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Tuscany. She didn’t know where he stayed when he was away. She assumed he travelled around visiting vineyards, meeting winemakers, tasting wine.
    She noticed then that her Web browser window was still open, and not without trepidation, she clicked on the history bar. Down dropped a lengthy menu of Internet sites she had trolled the previous night, many of them featuring searches for Tuscan red wines and, subsequently, churches.
    Using her sober morning powers of deduction, she checked the last website before she had obviously moved on to making her airline booking and was barely surprised to find the church in the golf shoe.
    â€˜The church of the Madonna di San Biagio is found on the slopes of the hill of Montevedova,’ the website revealed, ‘at the bottom of a picturesque avenue flanked by towering cypresses.’
    It was one of the most famous churches—a shepherdess having witnessed a miracle there, of course—in a part of Tuscany renowned for its wine, which was why, even under the influence of two bottles of the stuff, she’d appeared to have had no trouble finding it.
    But finding it was one thing, deciding to go there quite another. It was beyond impulsive and Lily had little time for impulse.
    Mind you, she’d bought an exercise bike on the Internet once, late at night, and forgotten she’d done so. She’d similarly put herself (for all of twelve hours) on Facebook. There was a hidden supply of makeup advertised by Cindy Crawford currently stashed in their basement that arrived one morning to her great surprise. She’d thought that an excellent idea at midnight after a few glasses of wine. But wanting to look like Cindy Crawford made a lot more sense than this. Daniel was coming back in a couple of days anyway, and by then she would have worked out a plan to deal with the situation. She didn’t understand why, pinot grigio aside, she’d wanted to speed up the whole process before she was properly equipped to handle it.
    Then she clicked back on her e-mail program and noticed the message below the Alitalia flight confirmation. She hadn’t spottedit before because it wasn’t in bold; it had already been opened and she must have read it. It was from Daniel.
    This in itself was odd. He rarely contacted her in the weeks he was away. He was only gone for seven or eight days and nothing urgent ever cropped up. She had a number for him somewhere, or Pearl did, because he used a different cell phone in Italy to save money on expensive roaming fees, but she’d never had to use it.
    Had Daniel been lying particularly low when he was out of the country? This had never occurred to her before, but there was no reason why it should. She had nothing to be suspicious about. Until yesterday she’d been under the impression he was the perfect husband.
    It was such a strange new world, this realm of the cheated-on wife. It was like turning a different coloured light on an old familiar scene: All the same things were still in all the same places, yet it now seemed unrecognisable.
    This was Daniel she was talking about. Daniel.
    She clicked on his e-mail.
    â€˜ Lily darling ,’ he wrote. ‘ So sorry to drop this on you but something’s come up over here and I need to deal with it right away or face possible financial ruin and you know how much I’d like that. Turns out there’s another American distributor trying to lure my suppliers away from me and I need to do some serious fast-talking to avert disaster. I know you had plans for my birthday Saturday but I’m sorry I don’t think I’ll be home till next week. I’ll make it up to you when I get back, I promise. And could you be a darling and let Jordie know I won’t make it to golf on Sunday? I don’t have his details with me. Amore, Daniel .’
    Well, that certainly helped put together the events of the previous night. She must have gone to check her e-mail for some