Page 34 of A Scottish Teashop in Napoli

Grabbing a large, wooden paddle, Alfonso scooped up the snowy-white, shiny mass with one hand, while caressing it with the other. Again and again, higher and higher, he pulled the paddle up, the sheet of dripping curd becoming thinner and more stretchy with each tug.

‘How do you know when it’s ready?’ Lucy asked, eyes wide.

Alfonso shrugged. ‘With experience, you know. You feel. Very soon I can stretch this from here to there,’ he said, pointing to the door. ‘Then we shape, ready for the customer.Prego.Please.’ He offered the handle to Lucy.

Under the careful guidance of themastro casaro,Lucy dipped the paddle into the milky pool, then raised it up as high as her shaky arm would allow, running her other hand along it. It felt to her like silky putty.

After a few attempts, she started to get the hang of it; scoop, caress, lift, scoop, caress, lift. Standing on her tiptoes, and using both hands, she dared to lift the paddle high above her head to stretch the mozzarella further and further, just as Alfonso had demonstrated.

‘Signor Moretti! SignorMoretti!’ boomed a shrill voice over the tannoy. Startled, Lucy swung around unsteadily, sending the almost-ready mozzarella onto the floor with a wet splosh, like a giant, slippery fish.

‘SignorMoretti!A visitor in reception for you.’

Lucy gasped. Damn her clumsiness. She felt several sets of eyes swivel in her direction. A flood of heat washed over her. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words would come.

Alfonso gently took the paddle out of her hand and smiled, without the slightest sign of annoyance. ‘Scusi.Now I must leave you, but Matteo will show you how we shape the cheese.’

‘I amsosorry,’ Lucy whispered, tears vibrating behind her eyes. That would teach her for showing off.

‘Eh, these things happen.’ He hastily unbuttoned his white coat and headed for the door, which snapped shut behind him. She stood there, not knowing which way to turn, sorely tempted to run out of the door as fast as her plastic overshoes would allow.

‘Signorina Anderson!’ resounded a familiar voice, belonging to a young man carrying a mop and bucket. ‘Is me, Matteo, your English student.’ He flashed her an easy grin as he drew near.

‘Matteo! I didn’t recognise you under there.’ Lucy pointed to his white peaked cap, relief washing over her. ‘I’m so sorry about… Please, let me.’ She reached for the mop.

‘Eh, is no problem.’ Matteo shrugged. ‘Please, have a coffee and when I finish, together we will shape some mozzarella.’

‘I show you the coffee machine,’ said Valentina, leading her to the door.

‘Thank you, Valentina. Nice to see you again.’ Lucy cleared her throat. ‘I feel awful about what happened just now.’

Valentina shrugged. ‘Don’t worry. Is only cheese.’

She led Lucy along the corridor to the staff kitchen. A shaft of sunlight beamed through the dormer window, illuminating a rustic table along the back wall, on which sat a jar of wild flowers with a wooden cross hanging above it.

Valentina tipped coffee beans into the grinder. ‘Allora,what you like? Espresso? Cappuccino?’

‘Espresso, please.’ Lucy breathed in the still coolness of the stonewalled room. Pulling off her sticky hairnet, she sat down at the table.

‘My brother, he had big plans for this place,’ said Valentina over the gurgle and hiss of the old Gaggia coffee machine.

‘I was so sorry to hear about the accident, I…’ Lucy’s voice trailed away.

The haunting sounds of Puccini’sLa Bohèmedrifted faintly under the door.

Valentina placed down the coffee cup and brushed aside a tendril of dark hair. ‘Accident?’

‘Elena told me about Giancarlo.’

‘This was no accident.’ Valentina shook her head firmly, jaw set, her fiery eyes ablaze. ‘Sugar?’

‘No, thank you.’ Lucy drew an uncertain breath, unsure of what to say next.

Valentina’s face softened into a smile, her eyes lucent. ‘Now I must return to work. Please, help yourself, take your time – and don’t worry. Remember, is only cheese. Not a crime.’

Lucy wondered what Valentina had meant. Not an accident? What else could have caused Giancarlo’s car to plunge headlong down a cliff? Suicide? Surely not. He had everything to live for.

Lucy couldn’t imagine the gnawing pain Valentina and her family were having to deal with, but she did know all too well how dangerously close she had come to experiencing it first hand.