‘You know what it means, then?’ Primo asked with a grin.

‘It’s the pleasure you get from doing something for the sheer, beautiful, stupid sake of it,’ Celia replied, in a voice that held a touch of ecstasy.

Francesco saw his family exchange glances of pleasure, sharing the same thought. If she knew that, she belonged among them.

‘It’s not really Italian,’ Carlo explained. ‘It’s a Neapolitan word that the rest of the country hijacked because they don’t have a word that describes that feeling. You have to be one of us to understand.’

Primo said, ‘Francesco must have taught you well for you know about sfizio.’

Now they were all regarding Francesco with approval, and he felt awkward-for he hadn’t taught her that word. He hadn’t even known she knew it. She must have concealed her discovery, knowing that, of all things, it was her love of sfizio that he feared most. It had driven her to dive in deep water. It had driven her to cast him out of her life.

But Celia was mistress of the situation.

‘I think the English hijacked it, as well,’ she said. ‘Think of the English word fizzy. It means bubbling and sparkling, and if you were sfizio you’d probably feel fizzy.’ She reached for her wineglass, located it at once and raised it in salute.

‘All the best words started in Naples,’ she cried.

‘Si,’ they all answered with one voice.

‘So here’s to being fizzy. May life have an endless supply of fizz.’

They all raised their glasses and joined the toast. Francesco did the same, but only so that they wouldn’t notice how uneasy he was.

The meal over, they went into the next room, which led onto the terrace. With the doors wide-open and the huge windows pulled back, the party could spill out into the night air.

Celia was enthroned on the sofa, and it seemed to Francesco that people were queuing up to speak to her.

‘She’s touting for business,’ Primo said with a grin. He owned a factory in Naples which Olympia, his wife, ran for him. It was Olympia who sat head to head with Celia now.

‘They’re discussing modifications to be made so that we can employ more partially sighted people,’ Primo said. ‘I only overheard a little. I fled when it began to sound expensive.’

As they neared, Olympia hailed them.

‘Celia’s agreed to come to the factory and suggest some improvements so that we can draw our employees from a wider source,’ she said. ‘I thought tomorrow would be a good day.’

‘That’s-that’s excellent,’ Primo said.

Celia laughed. ‘Don’t worry. It won’t cost as much as you’re afraid of. And you can tell everyone that I’m efficient and not expensive, so I’ll get plenty more business.’

‘You can have mine,’ Francesco said suddenly. ‘The factory’s just starting up, so we ought to begin as we mean to go on. When you’ve finished with Olympia perhaps you’d fit me into your diary somewhere?’

‘Certainly,’ she said, and immediately dictated a brief message into a small recording machine.

‘That’s what I call style,’ Carlo observed. He’d been watching the whole performance with admiration. ‘You’ve been keeping her a secret, Francesco,’ he said, in a low voice so that only the two of them could hear.

‘You’ve all got the wrong end of the stick,’ Francesco replied in the same voice. ‘We’re friends, no more. Until recently we hadn’t seen each other for months.’

‘But you’re back together now? Hmm!’

‘Mio dio! You’re as bad as Mamma.’

‘Nobody’s as bad as Mamma,’ Carlo said with feeling.

‘Some more wine?’ Hope asked, tapping him on the shoulder.

‘Mamma-fancy you being there!’ Carlo exclaimed, the picture of innocence. ‘I had no idea.’

‘Indeed! Well, the last time I believed anything you said you were six. Or was it five?’

‘Four?’ Carlo said helpfully.

‘Anyway, don’t start planning the wedding, either of you,’ Francesco said firmly.

Carlo gave him a humorously jeering look, but it faded when he saw his brother’s set expression.

‘Like he’d woken up to find himself in a dungeon,’ he told his brothers later.

From somewhere behind them they heard Angelica’s shrill laugh-only now it had an extra unfortunate edge. Toni was making his way nervously towards them.

‘How much wine has she drunk?’ Hope asked him.

‘It was the only way I could obey you and keep her occupied,’ Toni pleaded.

‘I said flirt with her, not ply her with drink.’ Then a sweet reminiscent smile came over Hope’s face. ‘You didn’t always need wine to turn a woman’s head.’

‘That was different, carissima,’ he said. ‘That was you.’

The others watched them fondly, delighted by this sudden flicker of late romance as only a family could be. But the spell was soon broken.

‘Angelica’s coming this way!’ Francesco said, aghast.

Clearly emergency action was called for. Carlo dived for the music centre, and in another moment music filled the air.

‘Let’s dance,’ he said, seeing Della, his wife, nearby, and taking her in his arms.

‘Let’s dance,’ Toni said, turning to his wife.

‘Is anyone dancing with me?’ Celia asked.

‘Yes, I am,’ Francesco said, drawing her to her feet. ‘Before anyone else gets near you.’

‘What was going on there?’ she demanded, smiling as they moved slowly around the floor. ‘The air was thrumming.’

‘How much did you hear?’ he asked, wondering if she’d heard the remarks about weddings.

‘It started with a laugh in the background that could have cracked glass.’

‘Aunt Angelica. She’s a bit squiffy because Poppa’s been plying her with wine.’

‘Did your mother tell him to do that, as well as flirt?’

‘No, I think he was just running out of ideas. He doesn’t care about anyone but Mamma, so making eyes at another woman comes very hard to him.’

‘She must be very sure of him.’

‘Totally sure. I don’t think he even knows other women exist.’

‘How charming!’

‘Yes, it’s lovely to see a couple so devoted at their age. They’ll be celebrating their thirty-fifth wedding anniversary soon.’

‘Let me try to get this straight. You’re not Toni’s son, are you?’

‘No, Mamma already had me before she met him.’

‘So your father was her first husband?’

‘It’s a bit complicated. Hold on to me tight, because I’m going to move fast. Angelica’s headed for us.’

He turned sharply and managed to spin her the length of the room, out of danger. Celia clung to him, loving every minute and distracted from the way he’d changed the subject-as he had meant her to be.

‘Safe now?’ she teased as they slowed.

‘Quite safe,’ he said.

It wasn’t really true. He’d spun out of one kind of danger right into another. This had been a mistake. His resolve to hold himself aloof was being set at naught by the closeness of her body and the warm perfume wafting from her.

Memories of a hundred nights came back to him: pure, vigorous sex for the sake of it, love spiced with exquisite tenderness, sometimes one followed by the other. The silk dress might not have been there for all the protection it gave her from his fevered thoughts.

‘Am I a credit to you?’ she asked lightly. ‘I did my best.’

‘You look glorious, but-’

‘What is it?’ She’d felt him stiffen.

‘Are you wearing anything under this dress?’

‘Of course not. It’s tight-fitting satin. I wouldn’t want any awkward lines showing.’

He took a deep, ragged breath. ‘I’d forgotten what a shocking flirt you are.’

‘You don’t really mean flirt. You mean something much more extreme.’

‘Whatever I meant, you’re driving me crazy.’

‘Of course. It’s one of the great pleasures of life. You wouldn’t expect me to give it up, would you?’

‘You’ll never give up any chance to torment me,’ he growled. ‘I know that.’

‘I never tormented you-not on purpose.’

‘Are you saying you didn’t realise you were doing it? I find that hard to believe.’

‘Does that mean you’re doubting my word?’ she asked lightly.

‘It means I know you. You could always tell what was going on, whether you seemed to or not. That was the joke you always had at my expense.’

‘But I couldn’t always tell,’ she mused. ‘When we were together there were times when you might have been exchanging lingering glances with every girl in the room. How would I have known?’

‘You’d have known,’ he said softly. ‘Because my attention was always on you, every second of every minute of every day, and you’d have sensed the moment it was taken away. But you knew it never would be. Didn’t you?’

‘Yes.’ She sighed. ‘I did know.’

‘It was one of the things about me that you found unendurable, wasn’t it?’

‘Don’t say that,’ she urged quickly. ‘Unendurable is a terrible word.’

He wanted to say that it described his life without her, but he controlled himself, refusing to admit the truth. He still had his dignity.

But it was hard to think of dignity-or at least to think that it mattered-when the feel of her body gliding against him reminded him of a hundred lovings. Why had she come here to torture him?

‘What do you look like?’ she whispered. ‘If I could see, what would I find in your eyes?’

‘The same look that’s always been there,’ he said softly. ‘You never really doubted that, did you?’

‘I don’t know. Everything became so confused. You gave me so much. It’s just that-’

‘I gave the wrong things.’ With a sudden rush of sadness he added, ‘And I always would, wouldn’t I? A man can’t change himself that much-’

‘Don’t, Francesco. I didn’t mean-’

‘Celia, my dear girl!’

Angelica was descending on them, full of a booming bonhomie that would not be denied. She enveloped Celia in a vast bear hug, while Francesco gave an inner groan, knowing how she would hate this.