Imogen knocked at the door of the Gatsby Suite gently, and waited for a reply, not really knowing quite what to expect.

Clarissa opened the door wearing a floor-length silk kimono, her auburn hair tied up loosely. She had a natural elegance that seemed to transcend age, but that same melancholy air hung over her. 'h.e.l.lo, Imogen,' she said, politely. 'How nice to have a visitor. Come in.'

Imogen stepped inside the room. Clarissa motioned for her to sit down, and she took a seat by the window. 'I'm sorry to bother you. But I just wanted to check everything was OK.'

Her cheeks coloured. 'Your uncle said something . . . about the other night.'

'He didn't send me . . .' Imogen said.

Clarissa bit her lip. 'You don't need to explain. He must think I'm awfully strange. I'm so embarra.s.sed that he saw me walking around the other night. I shouldn't have gone into those rooms.'

'He's just concerned, that's all.'

'I'm not surprised. He must be wondering why I'm still here, and, for that matter, why I'm still staying in a B&B, barely going out, when I could be living in a house of my own.'

'I suppose so,' Imogen said. 'A bit.'

'I have a house, up in London, like I told Martin. But I don't want to be there now. My stepfather died a month ago, you see, and he was all I had.'

'I'm so sorry to hear that.'

Clarissa looked down, her eyes filling with tears. 'I knew it was coming. Mum died when I was young, so he and his parents were the ones who brought me up.'

'It must be a lot to get used to.'

'It is. And it's not just losing him. The thing is, he told me a few things before he died. And I suppose they're just starting to sink in.'

'And being here helps?'

'Yes. It does.' Spots of pink came to Clarissa's cheeks. 'It's calm here. And I suppose it feels a little like home.'

Imogen walked back down the guesthouse stairs, wondering how to explain the situation to Martin. He looked up at her eagerly from his spot behind the reception desk.

'How did it go?' he asked, getting to his feet.

'OK, I think,' Imogen said.

'Should I do something, say something?' Martin said, anxious.

'Just keep doing what you're doing,' Imogen said. 'She's just lost her stepfather, and it sounds like she doesn't have much in the way of family. I don't really understand why, but she says just being here is helping her.'

'Right,' Martin said. 'Well, I know what Mum would do if she were still alive.'

'Let her stay, and bring her tea, until she's strong again. That's what she always did for people, isn't it?'

At lunchtime, Imogen went out into the front garden of the guesthouse and called Finn. He picked up, banging and construction noises in the background.

'Hey there,' she said, sitting down on the wall, ready for chat.

'Hi, Imo.'

'How's it going over there?'

'What was that?' Finn shouted back, over the noise.

'I said how's it . . .' She glanced back through the window, where her uncle Martin was walking around the living room. 'Don't worry, it's not important.'

'I'm outside now, bit quieter,' Finn said. 'Everything OK at the guesthouse?'

'Yes,' she said. And it was true everything was going smoothly. It was only her email inbox stubbornly empty after the emails to photography contacts that she'd sent out that was nagging at her. 'You?'

'Really well, thanks. As you can probably hear.'

'Listen, I was thinking. Do you fancy going out for dinner tonight?' Imogen said. 'Try out that new dim sum place in town?'

'Imo . . . I'd love to. But, if we're going to stay on schedule, Andy and I really need to use every minute we have. We're going to be working late tonight.'

'OK, sure,' Imogen said. 'No worries. I've got plenty to be getting on with, anyway.'

'Everything all right with you, though?'

'Yes. Fine.'

She wished he'd say something. Ask her again. So that the white lie wouldn't be left hanging between them like that.

In the end it was someone calling out to Finn from the building site that broke the silence.

'I'd better go,' he said.

'Right sure,' Imogen said. 'Well, I'll see you at home, then.'

'See you, then.'

She hung up, feeling empty the opposite of how she usually felt after talking to Finn. Phone conversations, she thought to herself. They were never the best way to talk. She was much more of a face-to-face person. Next time she saw him it would be fine.

Imogen went back into the guesthouse. In the living room, Clarissa was sitting by the bay window in a patch of sunlight, looking through a book. She wore a thick cream cardigan over her top and jeans, and her legs were curled up under her.

'What's that you're reading?' Imogen asked, gently.

'One from the shelf. A Room with a View. It's good so far. Your grandmother had a lot of books.'

'She did. Although, to be honest, she had a habit of starting them and then leaving them halfway, caught up in cooking, or chatting to a neighbour over the fence. She loved books and films, but real life was what really got her.'

Clarissa smiled, and, for the first time since she'd arrived, she looked almost relaxed.

'She'd always give us ice creams for free,' Clarissa said. 'Me and Mum. Did she ever talk to you about my mum? Emma she was called. Wilkinson.'

Imogen thought back, but the name wasn't familiar. 'She might have mentioned something. My memory isn't great.'

Her eyes grew more distant then.

'I'll leave you in peace,' Imogen said.

Clarissa nodded. 'See you later.'

Imogen headed back to the reception desk. She sorted through some of the junkshop frames she'd picked up for the guesthouse, and found one to fit the photo of Evie and Vivien. She put it up beside the large map.

She went back to the things she'd found in the old files, pulled out the smaller map and found a frame for that. As she turned it over to put it in, she noticed a name scribbled in pen on the back: 'Sr L. Esposito Piazza Ta.s.so, 30.'

She turned the map back over, but there was no further note there, nothing apart from a cross that she could see the name linked to. She thought of the postcard Anna had sent her, with her new address. Searching across the street plan, she saw that the two addresses were only a few hundred yards from each other.

She put the frame away, folded the map back up and put it away in the bureau drawer. Her grandmother had always been open with them, but Imogen was starting to suspect that there were some things she had held back from saying. She had made her choices, though and to pry, now, didn't seem right.

Chapter 18.

Matteo took over the running of the ice cream shop in the early afternoon, and Anna went over to Maria's house across the square. She knocked on the door, with a slight feeling of trepidation. She'd warmed instantly to Maria when Luigi introduced them at the shop, but she felt nervous about speaking Italian her understanding was quite good but the words she wanted to say so often escaped her. But she steeled herself she knew that she needed to improve her language skills, and this seemed like a good opportunity.

'Signora Anna,' Maria said brightly, as she answered the door. 'Come in.'

'Thank you,' Anna said awkwardly, in English.

'Italiano,' Maria said, firmly.

Anna felt suitably reprimanded. There wasn't much point coming for an Italian lesson if you were going to talk in English, was there? And she needed to learn quickly.

Maria led her inside to the living room, asking simple questions and smiling in appreciation at Anna's effort as she haltingly replied in Italian with the aid of her phrasebook.

'My mother-in-law is coming tomorrow. She speaks good English, but I want to be able to talk to her in Italian.'

'Good, well, I can help you with that.'

Anna put her phrasebook down on the coffee table between them.

'You won't need that,' Maria said. 'I'm going to teach you the Italian you'll really need to know.'

They spent the hour going round the kitchen, Anna learning the names of fruits and vegetables, the equipment she used every day to make sorbet, the things in the fridge. It was vocabulary she heard Matteo use all the time, but his early attempts to teach Anna had fallen flat she felt embarra.s.sed in front of him, unable at this stage to master the p.r.o.nunciation and aware that she sounded like a hapless tourist. With Maria it was different: she felt relaxed about making mistakes.

At the end of the cla.s.s, they arranged to meet again. 'I think you're going to learn very quickly,' Maria said, confidently.

'I hope so,' Anna said, the Italian phrase tripping off her tongue. With those words, she felt as if she had in her hands the seeds of a new life.

Anna had come back to the ice cream shop that afternoon full of confidence and enthusiasm, and had even practised some Italian with Matteo over dinner in their apartment. She felt ready to make a new start with Elisa, on a more equal footing, and, when her mother-in-law came into the ice cream shop the next day, she readied herself to use some of the new phrases she'd learned.

'Bella, my love!' Elisa was cradling her granddaughter in her arms and coming into the shop, her son by her side. 'Welcome to Italy!'

She covered Bella's chubby arms and legs with kisses as she walked. 'Thank you for bringing this precious thing to Italy,' she said to Matteo.

Anna smiled politely, and formed the sentence she wanted to say in Italian.

'It's good to see you, Elisa. Can I get you a coffee? You must be tired after the journey.'

'Ah, she speaks Italian,' Elisa said. 'Or at least she's trying,' she said to Matteo. 'Yes, a coffee, please,' she said to Anna.

Anna got the stove-top coffee maker from the side.

'A strong one,' she added. 'I want to hear everything, but of course we have plenty of time for that,' Elisa said to her son.

'Is it just the weekend you're staying?' Anna asked.

'Just the weekend?' Elisa said, laughing. 'Of course not.'

Anna looked at Matteo for clarification.

'Mamma, I haven't told Anna yet . . .' Matteo started. Anna just caught the meaning of the Italian.

'That's OK, then I can be the one to share the marvellous news!' Elisa said, switching to English.

Anna felt increasingly uneasy.

'Mamma will be staying with Carolina . . .' Matteo said.

'I'll be here for the whole summer!' Elisa exclaimed. 'Isn't it wonderful?'

Anna felt the breath go out of her. What? She glared at Matteo as discreetly as she could. He shrugged his shoulders and mouthed, 'I'm sorry.'

'Matteo's father is going to run the business on his own for a while. And Filippo's been so generous, paying for the summer house, and even giving us some spending money. I really couldn't be luckier with my son-in-law, could I, Matteo? He'd doing so well at the moment. Did Carolina tell you? One of the richest men in the region. We're so proud of him.'

Anna struggled to take it all in. Why would Matteo have kept this from her?

'I need to use the toilet,' Elisa said. 'Is it . . .?'

'Just through there.' Matteo pointed to the back of the shop.

'It's great to be here,' Elisa said, clapping her hands together. 'And I can see already, from the look of the shop, that you're going to need my expert help around here.'

As Anna and Matteo set the table for their dinner that night, Anna was stonily quiet.

'Come on, Anna, we have to talk about this,' Matteo insisted.

'I'm fine,' Anna said, but inside she was seething.