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again. Fleeting glances between bars brought a painful reflex. It reminded her of Edgar’s arrival, not long before, at the same spot. The two events became interchangeable. Perhaps this new one would have done just as well.
    Mungo Craddock arrived in Laurence’s car, having been met by Alfredo at the station. Victoria widened gaps between fingers as he came into view. She whistled with relief. She had, after all, chosen the better favoured of the two. Edgar was, at least, presentable. It surely proved that she was not entirelyomnivorous. A short young man, bespectacled, made himself known to Elena who waited by the lemon tub.
    A beard tangled up in a watch chain reached his waist. Beard, tweed and watch chain. No nonsense about a language barrier. He had been up all night with a phrase book. Grin fixed, he advanced on Elena.
    ‘
Buon giorno. Sono molto contento.
’
    Victoria darted to her bedroom and heard them pass – wondering how on earth she was going to swing it with Laurence.
    Victoria stole in behind them thanking her stars that, as with Mr Hobson’s Miss Lewes, Laurence couldn’t see him.
    Mungo advanced upon his puffy future patron, Victoria and Elena waiting in the wings as Laurence sat – a pint of milk in the armchair – pale and sloppy, washed-out eyes shielded by spectacles.
    ‘Mr Bland. This is a tremendous honour. I cannot tell you with what excitement one has anticipated this meeting.’
    ‘Laurence. Please. I prefer to be called Laurence.’
    ‘I say. That’s frightfully good of you. What a delightful room.’
    Mungo looked about jerkily but didn’t spot the spies.
    ‘What an enchanting landscape.’ He pointed at a picture propped on a table. It was one that Victoria had painted and mounted herself. A pointless present for a blind man.
    Inwardly shrinking with anxiety, she made her presence noticeable and introduced the pair to each other.
    As Laurence sipped, Mungo buttonholed her.
    ‘Could you kindly put one in the picture concerning form here. One gathers that you know the ropes. One does want tostrike the right note with the old dear. And by the way, about the maid. Is there something the matter with her eyes? Something one should know about?’
    Elena whirled him away to see his quarters. Laurence had suggested that he might like to wash after his journey. Shave perhaps? Little did he know.
    Victoria waited for a verdict but none came.
    At lunch, refreshed by his wash but having taken no advantage of the shaving offer, Mungo pressed on.
    ‘Might one be allowed to read one or two of one’s short stories to you, sir?’
    ‘Laurence, please. Call me Laurence.’
    ‘Sorry. It’s going to take a bit of getting used to. Laurence, I intended to say. It would be the most tremendous honour.’
    ‘By all means. Indeed. Sometime.’
    ‘They are inspired by Thomas Aquinas. By the way, Laurence , is there a Catholic church near here?’
    Victoria was at sea. They were, after all, in Italy.

Chapter 10
    M ungo had asked permission to go to a special mass in the village that morning so Victoria sat alone, gratefully, with Laurence in the shaded room – a small pile of letters to be opened on her lap. One was for her and, unmistakably, came from Lettice . Laurence had not quite finished his first glass of Elba wine and signalled that he was not ready to hear what his post had brought. She opened the one addressed to herself.
    ‘Ma
belle fille
to be! I wish we could have lured you down to The Old Keep when you were in London but we knew time was precious for you and fully understood. Edgar has told us all! Your meeting in heavenly Italy – and it’s partly my doing! What luck that I’d met the great man of letters (or are these things luck?). Warmest regards to him from all of us in our bosky retreat. How can you tear yourself away from such a fount of learning? Love conquers all! Families are such wonderful things and, knowing that you – poor darling – are an orphan, how we all long to