‘You’re right. Wait until you’ve got his ring on your finger.’

‘Mamma-’

‘OK, OK. But you gotta tell me how you met him.’

‘He was at the hotel reception tonight.’

‘Of course. He wants to sell them his vegetables. Oh, it’ll be a marriage made in heaven.’

‘It isn’t a marriage made anywhere,’ Helen said crossly. ‘I’m not marrying him.’

Signora Angolini screamed. ‘What you mean? What kind of a girl kisses a man in front of the whole street and then says she won’t marry him?’

‘It’s not in front of the-’ A prickle on her spine caused her to look up the high buildings. Row upon row they rose, and wherever she looked the windows were packed with smiling faces.

‘I think we’d better get indoors,’ she said faintly. One ghastly fact was becoming clearer by the moment. There was no way she could tell her family the truth. If kissing her ‘fiancé’ in the street was bad, kissing a man whose identity she hadn’t known was a hundred times worse. The Angolini family would never recover from the shame.

Their home was an apartment over the butcher’s shop that was Nicolo Angolini’s pride and joy. Although large, it was always slightly cramped by two parents and three daughters. Tonight it was packed to the seams with the three sons, their wives and children. By the time Helen and Mamma had climbed the stairs the introductions had been made, and Lorenzo was the centre of a smiling crowd.

Now Helen discovered the purpose of the leather bag. Lorenzo had come bearing gifts, wine and delicacies from Sicily that made Mamma tearful as she recalled the homeland that she had last seen as a girl. Helen was so touched by her mother’s happiness that she almost forgave Lorenzo. Almost.

Her sisters were in ecstasies.

‘He’s really handsome,’ Patrizia whispered, seconded by Olivia and Carlotta. ‘Oh, Elena, you’re so lucky.’

‘My name is Helen, and one more word out of any of you will be your last,’ she muttered.