One night she took home a tape-recording of a conference that had been held within the firm eight months previously, wanting to check whether she had really said what the notes stated.

The sound of her own voice made her lean back in her chair, shocked. It might have been a machine talking, so dead and cold did she sound. Now she knew what Drago had heard, and why he had feared for her.

He was with her-unseen, unheard, but a constant presence. She had only to think of him to feel safe again, as though his arms were still holding her. With James there had been a constant yearning for a man who, she now realised, had never really been there. But she did not miss Drago, for how could you miss someone who was always with you?

At last a letter came from him.

I wanted you to know how different things are with me since you were here. Not all the ghosts have been laid to rest, but the worst of them leave me in peace now. I sleep at night, and when I awake I confront the day ahead without despair. I once thought this could never happen, but now I know that there is one person who knows and understands, and that knowledge is enough to give me strength. Even if we never meet again, you are still here with me in spirit, and you give me the courage I need. I hope with all my heart that it is the same with you. God bless you.

She wrote back.

You brought me back to life. I had become dead inside, and would have stayed that way always, but for you. It’s a strange and confusing feeling to reawaken, and I don’t yet know who this new person is. But, whoever she is, you made her free to grieve and one day, perhaps soon, she will be well again. For this you will always be dear to me.

He did not write again, nor did she expect him to. They had set each other on a new path, but it led away into the unknown, and they must travel it separately. Sometimes she remembered his words-that he was glad they had not met before because she would have threatened his loyalty to his wife. Who knew where that road might have led? But not yet. Perhaps not ever.

Her sleep, once so blank, had begun to be troubled with dreams. James seemed to haunt her as he’d never done before. She would see his face in that last meeting, but when she approached him he always vanished.

‘Where are you?’ she cried. ‘Where are you?’

But when she awoke to find herself sitting up in bed she knew that she hadn’t been calling to James, but to someone else, and that he was already with her. Then she would lie down and sleep again in peace.

She began studying him again on the internet, and soon managed to access Italian newspapers, including one that was local to Florence. It was a ready source of information, as excitement was rising about a mediaeval church that Drago was restoring. Work had slowed the previous year owing to many unexpected problems, but now things were moving again, as Drago seemed infused with new inspiration. It had caused him to insist on changing things that had previously seemed settled, replacing them with better ideas.

There were pictures, showing her the building before Drago had started work-tired-looking and down-at-heel. Now as it neared completion she could see its magnificence restored through his genius, and she felt a sudden happiness, for she thought she knew the source of his new life.

An increase of work left her no time to follow his progress for a while, and it was almost a week before she was able to seek him out on-line. Then she saw something that almost made her heart stop:

Di Luca critical after near-death plunge.

Struggling through the Italian prose, Alysa managed to understand that Drago had climbed high on some scaffolding, intent on examining a carved stone to make sure that it was perfect, had missed his footing and had plunged down to the ground.

It was dated five days ago. He could be dead by now.

Frantically she searched through the following days, terrified lest she find the fatal announcement. There was nothing, but she searched again, and this time she spotted a small item saying that he’d regained consciousness and seemed better. She read it over and over, terrified that she’d misread it.

To her relief there had been no mistake, but she couldn’t rest until she knew more. After a few minutes, summoning up her courage, she lifted the phone and dialled his home.

Who would answer? she wondered. The housekeeper? Or perhaps Elena was there again? She was still running through the possibilities when Drago’s voice said, ‘Pronto.’

At first she was too startled to speak and he had to say it again before she answered.

‘It’s me.’

She wondered if she should identify herself properly, but he recognised ‘me’ at once.

‘Ciao, Alysa. How nice to hear from you.’

Trying to pull herself together, she blurted out, ‘What are you doing there? You’re supposed to be at death’s door.’

‘Is that disappointment I hear in your voice?’ He sounded amused.

‘Of course not. They said you’d had a terrible fall and took days to regain consciousness.’

‘As usual, the press exaggerates. My fall was broken by a ledge. I had a slight concussion and a couple of cracked ribs, but that’s all. I left hospital yesterday. Tomorrow I’ll go back to work.’

‘With cracked ribs?’ she echoed, aghast.

‘Why not? They’re painful, but I can still bark orders and be generally overbearing.’

‘And climb scaffolding?’

‘No, not that. I’ll be careful, but I have to be there to make sure that everything is done the way I want.’

‘That sounds like you,’ she said, feeling her heart slow to a more normal rhythm.

‘Slave-driver?’

‘Perfectionist. Everyone says you’re doing a wonderful job on that church.’

‘I hope so. It must be finished soon. I’ve made so many changes recently that it held things up, but we’re nearly there. Tell me, how did you know what had happened?’

‘The internet. I can access the local Florence paper, and it was all there.’

She paused, embarrassed by what she had just revealed.

For a few moments there was silence from the other end. Then he said, ‘You’re not so easy to trace. There’s your firm’s website, which has just a little about you. And a picture of you at some official dinner last week. That’s all.’

So he’d been watching her from a distance too. She smiled.

‘What kind of a function was it?’ he asked casually.

‘Like you said, official. Accountants, lawyers, businessmen, a few politicians, lots of boring speeches.’

‘You didn’t seem bored by the man sitting next to you. You were sharing a laugh.’

‘That’s my boss, Brian. He thinks he’s a wit, so I guess I play up.’

‘Ah, the one who can make you a partner?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Then you were right to laugh. Was the joke any good?’

‘I can’t remember.’

‘That’s handy. You’ll be able to laugh again next time he tells it.’

His voice was warm, turning the remark into a friendly joke, so that she could say, ‘I might just do that.’

‘You’ve grown your hair. It’s nicer this way.’

‘I wonder why I did,’ she said lightly. ‘Someone may have suggested it, but I can’t remember who.’

He laughed but stopped at once.

‘Don’t make me laugh. It hurts.’

‘Please, Drago, I wish you wouldn’t go back to work yet. Give yourself a few more days.’

‘All right. Just a couple more days. Because you say so.’

‘Thank you.’

Then his voice changed, becoming gentler. ‘Alysa-how are things with you?’

‘I’m managing better now.’

‘So am I. Thank you.’

Silence. She felt awkward, and she could sense that he did too.

‘Am I forgiven?’ he asked at last.

‘There’s nothing to forgive. You know that.’

‘I didn’t. But I hoped.’

‘Goodbye, Drago.’

‘Goodbye.’

The line went dead. Alysa hung up and sat looking at the phone, wondering at the strange feeling that had overtaken her. It was disturbingly like happiness.

So he’d seen her with Brian, and had wondered. But there was nothing romantic in their association, even though he was an outrageously handsome man. A well-preserved fifty-three, he’d been married three times and now determinedly ‘avoided shackles’.

He both worked and played hard, but the pleasure was strictly out of office hours. None of his female employees had anything to fear from him, which had caused one of them to mutter that this was because ‘the old goat’ preferred women who were too stupid to spell, never mind add.

He’d invited Alysa to the dinner as a professional courtesy, introducing her to a lot of influential people, congratulating her on her networking skills, showing the road that led to a partnership. Afterwards he’d taken her home, kissed her on the cheek, and had gone to spend the rest of the night with a lady whose talents were as legendary as her prices.

She wondered if Drago would call her back, or write, but a month passed with no word from him. Then a large gold envelope came through her door. Opening it, she found an invitation to the ceremonies that would accompany the reopening of the church he’d been restoring.

The card was practically a work of art in itself, elaborately embossed, the wording formal with nothing personal about it. He’d included a brief note, saying he would book a hotel for her, and inviting her to join him and his other guests at his home the night before the dedication, and again the following evening. It could have been written to almost any guest, but she knew better than to attach importance to its formality.

The true message was that, like her, he longed for another meeting but, also like her, he was cautious. Across the miles his heart and mind reached out to her, as perfectly in harmony as before.