‘How can you possibly know that?’ Hope asked.

‘Because he’s here.’

Francesco pointed to a large sofa facing the window. Leaning over the back, the others saw a young man stretched out, blissfully asleep. He was in the clothes he’d worn the previous night, his shirt open at the throat, revealing smooth, tanned skin. Everything about him radiated sensual contentment.

‘Hey!’ Ruggiero prodded him rudely.

‘Mmm?’

His twin prodded him again, and Carlo’s eyes opened.

It was a source of intense irritation to his brothers that Carlo didn’t awake bleary-eyed and vague, like normal people. Even after sleeping off a night of indulgence he was instantly alert, bright-eyed and at his best. As Ruggiero had once remarked, it was enough to make anyone want to commit murder.

‘Hallo,’ he said, sitting up and yawning.

‘What are you doing there?’ Ruggiero demanded, incensed.

‘What’s wrong with my being here? Ah, coffee! Lovely! Thanks, Mamma.’

‘Take no notice of this pair,’ Hope advised him. ‘They’re jealous.’

‘Three,’ Ruggiero mourned. ‘He had three, and he slept on the sofa.’

‘The trouble is that three is too many,’ Carlo said philosophically. ‘One is ideal, two is manageable if you’re feeling adventurous, but anything more is a just a problem. Besides, I wasn’t at my best by the end of the evening, so I played safe, called a taxi for the ladies and went to sleep.’

‘I hope you paid their fares in advance,’ Hope said.

‘Of course I did,’ Carlo said, faintly shocked. ‘You brought me up properly.’

Francesco was aghast.

‘Of all the spineless, feeble-’

‘I know, I know.’ Carlo sighed. ‘I feel very ashamed.’

‘And you call yourself a Rinucci?’ Ruggiero said.

‘That’s enough,’ Hope reproved them. ‘Carlo behaved like a gentleman.’

‘He behaved like a wimp,’ Francesco growled.

‘True,’ Carlo agreed. ‘But there can be great benefits to being a wimp. It makes the ladies think you’re a perfect gentleman, and then, when next time comes-’