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‘Neither have I,’ he said, smiling widely.

TWENTY-FIVE

The previous day was brilliantly happy in Valletta: the atmosphere of joy, the waving, the whistles and deafening cheers as the Queen of the Commonwealth and her consort, the Duke of Edinburgh, stood on the deck of the Royal Yacht Britannia as it was escorted into the harbour by warships.

The couple had been permitted private time on land to go for a drive with their children. But today it would all be official duties. The streets would be lined with the Maltese people screaming their hearts out for the beautiful young Queen, bringing all the glamour of the British throne to Valletta. All the women were desperate to see what gowns she might wear to the various events, which fabulous tiaras and accompanying jewellery would make them catch their breath.

Danjel couldn’t stop smiling. Having grown up in the grim postwar period where everyone was still being very careful and resourceful, he had not experienced anything like this outpouring of happy emotion in his lifetime. The first visit by the royals hadn’t been as glamorous as this one, and even though he could remember some vivid moments, he’d been young and his recall was sketchy. Today felt like a rush of optimism for the future for all in Malta, and yet Valentina was also feeling it at a very personal level.

This was a watershed moment in her life. It was as though the arrival of the royals, who had brought Peter back into her orbit, was the fork in her life’s path and she now had a choice to make.

Whatever she chose would affect her entire future, and more importantly, Danjel’s. The easy decision was to remain the suffering wife of Lawrenz Falzon, get Danjel through to adulthood and then toss him from the nest as fast as possible. It hurt her heart to think she might not see her son again, but it hurt her even more to think of him being swallowed entirely by the Falzons and walking in his father’s footsteps. No, she could never let that happen.

She could save whatever she could, penny-pinching – even stealing from the till if it came to it – and perhaps recruit Robertu to help. He could look after her savings so they wouldn’t be found by Lawrenz, and maybe once she knew Danjel was safely away… It was nearing eight – almost time to go. Danjel had the day off from school but was already with his class and teacher, lining up to welcome the royals. She imagined they would be around the Grand Master’s Palace, a mere skip away from their house.

Before she left, Valentina checked her appearance again. Something had changed. Her dress was conservative, in an attractive blue. It wasn’t loud or revealing. And yet she knew in her heart she’d never looked better. It was nothing to do with the frock, she realised, but her attitude. Today she felt pretty – a feeling that had eluded her for far too long. She had tied her hair back neatly and put a pair of white gloves in her bag in case any other women were present and wearing the same. She hoped no one would be wearing a hat. Not inside, surely, and certainly not in a holy place.

It was crucial that she look the part, even though she was not important to the proceedings. But to be an observer, and standing alongside Peter too… what a treat.

Valentina set off into the warmth of the spring morning. The streets were already filling with people carrying small flags. Some held picnic baskets, because it would likely be a long wait until the royal cavalcade arrived.

She entered the cathedral tentatively, feeling like an interloper, but there was Peter, already lifting a hand and beaming at her.

‘You’re a vision, Valentina,’ he breathed, squeezing her hand behind her back so no one could see. ‘Come on.’

She hesitated when she saw Carmel. ‘You promise he doesn’t mind that I’m here?’

Peter shook his head as the man approached them with a wide smile.

‘Valentina. So nice to see you. Peter here has told me you know more about Caravaggio than even him. Is this true?’

Peter nodded at her, as if to say, Now is your moment; don’t blow it.

‘I’ve studied him all my life.’

‘Good heavens.’

‘It’s one of the reasons I wanted the job here – because it keeps me close to what…’ She wanted to say, what keeps me going, but instead she said, ‘… what interests me. It’s my passion.’

‘Shall we go into the oratory?’ Carmel said. ‘We have time.’

They were the only people in the cathedral, and Carmel made conversation as they walked.

‘We’ve been told if the visit is happening, it will occur between ten and ten thirty a.m.’

Leni glanced at her watch. It was just past eight thirty. The cathedral staff had made no special preparation from what she could tell beyond a slim red carpet that had been rolled out, which they all avoided stepping on. It led to the entrance of the oratory, which she was now even more pleased she had cleaned so diligently. It gleamed, even beneath the low lighting.

Carmel could clearly listen in on her thoughts. ‘You’ve done a magnificent job in here,’ he said. ‘So, tell me.’ He gestured to the huge artwork.

‘Where to begin,’ she said, simply to get her dry throat moistened. ‘Let’s start with who Caravaggio was, and how this painting came into being…’

Valentina led them on a journey of the painting, which she told like an exciting story, beginning with the carousing lifestyle of its artist.

‘At the time, he was having a particular prostitute pose for his works. She was one of a group of working women who were owned by a man named Ranuccio Tomassoni, who not only took a cut of their paltry earnings but also took payment in kind from the women he favoured.’ Valentina explained how there was simmering resentment between the two men for years, which culminated in a brawl and the death of Tomassoni at Caravaggio’s hand. This was what had sent him on the run from the authorities.

‘And then he found his way to Malta. No one knows exactly why he chose Valletta, but clues do suggest it was in order to find peace in his head and perhaps forgiveness. He wanted to join the Knights Hospitaller, which was one of the most powerful and revered organisations in the Christian world.’ She smiled at Peter and Carmel. ‘Caravaggio desperately wanted to be part of the Order, and there was a lot of work going on behind the scenes to gain a pardon for him in Rome, particularly as his art had won so much recognition and fame in Italy. Skipping forward a bit, he worked hard at his art to impress all the right people, especially the Grand Master Wignacourt, whose portrait he painted. It earned Caravaggio the cross of the Order of St John, which he wanted so much – as a sort of atonement, perhaps.’

‘Impressive, Valentina,’ Carmel said, looking like he meant it. ‘And the painting?’ He gestured towards the giant artwork in front of them.