Francesco had a brooding quality, as though his mind carried some burden. Like the other two, he greeted her warmly, but then said, ‘I’d better go now, Mamma. I want to get home before Celia.’

‘Doesn’t she ever get suspicious about how often that happens?’ Hope asked.

‘Always, and she tells me to stop, but-’ He gave a resigned shrug. ‘I do it anyway.’ To Ferne he added, ‘My wife is blind, and she gets very cross if she thinks I’m fussing over her, but I can’t help it.’

‘Go on home,’ Hope told him. ‘Just be sure you’re at the party tomorrow.’

He embraced her fondly and departed. Almost at once another car appeared and disgorged two young women. One was dark, and so gracefully beautiful that even her pregnancy-bump couldn’t detract from her elegance. The other was fair, pretty in a way that was sensible rather than exotic, and was accompanied by an eager toddler.

‘This is my wife, Olympia,’ Primo said, drawing the pregnant woman forward to meet Ferne.

‘And this is my wife, Polly,’ Ruggiero said, indicating the fair young woman.

At this distance she could see that Polly too was pregnant, possibly about five months. Her husband’s attitude to her seemed protective, and again Ferne was pervaded by the feeling of contentment that she’d had earlier. Just being here, among people so happy to be together, was enough to create it.

It was soon time for lunch. Hope led the way indoors to inspect the meal Elena was preparing, taste things and give her opinion. In this she was joined not only by her daughters-in-law but her sons, who savoured the dishes and offered advice freely-sometimes too freely, as their mother informed them.

‘So it’s true what they say about Italian men,’ Ferne observed, amused.

‘What do they say about us?’ Dante murmured in her ear. ‘I’m longing to know.’