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‘Yes, she told me,’ the boy said. ‘I thought you’d be really old, but you look younger than my father.’

Peter’s gaze helplessly met Valentina’s at the mention of Lawrenz, and she looked down momentarily before smiling.

‘Welcome to our home, Peter. This is a treat. I never thought I’d hear myself utter those words to you, of all people.’

He gave a nervous chuckle. ‘Er, here,’ he said, holding out a bottle of wine. ‘And for you, Danjel, I have this.’ He lifted a book from his bag. ‘Your mother said you have an interest in this artist? I have found this book to be definitive.’

He watched Danjel’s eyes glitter as he took the book about Caravaggio. ‘For me? To keep?’

‘Yes, indeed. I hope you enjoy it as much as I have. And er… perhaps you’ll share it with your mother.’

‘Thank you,’ Danjel said and, after hesitating a moment, stepped forward and hugged him.

‘Oh,’ Peter said, awkward and pleased at once. ‘You’re welcome.’ He looked at Valentina over the boy’s head and saw her eyes were glistening, and he had to look away.

‘You didn’t have to bring anything,’ she chided, but he could tell she was pleased.

‘Oh, it’s the least I can do for anyone who is prepared to feed me.’

‘Can I offer you a drink?’

‘A beer would be great, if you⁠—’

‘I do. I own a bar!’ she quipped. ‘Danjel, would you get Peter a beer, please? Serve it how I’ve taught you. And I’ll have a Lumincetta – let’s see if you can get that perfect.’ She smiled at him.

‘Watch me, Mama,’ he said in challenge, then disappeared downstairs.

Valentina gestured for Peter to come into the main room. ‘I thought we’d eat in here.’

‘It’s lovely. Have you lived here since… er…’

‘All our married life, yes. It’s convenient, being above the bar.’ She shrugged. She led him over to the windows in the small traditional balcony that was enclosed but overlooked the street. ‘I like to watch people come and go.’

‘How long is your husband away?’

‘Up to a month, he said. He has business in Marseille.’

Danjel arrived back with the beer. ‘This is Cisk, our local beer, Mr Fox.’

‘I know it well, thank you, Danjel. And I insist that you call me Peter, please.’

Danjel cut a glance at his mother, who gave a small nod. ‘Back with yours, Mama.’ He hurried away again.

‘A fine lad,’ Peter said. ‘His English is brilliant.’

‘Thank you, but it’s compulsory at school. It was in my day too. Didn’t you know that?’

‘I just thought all you kids spoke English because so many British people were living on the island back then. In English schools, we have to learn French as our second language and some of us’—he pointed at himself—‘also had to learn Latin.’

‘Here Italian is also part of the fabric of our lives, even though we wanted to stop speaking it for a while. Danjel speaks all three very well. He finds new languages easy.’

‘Lucky chap. I hated verbs.’ Peter grinned. ‘Your boy is very easy to like, Valentina.’

‘I think he’s my best friend, actually. Is that crazy?’

Peter let his expression soften. ‘What wouldn’t I give for my mother to have thought of me as her best friend?’

Valentina smiled. ‘Instead she sent you off to be schooled away from home.’