His mercurial spirits weren’t often depressed. He approached life with an optimism that was reflected in his appearance. His blue eyes might have been born gleaming, and a smile seemed to be his natural expression. At thirty-two, rich, handsome, free, he had no cares, save for the one that now threatened him.

Guido was a man of warm affections. He loved his uncle. But he also loved his freedom, and within a few hours he might have lost them both.

He turned swiftly as two young men appeared from the staircase below.

‘Thank heavens!’ he said, embracing his half-brother Leo, who clasped him back unselfconsciously. With his cousin Marco he merely clapped him on the shoulder. There was a proud reserve about Marco that even the open-hearted Guido had to respect.

‘How bad is Uncle Francesco?’ Marco demanded tersely.

‘Very bad, I think. I called you last night because he’d started to have pains in his chest, but he wouldn’t be sensible and see a doctor. Then early this morning he collapsed in agony, and I sent for an ambulance. We’ve been here ever since. They’re still doing tests.’

‘It surely can’t be a heart attack,’ Leo said. ‘He’s never had one before, and the life he’s led-’

‘Was enough to give any normal man a dozen heart attacks,’ Marco supplied. ‘Women, wine, fast cars-’

‘Women!’ Guido echoed.

‘Three speedboats smashed up,’ Leo recalled.

‘Gambling!’

‘Women!’

‘Skiing!’

‘Mountaineering!’

‘Women!’ They spoke with one voice.

A footstep on the stairs reduced them all to silence as Lizabetta, the count’s housekeeper, appeared among them like doom. She was thin, sharp-faced, elderly, and they greeted her with more respect than they ever showed their uncle. This grim creature was the power in the Palazzo Calvani.