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awful that Poldi marginally improved its taste with the contents of her hip flask. Valérie helped herself to five spoonfuls of sugar. Poldi was finding her more and more likeable.
    Femminamorta, she learnt, was all that remained of the Raisi di Belfiores’ once immense estate. In order to hang on to the house and keep the wolf from the door, Valérie rented the unused rooms to holidaymakers.
    â€œMost of the surrounding land belongs to Russo.”
    Poldi pricked up her ears. “Do you know him?”
    â€œ Mon Dieu , I certainly do. He’s been trying for years to talk me into selling Femminamorta.”
    â€œIs he married?”
    â€œDivorced. He has a grown-up daughter who’s about to get married.” Valérie laughed. “We have quite a stable relationship, actually, though lately he’s taken to adopting drastic measures. Did you notice the lion guardant at the entrance?”
    â€œYes, but its twin is missing.”
    â€œIt certainly is. Russo denies it, but I know, of course, that he’s behind its disappearance. An unmistakable warning that he’s running out of patience.” Valérie sprang to her feet abruptly. “But what am I doing, chattering away like this? Would you like to see another room before you decide? You can stay as long as you want – we’ll agree on the rent in due course.”
    Poldi suddenly remembered the original reason for her presence and realized that it had been misunderstood. “I came looking for Valentino, actually. Valentino Candela – does the name mean anything to you?”
    Valérie looked at Poldi for a moment as if she needed to adjust the focus of her gaze in order to see her visitor in a new light.
    â€œOf course,” she said cautiously. “Valentino. A good-looking fellow. Works for Russo, but he sometimes helps me in the house and garden.”
    â€œHe’s been missing for three days.”
    Valérie looked dismayed. “ Mon Dieu . Now you mention it, I haven’t seen him for quite some time.”
    â€œOn Monday he told me he had something to do at Femminamorta that evening.”
    Valérie thought for a moment, then firmly shook her head. “Not here he didn’t, I’m absolutely positive.”
    Poldi handed her the tessera she had pocketed at the Candelas’.
    Valérie merely shrugged and handed it back. “Very pretty. But what’s it got to do with Valentino?”
    Poldi rolled the piece of mosaic around in her palm. “I don’t know.” Then, enlivened by coffee, brandy and an abundance of positive energy, she had an idea. “But I’d like to ask Signor Russo, preferably without having to give him much prior notice.”
    â€œI doubt if he’ll see you.” Valérie suddenly smiled again. “But I can show you a short cut to his office building.”
    The narrow path that ascended a gentle slope from Valérie’s garden traversed a small almond orchard before skirting a football pitch and a vegetable garden. Poldi could already make out the chunky, sand-coloured administration block bearing Russo’s logo. Beyond it were rows and rows of palm trees on parade and, further away still, Etna. The setting sun had already imparted a pink and violet tinge to the volcano’s plume of smoke, but it was still hot. After the cool interior of Valérie’s house, Poldi had broken out in a sweat again, and perspiration was daubing grey shadows on her white caftan. Never a great walker at the best of times, my aunt cursed the heat and the dust that was ruining her slip-ons and besmirching the caftan up to knee height. To crown everything, two dogs – two scruffy mongrels – came lolloping towards her barking furiously. My Auntie Poldi was fond of dogs, especially little mongrels with pug faces and loud voices, so she couldn’t resist clapping her hands and calling out,