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Valentina refused to accept this for herself. If she’d chosen marriage at sixteen, if she’d chosen motherhood so early in her life, if she’d chosen this life, then she would have no cause for remonstration.

But she’d chosen none of it.

It had all been forced upon her. Peter had ruled her emotions back then, and other men had ruled her life.

‘Valentina,’ Peter said now. ‘Why?’

She turned to face him squarely. ‘Peter, I’ve never stopped loving you from the moment your Spitfire entered my vision. I loved you as a stranger, I loved you as an injured pilot and I loved you most of all in the cathedral, and for giving me Caravaggio. I have loved you every day of the twelve years since you walked away from me, and for every minute that you have given to me on this unexpected visit. Most of all, Peter Fox, I have loved you for being kind to my son, for making him see his own potential, for encouraging him and showing him that perhaps he’s special. I think you would be an exceptional father figure to him, particularly because of your own experiences as a child, and I think you’d be the only man I’d ever agree to marry.’

‘Then why⁠—’

‘Because I’m no longer going to allow any man to be responsible for my happiness or my future,’ Valentina said, shaking her head. ‘It would be so easy to say yes to your offer and all that it would bring to me and to Danjel. But for once in my life I am free to make the decision that best suits me.’

He looked at her in bafflement. ‘Which is?’

‘I’m going to Rome with the Caravaggio.’ At his shocked face, she continued. ‘Blame your Queen – she put the idea into my head. And then I became driven by the thought. My marriage suddenly no longer mattered when I was in your arms, Peter, but also I knew you would leave.’ When he began to protest, she quietened him with a gentle hand on his arm. ‘This is not blame. I knew you had to go home, and I thought I’d have to return to my hateful marriage and miserable life… and then you gave me the opportunity to speak in front of Queen Elizabeth. When she said what she did, it was like a champagne cork popping in my mind. Why shouldn’t I be involved in Caravaggio’s artwork? No local knows it better than me. No local loves it as much as I do. No local would ever care for it as I would. And I thought that if I struck while Carmel still felt somewhat obligated to the Queen, I might just persuade him that he needed another local alongside him. We are Maltese and this is our painting. It belongs to Valletta, not to London or New York or even Rome. We need help with it, of course, but we should be there when that signature is revealed.’

She watched his face relax and change, and suddenly there it was, that brilliant smile. A little older, surrounded by a few more wrinkles, but much the same one he’d given her when he opened his eyes on that day in 1942 to prove he wasn’t dead.

‘So you’re choosing Caravaggio over me?’ he asked, but it was with warmth.

She smiled. ‘I’m afraid I am.’

‘And you’ve spoken to Carmel?’

She nodded. ‘I went to see him and I asked him bluntly if he’d allow me to come to Rome. I left no room for him to make excuses. It was a yes or no. I think I might have threatened him too.’

‘No more cleaning then?’

She laughed. ‘Yes, that was the sum of my threat, but he took it seriously. But no one loves our cathedral or cleans it like you, Valentina,’ she said, imitating his voice.

‘And he said yes, just like that?’

She grinned again. ‘Carmel said he didn’t dare say no. Not after I told him I’d write to Queen Elizabeth and tell her of his decision.’

Peter threw back his head and laughed in genuine delight. ‘You are truly Machiavellian.’

‘If only you knew,’ she said dryly, thinking of her call to the Marseille Police. She hurried on in case he queried her remark. ‘I’ve promised him I’ll stay with the painting in Rome, because I know he has work back here in Valletta. I promised that I will record everything to do with the restoration and help in every way to prepare for the exhibition.’

‘So you were always going to leave Lawrenz?’

‘I couldn’t stay. Not after the Queen’s visit… and not after knowing I’d so easily broken my vows. I feel no guilt. I was going to escape and leave him while he was away on one of his trips, and I was prepared to suffer any consequences.’

Peter nodded, understanding in his eyes. ‘And Danjel?’

‘I am taking him with me. Carmel has agreed because we have family in Rome. It’s time to do some healing with the Italians, as you say. Danjel has two girl cousins, one the same age and one a bit older, plus he has others not far from Florence. The family won’t hesitate to give us accommodation, and he can go to school and make his Italian fluent. He’s going to need it in his career, if he stays interested in art, and he and I can visit every Caravaggio we can.’

‘You’ve got it all worked out, haven’t you? When were you going to tell me?’

She saw a hint of pain in his eyes, underneath the proud smile he still wore. ‘Well, I would have written, given you leave tomorrow. I’m also well aware that you are still technically a married man. Go home and sort that all out. You need some time alone – so go home and enjoy it.’

‘But where does this leave us?’

‘Happy.’ She reached for his hand and held it to her heart for a moment, wanting to soften the blow of what she was telling him. ‘You get to return to your quiet life and enjoy being a single man. Write your book. I get to follow this path that excites me, released from the penance of my life with Lawrenz, and with money to do what I like.’

‘Money?’

‘Robertu will sell this bar, I suspect, and the property. He will give it all to me, I’m sure. He feels guilty for not doing more for us. And we don’t want or need much anyway. We will have freedom and Caravaggio. What more could I want?’