Again, she wondered just what lay in that forbidden place. Trying to coax him into revelation, she mused, ‘Never to know what will happen next-I suppose I’m living proof that that can make life interesting. When I woke up this morning, I never pictured this.’

His smile was back. The moment had passed.

‘How could you have imagined that you’d meet one of this country’s heroes?’ he demanded irrepressibly. ‘A man so great that his head is on the coins.’

Enjoying her bemused look, he produced a two-euro coin. The head, with its sharply defined nose, did indeed bear a faint resemblance to him.

‘Of course!’ she said. ‘Dante Alighieri, your famous poet. Is that how you got your name?’

‘Yes. My mother hoped that naming me after a great man might make me a great man too.’

‘We all have our disappointments to bear,’ Ferne said solemnly.

His eyes gleamed appreciation at her dig.

‘Do you know much about Dante?’ he asked.

‘Not really. He lived in the late-thirteenth to early-fourteenth century, and he wrote a masterpiece called The Divine Comedy, describing a journey through hell, purgatory and paradise.’

‘You’ve read it? I’m impressed.’

‘Only in an English translation, and I had to struggle to reach the end.’ She chuckled. ‘Hell and purgatory were so much more interesting than paradise.’

He nodded. ‘Yes, I always thought paradise sounded insufferable. All that virtue.’ He shuddered, then brightened. ‘Luckily, it’s the last place I’m likely to end up. Have some more champagne.’

‘Just a little.’

A train thundered past them, going in the opposite direction. Watching the lights flicker on him as it went, Ferne thought that it wasn’t hard to picture him as a master of the dark arts; he was engaging and more than a little risky, because he masked his true self with charm.