Page 119 of A Scottish Teashop in Napoli

‘I will drive now.’

He turned on the ignition and an Italian rock song blasted out of the sound system.

Lucy touched his arm. ‘This is good. What’s it called?’

‘“Baciami” by Alex Britti.’

‘Ba-ci-ami,’ Lucy repeated. ‘What does this mean?’

‘Kiss me.’

‘Right.’

As they left the cityscape behind, Lucy noticed they were driving inland, away from Torre Annunziata.

‘Where are we going?’ she yelled.

He didn’t reply immediately. ‘I understand you have work to do. As I promised, you will be home by lunchtime.’

She told herself to stop fretting, closed her eyes and breathed deeply, the warmth of the wind caressing her face.

They eventually pulled into a side street.

‘It’s a short walk from here,’ Dario said, grabbing the rose.

‘A short walk? Where to?’

‘You will see. This area is known for pickpockets, so is better to wear your bag in the front.’

If only I’d worn my trainers,thought Lucy as she trailed behind him, struggling to keep up with his long stride.

‘Close your eyes,’ said Dario, suddenly turning to face her.

‘Why?’

‘Trust me. Close your eyes,’ he said, leading her by the hand.

‘Where are we going?’

‘You will see.’

Didn’t he just say pickpockets are rife in this area?

Screeching traffic sounds faded to a distant hum. She could hear birdsong.

‘Attenzione!’ Dario said. ‘Here are some steps.’

Hard concrete gave way to soft grass. The dry blades tickled her feet through her open-toe sandals.

She ran her arm across her damp forehead. ‘How much further?’

‘We are here. Open your eyes.’

Her gaze was met by row upon row of alabaster white graves, all embellished with the same crest. Peaceful and beautiful though it was, why had he brought her to a cemetery?

‘Look closely,’ Dario said, pointing to one of the graves.

She leaned forward, eyes narrowing. Prickles rose on her skin.