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She frowned. ‘What are you saying?’

‘Morning, Peter,’ Danjel said, hurrying into the kitchen to hug him. Valentina swallowed her next question and watched Peter hug Danjel back, slightly awkward. And yet, despite his lack of maternal love, Peter – bless him – was more affectionate in that moment than Lawrenz had ever been towards his son.

‘For you,’ he said, tossing the football to Danjel, who deftly caught it, eyes shining.

‘Thank you,’ he breathed, as though hardly daring to believe he had a new leather football.

Realising their conversation was over until they could get a moment alone, Peter said, ‘Well, shall we set off on our picnic?’

‘I just need to phone Robertu to tell him the bar is remaining closed today and I’ll reopen tomorrow. Then we can go.’

They’d met up with Maria, who carried a small basket with the cake and lemonade, and were on their way to Sa Maison Gardens, a small but exquisitely beautiful garden over several levels. Valentina had been prepared to walk, but Maria refused.

‘Nothing doing. I’ll get us a ride.’

Before they knew it, they were bundled up onto a small wagon, a wide smile on Danjel’s face as they bounced along towards the main gates of the city.

‘Where are we going?’ Peter asked, his long legs folded up as they passed the Floriana bastions. ‘We’re leaving the city.’

‘This was Danjel’s choice,’ Valentina said, explaining where they were going. ‘I used to bring him here as a very little boy.’

‘It’s my favourite spot,’ her son said over his shoulder.

‘Do you bring your girlfriends here, Danjel?’ Maria asked in the facetious tone of an inquisitive aunt.

Danjel turned, blushing. ‘No… no, this is⁠—’

‘She’s teasing,’ Valentina assured him. ‘Ah, here we are.’

The driver was slowing the mule. Peter paid, and then they walked a small way until they entered a clearing. There they could see gardens leading to a wall and the harbour beyond.

‘Splendid!’ Peter said, sighing. ‘Well done, Dan,’ he said, slinging an arm around her boy’s shoulder. ‘A fantastic choice.’

Here was one of those moments, Valentina thought, so gloriously golden that she almost forgot all the sorrow. Live in these moments, she’d told herself. When Danjel scores a goal, or someone says something helplessly funny and everyone throws back their head and laughs unguardedly, or a handsome man you’ve loved all your life kisses you… Live in that; hold the memory.

Maria was huffing and puffing behind them. ‘I need a drink,’ she said. ‘Where shall we sit?’

‘This is Marsamxett Harbour, is that right?’ Peter asked.

‘That’s right,’ Danjel said.

‘I flew over this many times in my trusty Spitfire,’ Peter said. ‘But it’s far more beautiful from this spot.’

‘Welcome to our special place,’ Valentina said. ‘Very few people come here, though I’m not sure why. It’s almost always like this – deserted and yet so inspiring.’

‘They prefer Barrakka Gardens because they’re closer,’ Maria said.

They spent the next few minutes choosing the ideal spot to lay out their blankets and a tablecloth, held down by rocks that Danjel helpfully found. Then they all sat, sighing with pleasure.

‘Very good choice, Danjel,’ Peter said again, settling back against a tall palm. ‘This shady spot and that breeze is about as good as life gets. Tell us about these gardens, would you? A brief history please.’

Danjel grinned. ‘It was built by a chevalier in the eighteenth century,’ he said, watching his mother nod in agreement. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t remember his name. But it was Lady…’ He struggled, looking towards Valentina again.

‘Lady Julia Lockwood,’ she said.

‘Yes, that’s it. Well, this lady lived here for nearly fifteen years, which is why it has the name of il-Gnien Tal-Milorda,’ he said. ‘Which means Her Ladyship’s Garden.’

‘That’s just lovely,’ Peter said.