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‘You remember,’ he said.

‘I remember everything that we discussed,’ she said, her gaze so penetrating he was forced to look back at the street.

‘So my mother and I became strangers,’ he said, then sighed. ‘So I think what you have with Danjel is special.’

‘I probably confide too much in such a young person. He should not have a care in his head.’

‘He lives in peace, Valentina. You were dealing with death and destruction around the same age. In this respect, his life is entirely blessed.’

‘Not with the father he has, I’m afraid.’

She’d said it was not a happy marriage back at the cathedral, but now he caught the sad undertones of something worse. He cast his mind back to the conversations they’d had twelve years ago. He couldn’t remember the specifics, but he remembered her face as she’d spoken of the boy her parents had decided she would marry. ‘As bad as you’d feared?’ he queried softly, hoping she might elaborate.

‘Worse,’ she said.

He swallowed, about to respond, but then Danjel was back. ‘Mama.’ He bowed theatrically as he presented her drink. He was also carrying some lemonade for himself.

‘Cheers!’ Peter said once Valentina held her glass, hoping to lighten the mood. ‘Er, actually, I think a toast is in order.’ He paused, wanting to say something meaningful but brief. ‘To art lovers.’

He saw Valentina’s expression and knew she remembered their conversation in the cathedral all those years ago. And it seemed that he had pleased her with this toast, including Danjel in their formerly closed gang of two, because she smiled, transforming her expression into one of light and shade.

‘To art lovers,’ mother and son chorused back and they all clinked glasses.

‘That’s delicious, Danjel, thank you,’ Valentina said after taking a sip.

‘Am I ready to serve in the bar then?’

She laughed. ‘When you’re as tall as I am.’

‘My gosh, that’s not far off,’ Peter said. ‘You’re going to be a giant, Danjel.’ It wasn’t true, but the lad would surely hit close to six feet when he was grown.

‘Do you think so?’ he asked eagerly. ‘I hope one day I’ll be as tall as you.’

‘You might well be,’ he encouraged, although inwardly he felt that was probably a vain hope; Peter was six-foot-four.

A yell came from street level. ‘That’s George,’ Danjel said, leaning out of the window. ‘Ho, George!’

Peter looked out too and saw a lad around Danjel’s age, kicking a ball from foot to foot as expertly as any professional.

‘Come and play!’ George called.

‘I can’t!’

‘Why not? Don’t say homework. We can do that later.’

‘No, we have a guest.’

‘Come on! Just fifteen minutes.’

Danjel turned to his mother.

‘Go on then,’ Valentina said. ‘But make sure you’re back for when I serve up, so you can be away to George’s home for your project.’

‘I promise.’ He looked at Peter. ‘Excuse me, just for a short while.’

‘Of course. I’d come and play with you boys if your mother wouldn’t think it⁠—’

‘Oh please, go ahead,’ Valentina said, smiling at him. ‘I have to cook the carrots anyway.’