He drained his coffee, kissed his mother on the cheek, and escaped before his brothers vented their indignation on him.

The Hotel Vallini was the best Naples had to offer. It stood halfway up a hill, looking down on the city, with a superb view across the bay.

Standing on her balcony, Della kept quite still, regarding Vesuvius, where it loomed through the heat haze. There was nowhere in Naples to escape the sight of the great volcano, with its combination of threat and mystery. Its huge eruption nearly two thousand years ago, burying Pompeii in one day, had become such a legend that it was the first site Della had chosen when she was planning her series.

The three-hour flight had left her feeling tired and sticky. It had been a relief to step under a cool shower, wash away the dust, then dress in fresh clothes. The look she’d chosen was neat and unshowy, almost to the point of austerity: black linen pants, and a white blouse whose plainness didn’t disguise its expensive cut.

Businesslike, she told herself. Which was true, but only partly. The outfit might have been designed to show off her tall, slim figure, with its small, elegant breasts and neat behind. Just how much satisfaction this gave her was her own secret.

Her face told a subtly different story, the full mouth having a touch of voluptuousness that was at variance with her chic outline. Her rich, light brown hair was sometimes pulled back in severe lines, but today she’d let it fall about her face in gentle curves, emphasising the sensuality of her face.

The contrast between this and the plain way she dressed caused a lot of enjoyable confusion among her male acquaintances. And she didn’t mind that at all.

She had told nobody that she was coming, preferring to take her quarry unawares. She didn’t even know that Carlo Rinucci would be at Pompeii today, only that he was working on a project that concerned the place, investigating new theories.