Page 47 of A Scottish Teashop in Napoli

Elena shrugged, forcing a smile. ‘It’s okay. I’m just overthinking again…’

‘I’m sorry, but we have a sports interview lined up across town in an hour, so if you wouldn’t mind—’ cut in the reporter, glancing at his watch.

The following morning being a religious holiday, they all got up late – even Stefano.

Sitting around the breakfast table in their PJs, they relived the day before, Stefano giving his hilarious impersonation of the posh woman from the tourist board with the fake laugh, orange tan and pillow face. She hadn’t been shy in displaying her interest in Alfonso, hanging on his every word and laughing hysterically at every opportunity. The feeling was clearly not mutual, and poor Alfonso was to bear the brunt of this joke many times in the future.

‘I had a text from Valentina this morning,’ Elena piped up. ‘She said her inbox is overflowing with tour bookings.’

‘Already?’

‘Sì.That feature on the factory and the teashop has created much interest. She wants to sit down with us and Alfonso to discuss how we best go forward from here – how many days a week we open and for how long, how much stock we will need and so on.’

‘And there were we thinking we’d give it a month or so to assess demand before deciding these things.’

Elena rubbed her forehead. ‘With the school, the factory, now this, have we taken on too much? I just worry that—’

‘Buongiorno!’echoed Dario’s voice from the hallway, accompanied by the tinkling of the wind chime.

Stefano ran to greet him.

Elena jumped up and put more coffee on the stove. ‘Buongiorno.’

‘Buongiorno,’said Lucy through a giant mouthful of Nutella-laden croissant, quickly running her hand through her messy hair and fastening the top button of her pyjamas.

Dario strode into the kitchen, waving a copy ofLa Gazzettain the air. ‘I just finish my shift and pick up a newspaper on the way home.Mamma mia!Look who I see on the front page.’

Stefano grabbed the paper and spread it out on the kitchen table, letting out a squeal of delight.

Elena, Lucy and Dario leaned over him to get a closer look.

The faint whiff of Dario’s musky cologne wafted under Lucy’s nose as a strand of her tangled hair tickled his hand.

‘Oh my God, look at us,’ said Elena.

Lucy peered closely, creasing her forehead and screwing up her eyes. Despite her Edward-Scissorhands hair and face like an overripe tomato, there was no denying the joy radiating through her smile, which the old her, the self-critical one, would have overlooked.

Dario dipped a slice of Dundee cake, which Lucy had saved for him, into his coffee. ‘Mmm.Buono.’

‘Did you know,’ began Elena in a low, mysterious voice, ‘that when the priest visited Mary Queen of Scots on the day of her execution, he asked her if she had any last requests, and all she wanted was a slice of Dundee cake?’

Dario’s eyebrows shot up and he gave a low whistle.

All the air went out of Lucy’s lungs. She smiled weakly, eyes fixed on the centre spread ofLa Gazzetta.

There was no denying her stories had stirred up interest in the teashop, but seeing her historical inaccuracies in print, she was now drowning in a tsunami of guilt.

All at once the table started rocking with laughter. Stefano was teetering around on his mum’s high heels and swinging her handbag, giving a wicked repeat performance of the frozen-faced woman at the opening.

‘Again!’ they all cried, clutching their stomachs, tears streaming down their faces.

Lucy threw back her head and let out a donkey-like guffaw, which set everyone off again.

Regaining his composure, Dario loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves. ‘Want a quick game of footie, Harry Potter?’

Stefano looked at his mother with pleading eyes.

Elena nodded, a smile stretching across her face. ‘Go on. But don’t ruin those nice pyjamas Lucy gave you.’