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‘Good morning, Valentina.’ Her colleague from the cathedral walked towards the bar and smiled at her. ‘How are you?’

‘My back is sore,’ she said, but returned his smile. ‘The usual?’ She put a glass on the counter in readiness.

‘Please. And you know you don’t have to scrub so hard, my child.’

She laughed. ‘Oh, but I do, Carmel. Yesterday I worked on Brother Zacharia. He’s been gathering dust for too long.’

‘You spoil the dead, Valentina,’ he said, laughing too.

Valentina moved over to the stove where two huge kettles of coffee would normally be simmering. One had already been emptied by the morning crowd. She picked up the other one and poured the steaming liquid, raising the kettle high and then lowering the stream as the glass filled. Vapours of arabica combined with the spiciness of clove, cinnamon and the herby liquorice of anise.

‘Ah, you make the best brew in all of Valletta,’ Carmel remarked as she brought it over to him. ‘When you can do this,’ he said, taking his first sip and sighing, ‘why do you clean?’

‘Because I love being in the cathedral. You know this.’

He regarded her. ‘I wish I could find different work for you.’

‘I don’t mind. It is my service for the church. But I’d love to do any work you might have in the archives, too.’ She looked at him hopefully.

‘Really?’

‘But don’t tell my husband. I’m happy for him to think all I do is clean.’

Carmel frowned. ‘Why the secrecy?’

Valentina tried to affect a light tone. ‘Oh, let’s just say, present company excluded, that it’s the Maltese male ego at stake.’ She found a laugh to throw him off the scent and his expression relaxed.

‘Lawrenz surely doesn’t need you to work, anyway, does he?’

He’d asked the questions several ways, several times before; he was obviously worried that Lawrenz was forcing her to bring home more money. She’d always reassured him that it was her choice, that she did it out of love for the space, because she did not want that feeling to persist, or spread to others. She had successfully hidden her trauma, disappointment and despair for years.

‘No, that’s true. But he knows it makes me happy to be in the cathedral, to look upon all that glorious art twice a week. I try and pass that on to Danjel too. He shares my love of the cathedral.’

‘For which my heart is happy,’ Carmel said. ‘Will he join the clergy one day, do you think?’ he asked airily, as though this thought had only just struck him.

She’d been waiting for this question, having noticed how welcoming the cathedral staff were of her son and that it wasn’t just out of pastoral care; they saw in him a potential new priest. Now she chose her words carefully. ‘I don’t know yet, Carmel. I sense he might want to follow a career in ecclesiastical art,’ she said, making that up, but it sounded not too far away from a role in the church.

It pleased him, she was relieved to see. ‘Oh but that’s marvellous,’ he said, beaming. ‘Few would have such specific ambition.’

She nodded, feeling slightly guilty at her contrivance, although it wasn’t an impossible notion. ‘He already knows every piece of artwork in the cathedral. Now I’m teaching him about the tombs and the history behind them.’

‘You’re a marvel and, dare I say, wasted as a cleaner,’ he admitted, draining his coffee.

‘Then hire me as a curator,’ she quipped, knowing this was far from the realms of possibility but unable to resist the opportunity.

He paused, and then gave a shrug, perhaps regretting his praise. ‘We are very traditional, Valentina,’ he said, and she felt the inevitable inward sigh. ‘But since the war, many women in Europe are demanding more visibility, more opportunity.’

‘But not here,’ she said bleakly.

‘We’re still stuck in tradition,’ he repeated. ‘But I am going to look for a role you might find more stimulating. Change might be slow here, but it can happen. Surely you too can feel a slight shift in perspective?’

She nodded. ‘I know Britain’s fate might have been different if the women hadn’t taken on so many men’s roles. And America couldn’t have supplied all that they did to the Allies without women working in the armament factories and keeping farms and food production going while their men were away. And Carmel, I think we both know that Valletta wouldn’t have survived if the women of Malta hadn’t dug deep. Who do you think kept the morale high? Who do you think kept the children safe and fed? Who do you think suffered the most to keep the city alive and breathing?’

‘I do know,’ he murmured.

‘I don’t believe most men do. I don’t believe the men of this city understand just how much suffering women have absorbed through the war and now continue to absorb because they are not allowed to fulfil themselves.’

Carmel frowned. ‘You sound like a very modern woman now, Valentina.’