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‘But you have a family… what about⁠—’

‘I have Danjel, yes. He is the reason I get up each day and breathe, over and over until the next morning.’ She’d shocked him, she could see, and changed tack. He didn’t need to know about her suffering. ‘Are you just visiting? Is this a nostalgic trip for you?’

She could see he was struggling to compose his thoughts. ‘Er… no. I mean, it is nostalgic, of course. But I’m here for Queen Elizabeth’s visit.’

‘Ah,’ she said. It all made sense now. ‘So you’re part of the royal, how do you say… household?’

‘Not quite.’ He gave a tight grin that disappeared as fast as it came. ‘I work with the royal artworks rather than the family, and I’m not part of the official royal entourage. I’m here should the Queen or Prince Philip have a question about the Caravaggio. Er, that, and maybe I’ll get the opportunity to bear witness to the first restoration before it goes to the exhibition. I’m writing a book, you see.’

‘Restoration?’ She was confused.

‘Carmel hasn’t spoken of it? I believe the painting will be packaged and transported to Florence, where it will undergo a thorough and professional restoration prior to going on exhibition in Rome.’

‘I didn’t know.’ But then why would she? Who would bother to tell the cleaner? ‘It certainly needs restoration after being taken down and rolled up like an old piece of paper.’

He looked startled. ‘When was this?’

‘Not long after you left. A decision was made to protect the city’s most valuable artwork given the damage being done to the buildings. But in their effort to protect it, they did further damage, I think. Paint fell off.’

He blinked slowly, sadly. ‘This is what happens when…’ He didn’t finish, shaking his head. ‘They will repair everything they can in Florence. I’m sure only top experts will work on it, who understand how Caravaggio put his paint onto his canvas.’

She softened as he spoke so earnestly about the artist. ‘Someone like you?’

‘No,’ he said quickly. ‘I know the artist as well as anyone, but I am a historian. Not a restorer. That needs specialist skills.’

‘I hate that it is leaving Malta, and to Italy, of all places.’ She couldn’t help the edge in her tone.

‘Perhaps the people there can atone for what they did?’ he offered, frowning. ‘Anyway, hopefully the work will reveal what we all want to see,’ he said, sounding wistful, almost conspiratorial.

‘The signature?’ she breathed, filled with awe. ‘Is it really there?’

Peter shrugged. ‘You remember? Well, I hope so. We’re certain it exists. There is evidence in this very cathedral’s archives that a gentleman in the 1920s catalogued it. But of course no one living knows where that is, and no one living has actually seen the signature, plus there are all the years of dust and degradation…’ He sighed.

She smiled and it was genuine; she realised it felt good to be treated as an equal. ‘How exciting. I’ve never stopped studying this painting – and Caravaggio.’

‘That’s thrilling to hear.’

‘Though it does me no good at all.’ She looked away, then added, ‘But it helps Danjel, who shares my interest.’

‘He does?’ Peter smiled.

‘Yes. While the clergy here hope that Danjel will become a priest, I personally don’t feel that will fulfil the boy I know. But he loves art, and perhaps he could work with ecclesiastical art.’

‘Oh, Valentina, that’s very exciting. It’s such a specialist area. London would surely snap him up or Ita⁠—’

‘Italy again.’ She blew out a breath.

‘Yes, yes, I’m sorry. But Valentina, we’re all trying to find a way forward, to forgive, if not forget.’

She nodded. ‘You’re right. Italy would be the logical place. And I don’t know if you remember, but we have family there.’

Peter nodded. ‘Are you in touch?’

She nodded. ‘Now and then.’

‘How old is Danjel?’

‘He’s ten.’