series, had e-mailed her.

Don’t be misled by his youth. Carlo Rinucci is the up-and-coming man in his field. He’s done some impressive work and written a couple of books that have attracted attention. His opinions are often unorthodox, but his work is sound.

He’d added a few notes about Carlo Rinucci’s current project at Pompeii, the little town just south of Naples, buried long ago in the lava of the erupting volcano Vesuvius, and he’d finished with the words: Believe me, he’s worth investigating.

‘Worth investigating,’ Della murmured.

‘I’ll investigate him for you,’ Jackie said eagerly. ‘I could get the next plane to Naples, look him over and report back.’

‘Nice try,’ Della said, amused.

‘You mean you’ve already bagged him for yourself?’

‘I mean,’ Della said severely, ‘that I shall consider all the options in a serious and practical way, make my evaluation, and decide what is best for the programme.’

‘That’s what I said. You’ve bagged him for yourself.’

Della laughed and dropped her formal tone.

‘Well, there has to be some advantage in being the boss,’ she said.