Page 114 of A Scottish Teashop in Napoli

‘Grazie,’ said Lucy sheepishly, adding a splash to the mix. ‘Mmm. I can smell… basil?’

‘Sì.This oil is from my sister’s farm in Puglia.’

‘Your sister? I didn’t know you had a sister.’

‘Sì.Francesca,’ he said, pointing to a black and white photograph stuck to the fridge of a beautiful woman in dungarees at the top of a ladder, picking olives from a tree.

Lucy put down the whisk and stared intently at the photograph.

Francesca.Christmas Eve, the hospital, the photograph, the phone. Of course… a tidal wave of relief washed over her.

‘Salute,’ Dario said, handing her a glass of wine.

‘Salute.’

‘Do you need some help?’ he asked, hovering over her shoulder. Her nose quivered at his signature scent. She’d never had the courage to ask the name of it, in case he thought she was coming on to him. Her heart meanwhile was doing the ‘Eightsome Reel’.

‘No thank you,’ she said. ‘Now,vai! Go!’

Lucy whisked and swayed in time to the music, savouring theunexpected respite, however brief, from the fallout of the last few months.

‘Please, please rise,’ she said to the Toad-in-the-Hole as she carefully placed it on the top shelf of the oven.

‘Dinner will be served in forty-five minutes,’ she announced, leaning in the doorway of the living room.

Throwing his newspaper onto the coffee table, Dario stood up and smiled, indicating the leather sofa. ‘Per favore.’

As he topped up her wine, Lucy glanced about the room.

Staring out of a picture frame on Dario’s desk, were two grinning, oil-spattered youths in boiler suits, arms around each other’s shoulders, standing proudly in front of a row of classic motorbikes.

‘Is that you?’ Lucy said, getting up for a closer look.

‘Sì.And Giancarlo,’ Dario replied in a wistful, barely audible voice.

Lucy leaned in, studying the faces of those two boyhood friends, their eyes full of hopes and dreams, plans for the future. Back then the world was their oyster…

‘Lucy? Lucy?’

‘Sorry. Did you say something?’

‘Please tell me the story about your grandmother and the Toad-in-the-Hole.’

‘See this ring?’ she said, plonking herself back down and holding out her hand. ‘This was given to her by a fighter pilot named Leonardo Rossi. He was from Naples too. She met him at a dance in Scotland during the war. They planned to marry when the war was over, but he went missing in action.’

Dario lowered his head, gently running his thumb over Lucy’s fingers. Her heartbeat quickened. ‘I am so sorry,’ he said.

She held her breath as she glimpsed more scarring and an inflamed bald patch on the crown of his head.

Swallowing hard, she continued, ‘I was with her when she passed away. She gave me the ring and told me their story. She had waited, hoping he would return some day. Then she met my grandad in 1947, but she never forgot Leonardo. She said his ring would keep me safe… and it has.’

‘You must miss her.’

Lucy blinked against the sting of tears. ‘I do, but that’s not why I’m crying.’

‘No?’

‘You saved my life, and in doing so you nearly… I hate to think of what could have happened to you. I know, I know I shouldn’t feel guilty ’cos I didn’t start the fire, but it doesn’t make me feel any better, less responsible…’