He set about the meticulous business of cutting and lighting a massive cigar.

‘I believe — I have to believe — that in time they will come to appreciate what I have bequeathed them, and perhaps even set about extending the cellar far into the next millennium as a heritage for their own children.’

A triumphant puff of blue smoke.

‘But that is to look too far into the future. For the moment, all that concerns me is this harvest! Unless we act now, the grapes will either be sold off to some competitor or crudely vinified into a parody of what a Vincenzo wine could and should be.’

Aurelio Zen tried hard to look suitably concerned at this dire prospect.

‘But what can I do about it?’ he asked. ‘If the son is already under arrest…’

‘I don’t believe for a moment that he did it,’ the famous director exclaimed impatiently.

Zen produced a crumpled handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose.

‘Nevertheless, I’ve been given to understand that the Carabinieri have concluded their investigation. They have pressed charges against Manlio Vincenzo and the case is now in the hands of the judiciary. I don’t see where I come in.’

His host exhaled a dense barrage of smoke.

‘Perhaps you should be more concerned about where you go out,’ he said.

Zen frowned.

‘Go out? You mean, from this house?’

For the first time, Giulio smiled with what appeared genuine amusement.

‘No, no! All appearances to the contrary, I am not planning to immure you in some lost recess of my cellars. Nevertheless, a not dissimilar fate might well await you.’