'I wasn't afraid,' she assured him.

'No, I suppose certain things about me are fairly obvious,' said the gaunt scarecrow before her.

'I didn't mean that. I meant you've been kind and I know I can trust you.'

He gave a sigh.

'How I wish you were wrong!' he said mournfully. 'There are cushions over there, and here are some blankets. Sleep tight.'

She thanked him, curled up on the sofa in a blanket and was asleep in seconds. Piero was about to settle down for the night when a footstep outside alerted him, and a moment later a man entered, making him smile with pleasure.

'Vincenzo,' he said softly. 'It's good to see you again.'

The newcomer, who was in his late thirties with a lean, harsh face, asked, 'Why are we whispering?'

Piero pointed to the sofa, and Vincenzo nodded in understanding.

'Who is she?' he asked.

'She answers to Julia, and she's English. She's one of us.'

Vincenzo nodded, accepting the implication of 'us', and began to unpack two brown paper bags that he'd brought with him.

'A few leftovers from the restaurant,' he explained, bringing out some rolls, a carton of milk, and some slices of meat.

'Doesn't your boss mind you taking these?' Piero asked, claiming them with glee.

'Perks of the job. Besides, I can handle the boss.'

'That's very brave of you,' Piero said with a knowing wink. "They say he's a terrible man.'

'So I've heard. Has anyone bothered you here?'

'Nobody ever does, although the owner is an even more terrible man. But if he tried to throw us out I expect you'd handle him too.'

Vincenzo grinned. 'I'd do my best.'

This was a game they played. Vincenzo was actually il Conte di Montese, the owner of the palazzo where they were standing, and also of the restaurant where he worked. Piero knew this. Vincenzo knew that he knew it, and Piero knew that Vincenzo knew he knew. But it suited them both for it to remain unspoken between them.