‘Why, that you’re all fantastic cooks, of course. What did you think I meant?’

He gave a disillusioned sigh. ‘Nothing, nothing. Yes, we’re all interested in cooking. Not like Englishmen, who eat sausage and mash on every occasion.’ Suddenly he looked closely at her face. ‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘Why are you looking troubled?’

‘I just suddenly thought-perhaps I should telephone the consulate. They might have some news by now.’

‘This afternoon I’ll drive you into Naples and we’ll visit the consulate here. They can get onto the Milan consulate. Now, let’s forget boring reality and concentrate on the important things-enjoying ourselves.’

‘Yes, let’s,’ she said happily.

Dante was as good as his word, borrowing Toni’s car after lunch and driving her down the hill through the streets of the old town until they reached their destination near the coast.

There the news was bleak. Neither her passport nor her credit cards had been recovered.

‘Considering how quickly they were reported, it looks as though someone made off with them,’ Dante observed. ‘But hopefully they won’t be any use to them.’

‘We can arrange a temporary passport,’ the young woman at the desk said. ‘But it will take a few days. There’s a kiosk over there for the photograph.’

‘No need, I’ll take it,’ Dante said. Eyeing Ferne’s bag, he added, ‘If you’ll lend me your camera.’

She handed it to him. ‘What made you so sure I had it?’

‘You told me you always had it. And the woman who was smart enough to record her lover’s infidelity wouldn’t miss a trick like this.’

She showed him how to work it, and they spent a few minutes out in the sun while she turned this way and that at his command.

‘Pull your blouse down this side,’ he said. ‘You’ve got pretty shoulders; let’s see them. Good. Now, shake your head so that your hair fluffs up.’

‘This is no good for passport pictures,’ she objected.