‘No,’ Celia said, shaking her head. ‘I don’t really know him at all.’

Half an hour later there was a ring on the bell and Primo went to answer, returning with Francesco and Carlo.

‘We met in the street,’ Francesco announced.

‘I just came to say hallo,’ Carlo said, giving Celia a peck on the cheek.

‘Stay for supper,’ Olympia said.

‘I can’t. Della will be home soon,’ Carlo explained, naming his wife, a television producer, who’d been forced to take a long rest owing to poor health.

‘She’s trying to take up the reins again,’ he said, ‘and she’s gone to look at a place with a history that’s given her an idea for a programme. She’ll be expecting to find me at home.’

‘Call her,’ Primo said. ‘Tell her to come here instead.’

While they argued about it Francesco sat beside Celia and said quietly, ‘I gather things went well today?’

‘Yes, I drummed up lots of business. There was a man there who’d come to sign a contract from another firm. He’s booked me for an assessment visit, too, and he says he knows several other people who’d be interested. I’m going great guns.’

‘I’m glad you’re a success. Is Sandro pleased?’

‘This has nothing to do with Sandro. Giving advice in the workplace is exclusively mine. Follia Per Sempre is another firm. I told you, Sandro and I don’t do sensible.’

‘Ah, yes, Sandro and you!’ he said wryly.

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means what it sounds as though it means. It means that when he called last night you abandoned everything else. Mio Dio, you forgot me easily.’

‘Some men are easy to forget.’

‘Thank you.’

‘And some are impossible to forget,’ she murmured.

Silence. Hell would freeze over before he asked her into which category she had assigned him.

Now they could clearly hear Carlo talking to Della, explaining the change of plan.

‘But only if you’re not too tired,’ he added quickly. ‘You’ve been working hard all day, and now you’ve got the journey back-you should have let me come, too, and drive you home-all right, all right-don’t be mad at me. I know what we said, but-’

‘You see, I’m not the only one,’ Francesco said wryly to Celia. ‘He annoys Della as much as I annoy you.’

‘Why?’ she asked, refusing to rise to the bait. ‘Is she really as ill as all that?’

‘She was in a plane crash, and had a heart attack immediately afterwards. She’ll always be frail, plus she’s seven years older than Carlo, and he’s very protective of her.’

‘Yes, I can hear. Poor Carlo, he sounds desperate. The sad thing is that he’s probably infuriating her and he doesn’t know it.’

‘Oh, he knows it all right,’ Francesco said wryly. ‘He just doesn’t know how to stop.’

It became clear that this was true. Carlo wouldn’t let it go, and the conversation ended so abruptly that Celia wondered if Della had hung up. After that Carlo was on hot coals until she arrived half an hour later, full of eagerness and enthusiasm for the day she had spent, and then he became happier.

CHAPTER SEVEN

OVER dinner the six of them plunged into a professional discussion in which everything was forgotten but the exchange of ideas. Celia came to vivid life, in command of her subject, thoroughly enjoying her expertise and the admiration that it won for her.

Carlo listened to her with particular interest. He was an archaeologist whose life had been spent on the move until he married. Then he’d taken a job running one of the Naples museums, enabling him to stay in one place for Della’s sake.

It had been the sacrifice of a brilliant career, but he’d set himself to transform the museum, and had done it so well that he was becoming an authority in his new sphere.

‘It’s a pity there’s so little scope for visual aids in a museum,’ he mused. ‘I’m not talking about employees, though. I’m putting some things in place to help them, and I’d be glad if you’d come and give me your opinion, Celia.’

‘I’d love to. But if you’re not talking about employees you must mean visitors?’

‘That’s right. How can I help them? They can listen to audio descriptions, but how much does that help? It doesn’t tell you what a picture really looks like, or an ancient vase. I did try letting people run their hands over things, but the trustees went ballistic in case of breakages. Mind you, the only person who broke anything was the son of a trustee who had perfect eyesight-or would have done if he’d been sober at the time.’

Everybody laughed, but suddenly Francesco said, ‘Why don’t you make replicas?’

‘They’re no use,’ Carlo said. ‘I had a crowd of students in last week all trying to copy a Greek statue. Some of the results were good, but they couldn’t have passed for the original.’

‘I don’t mean that,’ Francesco said. ‘There’s some computer software that’ll take a thousand photos from every angle. You can use these to make a three-dimensional virtual model, which the computer then turns into a real model by giving instructions to another machine. The result is an exact likeness, except that it’s made of resin. Every little scratch and dent is duplicated. If it’s a statue, you can even see the chisel marks. People can pick it up to study it. If it gets damaged, no problem. You just tell the computer to make another. You could copy every artifact in the place and make them available to everyone-not just the people who can’t see.’

‘That’s right,’ Celia said. ‘Why should we have all the privileges? Francesco, it’s a marvellous idea.’

‘Yes, it is,’ Carlo agreed. ‘You’re a dark horse, brother.’

‘He hides his light under a bushel,’ Celia said, smiling.

She was suddenly very happy, as though Francesco had reached out to her in a new way. And the next moment she felt his hand seeking hers under the table.

She hadn’t been wrong about him, she thought joyfully. Everything was still possible.

As they were all leaving to go she said to him, ‘I hope you’re going to offer me a lift home.’

‘Of course. I’ll fetch your jacket.’

On the way he passed Carlo and Della, who had resumed their argument.

‘Be careful,’ he said, laying his hand on his brother’s shoulder. ‘The belief that you’re doing the right thing can be the biggest trap there is, and the most destructive.’

‘Did you fall into it?’ Della asked.

‘Big-time. Celia and I-well-’

Briefly he explained the circumstances of their parting.

‘I thought I was taking care of her,’ he finished, ‘but I was simply making her want to bang her head against the wall.’

He saw the other two give each other a quick glance, then Carlo’s arm went around his wife’s shoulders and he dropped a kiss onto her head.

‘Just don’t let it happen to you two, that’s all,’ Francesco said. ‘Good night.’

When he’d gone Della looked up at her husband, holding him tightly.

‘I don’t know why you said Francesco was a hard man,’ she said. ‘I think he’s lovely, kind and sensitive. I hadn’t expected him to have such insight.’

‘Me, neither,’ Carlo said. ‘I’m beginning to wonder if any of us have ever understood the first thing about him.’

As he drove home to Celia’s apartment Francesco said, ‘How’s this for a plan? I’ll collect you tomorrow and we’ll go to my factory so that you can give it the once-over and tell me what needs doing.’

‘That sounds lovely, but I’m booked tomorrow,’ she said regretfully.

‘Sure-I was forgetting that your diary’s getting crowded. What is it? A rival factory?’

‘No, I’m working with Sandro. We’re investigating new activities to offer people.’

‘Mad activities?’ he asked lightly.

‘The madder the better.’

‘I’ll be there to give you a lift.’

‘Without even asking me where we’re going and why?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘It might be something you disapprove of.’

‘I have no right to disapprove,’ he said expansively. ‘You are your own mistress, and you make your own decisions.’ He was full of goodwill towards the world, and for once it was easy to say the right thing.

‘Excuse me? Can I have that in writing?’ she asked sceptically.

‘It’s none of my business,’ he declared, warming to his theme and enjoying her astonishment. ‘I have no opinions, and if I had I wouldn’t dream of inflicting them on you.’

‘You’re an impostor,’ she said firmly. ‘Where have you hidden the real Francesco Rinucci? He would never have said anything like that.’

‘I’m a reformed character. Now, what time shall I collect you tomorrow?’

She gave him the time, and he dropped her outside the apartment building. His last view was of her following Jacko inside. He drove away, remembering the previous night and wondering how things could have changed so quickly for the better.

Francesco was there on time the next afternoon, smiling with pleasure at the sight of her, beautiful in white linen pants and blue shirt. But his smile faded as they were driving away and she gave him their destination.

‘That’s an airfield,’ he said.

‘That’s right. A small, private airfield about five miles outside Naples.’

‘To do what?’ he asked ominously.

‘Skydiving. It’s all the rage among people who want a new experience.’

‘Skydiving? You’re going to do a parachute jump?’ he demanded, so appalled that he had to swerve to avoid an accident.

‘No, just Sandro. He’s jumping out of a plane, but I have to be there to talk to the people on the ground-negotiations, sponsorship, etcetera.’

‘The two of you are as insane as each other.’

‘Well, we told you that,’ she said patiently. ‘It’s the whole point. Anyway, like you said, you have no opinions one way or the other.’

‘I never said anything as daft as that.’

‘Yes, you did. You also said it was none of your business.’