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‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘You should always run the place. Then the books would add up, and our warehouse stocks would make sense.’

She knew he was right; she was always able to encourage people to stay longer, to spend more than Lawrenz ever could. ‘I thought I might close early.’

‘Go ahead. He’s a long way from here – probably drunk somewhere.’

‘And in someone’s bed,’ she added, shocking herself. She had never uttered those thoughts to anyone, and the silence felt loud. ‘Sorry,’ she murmured. ‘I shouldn’t⁠—’

‘He has someone over there?’ Robertu asked. ‘I suspect he does.’

She heard a sigh. ‘I’m not really surprised.’

Feeling bold, Valentina continued. ‘He probably has more than one. Probably even somewhere here, too, to be honest. But listen, I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t mean for you to feel bad about that, or do anything.’

‘Don’t apologise for your honesty. He doesn’t deserve you and Danjel.’ Robertu paused. ‘Can I ask you something, Leni?’

‘Of course.’

‘I suspect I already know the answer. Does Lawrenz… well, does he hurt you in front of Danjel?’

She swallowed. Tell him! Her sensibilities were screaming at her to lie, but her heart ruled. ‘Yes. More and more.’

She heard him gasp quietly. ‘I had hoped at least… Leni… I’m a failure if I don’t put a stop to this.’

‘Your brother is the failure. You’re a good man. Just be there if I ever ask for your help.’

‘Anytime. Anything.’ After a pause, he repeated his old yearning. ‘It should have been us.’

‘Robertu…’ she began softly.

He gave a soft laugh. ‘Don’t worry, I’m simply stating a fact. I must take your advice and marry Anna. We can be happy.’

‘Hurry up and give us a cousin for Danjel and some much-needed joy. We shall spoil your child dreadfully. I’m going now, Robertu. Have a good night.’

She smiled as she hung up the phone, then switched off the lights and went upstairs. She checked the stew she’d prepared earlier and left to simmer, then the table to ensure it looked welcoming. She had made an effort to do this for Lawrenz in the early years of their marriage, but he was indifferent to her efforts to please him. These days they ate at a plain table in relative silence, punctuated only by the sounds of her husband’s noisy eating, his rebuffs to her polite questions, or harsh remarks to their son for everything from his grades to his conversation. The only time there was ever lively chat between father and son was regarding football.

But this evening would be different.

This evening, she’d laid out napkins, and even a small vase of flowers adorned the table. She struck a match and lit a candle, noticing that her hand was shaking as she did so.

Peter Fox would be here. The figure who had shimmered in the background of her dreams for a dozen years was suddenly here in Malta, about to join her and Danjel for a meal. It felt unreal. Was he still a dream… some sort of mirage now in waking hours?

‘Danjel?’ she called. ‘My friend Peter will be here soon. Are you ready?’

He answered from his bedroom. ‘Coming!’ He soon arrived in the living room where they would be eating and whistled. ‘This is lovely, Mama. I can’t remember you doing this since maybe three Easters ago.’

‘I know, and it’s so pretty to eat in here. This is a special occasion – my old friend coming to visit.’

‘Tell me again when you met him.’

‘Just before I married your father, during the war. He was a Spitfire pilot, around ten years older than me.’

‘Then he must be ancient.’

She laughed. ‘Thanks a lot!’

‘No, I mean, he’s got to be…’ He did a calculation. ‘He’s got to be an old man now.’

‘By my reckoning, he’s not yet forty.’