Celia’s voice rose slightly in indignation.

‘For pity’s sake, Jacko is my dog!’

He swore under his breath.

‘Don’t be vulgar, my son,’ Hope said.

‘I didn’t see you there, Mamma. This is-yes-well…’ His voice trailed off as he realised the incongruity of what he was saying.

‘I’ve been here over an hour,’ Celia said merrily. ‘Your mother knows who I am by now. I came to return some things that belong to you. They’re in that bag by my feet, next to Jacko.’

‘He’s black,’ Francesco said, regarding Jacko. ‘I didn’t see him in the shadow.’

‘Come and say hallo to him,’ Celia offered.

He came forward uneasily and reached out to stroke the dog, who stretched up his head for a moment, then settled down again. Francesco seated himself close enough to Celia to talk quietly.

‘I don’t believe this is happening. What the devil are you doing here?’

‘I’ve told you. But well done for being honest! None of that stuff about pretending to be glad to see me.’

He bit his lip. So often in the past he’d snagged himself on her sharp wits, and clearly nothing had changed.

‘Is there any reason why I should be glad to see you?’ he growled.

‘None that I can think of.’

‘Good. Then, as you say, honesty is the best policy.’

‘I expect you’ve got someone else by now,’ she said casually. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not here to make trouble.’

‘There’s no-’ He checked himself but it was too late. Now she would know.

‘Then I’m not causing you any problems by being here?’ she said.

‘No problem at all,’ he agreed briskly. ‘I’m glad to see that you seem to be on top of the world.’

‘Right on top,’ she agreed. ‘I love your country.’

She repeated the last words in Italian, for the benefit of Hope, whose footsteps she could hear. Delighted, Hope explained in Italian that her husband was here, too, and introduced him.

Celia responded with a few more words in Italian, which made Toni tease, ‘Ah, but can you speak our dialect?’

He proceeded to teach her a few words of Neapolitan, which she mastered at once, and demanded to learn more.

‘You learn very fast,’ Toni said admiringly. ‘I expect you’re good at that?’

‘Yes, I depend on my mind a lot more than sighted people have to,’ Celia said calmly. ‘My parents, who are blind, too, used to teach me all sorts of memory tricks when I was a child. I’m still proud of my memory, but, of course, now there are all sorts of gadgets to make life easy.’

‘Easy?’ Toni echoed, smiling at her kindly. ‘Well, perhaps.’

Hope drew Francesco aside.

‘I think she’s marvellous,’ she said. ‘What possessed you to leave her?’

‘I didn’t leave her, Mamma. She threw me out. She actually said, ‘I don’t want to see you here again.’ She talks like that-like a sighted person-because she almost doesn’t realise that she’s any different to anyone else. And I can’t make her realise it.’

‘Perhaps you’re wrong to try,’ Hope says thoughtfully. ‘Why do you want to force her to realise something she doesn’t want to know?’

‘Because she can’t live for ever in a fantasy. I only wanted her to be a little realistic-’

‘Realistic?’ Hope echoed, aghast. ‘Do you think you have anything to teach that girl about realism? I don’t wonder she threw you out. I’d like to do the same.’

‘You’ll probably get around to it,’ he said with a wry grin.

Before she could say any more there was a small buzz from Celia’s wrist.

‘It’s my watch,’ she explained. ‘I set the alarm to go for six o’clock. I have to get back to town and meet a customer.’

‘But I want you to have supper with us,’ Hope mourned.

‘I’m sorry, I’d have loved to, but I’m still making my mark in a new job, so I have to try to impress people.’

‘But you will come another night?’ Hope asked anxiously.

‘I’ll look forward to it. Can you call me a taxi?’

‘I’ll take you,’ Francesco said at once. ‘I’ll be home later, Mamma.’

‘Thank you,’ Celia said. ‘Jacko?’

Hope saw Francesco lean forward, as though about to take her arm, then check himself and pull his hand back quickly. Something told Hope that Celia was fully aware of this, although she showed no sign of awareness.

‘Until we meet again, signora,’ she said to Hope, before following Jacko out of the door.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘WHERE are we going?’ he asked as he started up the car.

‘It’s a little café called the Three Bells.’

‘I know it.’

Silence. This was the first time they’d been alone together since the split, and suddenly there was nothing to say. Francesco, taken totally by surprise, was full of confusion.

When he first arrived in Italy he’d been sure she would contact him, but as the silence had stretched out he’d begun to realise that she’d really meant their parting to be permanent.

But parting was too light a word for it. Celia hadn’t left him, she’d cruelly dismissed him, tossing him out of her home as though desperate to rid herself of all traces of his presence.

Even then he hadn’t believed in the finality of what had happened. How could he when their love had been so total, so overwhelming? For him it had been unlike any other love. Transient affairs had come and gone. Women had spoken to him of love and he had repeated the words with, he now knew, only the vaguest understanding of their meaning.

Real love had caught him off-guard, with a young woman who was awkward, provocative, annoying, difficult for the sake of it-it had often seemed to him-unreasonable, stubborn and full of laughter.

Perhaps it was her laughter that had won him. He wasn’t a man who laughed often. He understood a good joke, but amusement hadn’t formed a major part of his life.

She, on the other hand, would never stop. With so much stacked against her she would collapse with delight at the slightest thing. Often her laughter was aimed at himself, for reasons he could not divine. At first it had been an aggravation, then a delight. Let her laugh at him if she pleased. He was her happy slave. Nothing would have made him admit that to anyone else, but within his heart he had known a flowering.

In her arms he’d become a different man, shedding the tough outer shell like unwanted armour and being passionately grateful to her for making it happen.

He’d known what had happened to him, and had assumed it was the same for her. He’d tried to take reassurance from this, reasoning that the sheer violence of her feelings meant that she was bound to change her mind about their parting. She would calm down, understand that their love was worth fighting for, forgive him whatever he’d done wrong-for he still wasn’t quite sure-even, perhaps, apologise.

But none of it had happened. She’d been there when he’d cleared out his things from the apartment, had made him a coffee and told him she was sorry it had ended this way. But that was all. The long, heartfelt discussion that should have marked the end of their relationship had simply never happened. Night after night he’d sat by the phone, waiting for her to call and say they must meet just once more, to clear the air. But the phone hadn’t rung. He’d sat there for hours, until the silence had eaten into him and he’d been close to despair.

He hadn’t called her after that. Not even when he was leaving for Naples. Why bother? It was over.

And now, when he’d just about taught himself to believe that they would never meet again, here she was, tearing up his preconceptions, stranding him in new territory, as awkward and unpredictable as ever. He wanted to bang his head against the steering wheel.

Sitting next to him in the car, Celia tuned in to his agitation and distress. That was easy-because she shared it. She had come to his home knowing she might meet him, thinking herself prepared. She had even congratulated herself on her well-laid plans, but they had all vanished the moment she’d heard his voice. In the surge of joy at being near him again she’d almost forgotten how carefully she had arranged everything, and for a wild moment had almost thrown herself into his arms.

But that would have been a disaster-as she’d recognised when she’d forced herself to calm down. In his arms, in his bed, she would forget the things that had driven them apart-but only for a little while. Soon it would all happen again, and the second parting would be final. At all costs she must prevent that.

She had come to Italy with a set purpose. She would reclaim him, and this time it would be for ever-or never.

Per sempre, she mused, practising her Italian. For ever. Per sempre e eternità. And if not-finita.

‘We’re just entering Naples now,’ he said at last. ‘Have you been to the Three Bells before?’

‘Yes, several times. I’ve got a favourite table in the garden, under the trees.’

As he drew up she said, ‘Thank you for the lift. There’s no need for me to trouble you any further.’

‘Don’t speak to me as though I was a stranger,’ he growled. ‘Let me escort you to the table. I won’t try to take your arm. That’s a promise.’

He spoke roughly, but she knew him well enough to hear the pain that would have escaped anybody else.

‘Don’t be silly,’ she said, also speaking roughly, to cover the fact that his unhappiness wounded her. ‘I’d like you to escort me. Then,’ she added, hastily recovering her self-possession, ‘I can buy you a drink and show off my Italian.’

‘It’s a deal.’

He opened the door for her, and there followed an awkward moment when she reached out for his hand, but it wasn’t there. Swearing, he lunged forward, trying to put things right, and stumbled over Jacko, who’d got himself into position. Celia instinctively tightened her hand on his, almost saving him from falling.