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Her voice finally came, choked. ‘Peter.’

His attention snapped back. Concern turned to bafflement.

‘Peter…’ she repeated uselessly and yet it was so thrilling to form the word with her mouth and tongue… to say his name aloud once again.

She watched his eyes narrow in concentration, an arm still outstretched towards her to help. ‘Sorry, do I know you?’

A strangled laugh escaped her. He hadn’t changed a bit. But she obviously had.

‘It’s me,’ she whispered, feeling as tightly held as her voice sounded. Her heart was drumming against her ribcage. Surely he could hear it. It was as loud as one of those big drums banged on street marches.

He gave a small quizzical shake of his head, both hands turning palms out in query.

She found her voice. ‘It’s Valentina.’

TWENTY

‘Valentina?’ he all but whispered.

The woman nodded at him.

‘My Valentina?’ he asked, to be sure.

She gasped. It sounded joyful though. ‘Yes, your Valentina, who helped rescue you from the sea, although I didn’t really. I just liked to think I did,’ she said.

Now it was his turn to stand with mouth open and no words.

‘Oh, please say something, Peter. I’m beginning to feel embarrassed,’ she said, pulling the scarf from her head. Her hair dropped in rich waves to her shoulders; not ebony, not cocoa, but somewhere in between.

‘It is you,’ he said, recognising the way it framed her face, which had lost all of its adolescent roundness. In fact she looked as though Caravaggio himself had picked up a stick of charcoal and outlined her in a few sharp strokes. ‘Valentina,’ he said yet again in disbelief. ‘All grown up.’

She was more than that, he realised; the pretty child was now an intensely beautiful woman, but she looked so lonely. Her isolation was etched into the angles of her face, and her mouth now looked almost stitched, shut down. Melancholy drifted around her like a silent, invisible wraith, touching her hair, her skin, even her fingers that fidgeted, twisting the scarf. Perhaps she was eager to be rid of him.

She nodded. Smiled haltingly. ‘It’s been twelve years, and if you give me a moment I’ll tell you how many days.’

A laugh escaped him. ‘You will?’

‘I counted. Each day. For a long time.’

He frowned. Nurse Maria had been right, then, about the teen’s crush. ‘I would never have recognised you,’ he admitted, though he saw now how evident it was. Valentina had not lost the ferocity in her gaze over the years.

‘Clearly,’ she said.

He found his smile and something seemed to relax in her. ‘I was going to say how very beautiful you are, but then you always were.’

She pushed her hair back behind her ears, instantly self-conscious, it seemed. It was as though no one had ever said as much to her.

‘Forgive me, Valentina, for not recognising you, but the pretty little girl is gone and a stranger has replaced her. A stranger who is tall and graceful… and breathtaking, if I’m being honest.’

‘I’m just a cleaner,’ she said, gesturing towards her cleaning supplies.

He sensed an anger behind the words. ‘I suspect you are much more than that.’ He saw her gaze dart around as if she was looking for an escape, and he said, ‘I apologise for making you feel uncomfortable.’

‘It’s a shock, that’s all,’ she said, seemingly recovering herself. ‘I always hoped you’d come back but never expected you actually would.’

‘Well, I too am shocked to see you, though I was planning to visit if I could. I still always think of you as a teenager.’

She looked pleased. ‘So you do think of me?’