evening by then and a sensible person would have waited until morning. So I didn’t.’
Dante nodded in sympathy. ‘The joy of doing things on the spur of the moment! There’s nothing like it.’
‘I’ve always been an organised person, perhaps too organised. It felt wonderful to go a bit mad.’ She gave a brief, self-mocking laugh. ‘But I’m not very good at it, and I really messed up, didn’t I?’
‘Never mind. With practice, you’ll improve.’
‘Oh no! That was my one fling.’
‘Nonsense, you’re only a beginner. Let me introduce you to the joys of living as though every moment was your last.’
‘Is that how you live?’
He didn’t reply at first. He’d begun to lean forward across the table, looking directly into her face. Now he threw himself back again.
‘Yes, it’s how I live,’ he said. ‘It gives a spice and flavour to life that comes in no other way.’
She felt a momentary disturbance. It was inexplicable, except that there had been something in his voice that didn’t fit their light-hearted conversation. Only a moment ago he’d shut her out, and something told her he might just do so again. They had drifted close to dangerous territory, which seemed to happen surprisingly easily with this man.
Again, she wondered just what lay in that forbidden place. Trying to coax him into revelation, she mused, ‘Never to know what will happen next-I suppose I’m living proof that that can make life interesting. When I woke up this morning, I never pictured this.’
His smile was back. The moment had passed.
‘How could you have imagined that you’d meet one of this country’s heroes?’ he demanded irrepressibly. ‘A man so great that his head is on the coins.’
Enjoying her bemused look, he produced a two-euro coin. The head, with its sharply defined nose, did indeed bear a faint resemblance to him.
‘Of course!’ she said. ‘Dante Alighieri, your famous poet. Is that how you got your name?’
‘Yes. My mother hoped that naming me after a great man might make me a great man too.’
‘We all have our disappointments to bear,’ Ferne said solemnly.
His eyes gleamed appreciation at her dig.
‘Do you know much about Dante?’ he asked.
‘Not really. He lived in the late-thirteenth to early-fourteenth century, and he wrote a masterpiece called
‘You’ve read it? I’m impressed.’
‘Only in an English translation, and I had to struggle to reach the end.’ She chuckled. ‘Hell and purgatory were so much more interesting than paradise.’
He nodded. ‘Yes, I always thought paradise sounded insufferable. All that virtue.’ He shuddered, then brightened. ‘Luckily, it’s the last place I’m likely to end up. Have some more champagne.’
‘Just a little.’
A train thundered past them, going in the opposite direction. Watching the lights flicker on him as it went, Ferne thought that it wasn’t hard to picture him as a master of the dark arts; he was engaging and more than a little risky, because he masked his true self with charm.
She’d guessed he was in his early thirties, but in this light she changed the estimate to late thirties. There was experience in his face, both good and bad.
‘What are you thinking?’ he asked.
‘I was wondering what part of the other world you might have come from.’
‘No doubt about it, the seventh terrace of purgatory,’ he said, one eyebrow cocked to see if she understood.
She did. The seventh terrace was reserved for those who had over-indulged in the more pleasurable sins.
‘That’s just what I thought,’ she murmured. ‘But I didn’t want to suggest it in case you were offended.’
His wry smile informed her that this was the last accusation that would ever offend him.
For a few minutes they sipped champagne in silence. Then he remarked, ‘You’ll be staying with us, of course?’
‘As Hope says, I don’t have any choice, for a few days at least.’
‘Longer, much longer,’ he said at once. ‘Italian bureaucracy takes its time, but we’ll try to make your stay a pleasant one.’
His meaning was unmistakeable.
‘I’ll look forward to it,’ she said. ‘Actually, Hope wants me to talk to her about England, and it’s the least I can do for her.’
‘Yes, she must feel a bit submerged by Italians,’ Dante said. ‘Mind you, she’s always been one of us, and the whole family loves her. My parents died when I was fifteen, and she’s been like a second mother to me ever since.’
‘Do you live here?’
‘No, I’m based in Milan, but I came south with them because I think there are business opportunities in the Naples area. So after looking around I might decide to stay.’
‘What do you do?’
‘I deal in property, specialising in unusual places, old houses that are difficult to sell.’
He yawned and they sat together in companionable silence. She felt drained and contented at the same time, separated from the whole universe on this train, thundering through the night.
Looking up, she saw that he was staring out into the darkness. She could see his reflection faintly in the window. His eyes were open and held a faraway expression, as though he could see something in the gloom that was hidden from her and which filled him with a melancholy intensity.
He looked back at her and smiled, rising reluctantly to his feet and holding out his hand. ‘Let’s go.’
At the door to her carriage, he paused and said gently, ‘Don’t worry about anything. I promise you, it’s all going to work out. Goodnight.’
Ferne slipped into the carriage, moving quietly so as not to waken Hope, who was asleep. In a moment she’d skimmed up the ladder and settled down in bed, staring into the night, wondering about the man she’d just left. He was likeable in a mad sort of way, and she didn’t mind spending some time in his company, as long as it was strictly casual.
But she didn’t brood. The rocking of the train was hypnotic, and she was soon asleep.
Next morning there was just time for a quick snack before they arrived. Hope looked eagerly out of the window, wondering which of her sons would meet them.
‘Justin’s in England and Luke’s in Rome,’ she said. ‘Carlo’s in Sicily and won’t be back for a couple of days. It’ll be one of the other three.’
In the end three sons were waiting at the station, waving and cheering as the train pulled in. They embraced their parents exuberantly, clapped Dante on the shoulder and eyed Ferne with interest.
‘These are Francesco, Ruggiero and Primo,’ Toni explained. ‘Don’t try to sort them out just now. We’ll do the introductions later.’
‘Ferne has had a misfortune and will be staying with us until it’s sorted out,’ Hope said. ‘Now, I’m longing to get home.’
There were two cars. Hope, Toni and Ferne rode in the first, driven by Francesco, while the other two brothers took Dante and the luggage in the second.
All the way home Hope looked eagerly out of the window, until at last she seized Ferne’s arm and said, ‘Look. That’s the Villa Rinucci.’
Ferne followed her gaze up to the top of a hill, on which was perched a large villa facing out over Naples and the sea. She was entranced by the place; it was bathed in golden sun, and looked as though it contained both beauty and safety.
As they grew nearer she saw that the house was larger than she’d realised at first. Trees surrounded it, but the villa was on slightly higher ground, so that it seemed to be growing out of the trees. A plump woman, followed
