The Italian's Christmas Miracle. Lucy Gordon

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      ‘No other address?’

      ‘One in London, in Dalkirk Street, but he’d left it shortly before.’

      ‘Yes, that was where he lived when I knew him. Did you discover when the Florence apartment was rented?’

      ‘September.’

      ‘So soon after they met,’ she murmured.

      ‘That was my thought too. Their affair must have started almost at once, and the first thing she did was hunt for a love nest. I found it looking oddly bare—very little personal stuff, almost like a hotel room. I suppose they spent all their time in bed.’

      ‘Yes,’ she agreed huskily. ‘I suppose so. But surely he must have brought some things with him from England?’

      ‘It’s a very tiny apartment. They were probably looking for something larger.’

      ‘And his things would be stored in England until he was ready to send for them,’ Alysa said. ‘Only he never had the chance. I wonder what became of them?’ She gave a sigh. ‘Oh well!’

      ‘I couldn’t find anything on the internet about him. What did he do for a living?’

      ‘Nothing for the last few months. He used to work in a big city institution—that’s how we met. I’m an accountant and they hired me. He hated the job—being regimented, he called it. Then he came into some money and he said he was going to fulfil his real ambition to be a photographer. He left the job, bought lots of expensive equipment and started taking pictures everywhere, including several trips abroad. He asked me to go with him, and I promised I would when I could get some time off.

      ‘But that never seemed to happen. I should have gone with him to Florence, but at the last minute I couldn’t get away. I had several new clients.’

      ‘And they mattered more than your lover?’ Drago asked curiously.

      ‘That’s what he said. He said I couldn’t even spare him a few days. But I’d worked so hard to get where I was—I knew he didn’t really understand, but I never imagined—I thought James and I were rock-solid, you see.’

      He didn’t reply, and his very silence had a tactful quality that was painful.

      ‘I should have gone with him,’ she said at last. ‘Maybe no love is as solid as that. So he came to Florence without me, and that’s probably when he met Carlotta.’

      The picture show had started again in her head, and she watched James’s return to England, herself meeting him at the airport although he’d told her there was no need.

      Now she noticed things she’d missed at the time: the slight impatience in his face when he saw her, showing that he really hadn’t wanted her there. Nor had he been pleased when she accompanied him to his apartment, although he’d cloaked his reluctance in concern for her.

      ‘Shouldn’t you be at work? They won’t like it if you take too much time off.’

      Laughing, she’d brushed this aside.

      ‘I told them I wasn’t going back today. When we get home, I’m going to cook you supper, and then… And then, anything you want, my darling.’

      ‘So today your time’s all mine?’ he’d asked.

      Had she been insane to have missed the note of irony?

      ‘When we met at the airport he wasn’t pleased to see me,’ she murmured now, to Drago. ‘Of course he wasn’t. He’d met her, and his heart and his thoughts were full of her. The last thing he wanted was me. He tried to dissuade me from going home with him.’

      ‘Did you go anyway?’ Drago asked.

      ‘Oh yes. I was that stupid. I tried to take him to bed, and believed him when he said he was too tired after the journey. I didn’t even get the message when he wouldn’t let me help him unpack.’

      ‘We can be frighteningly blind when we don’t realise that things have changed for ever,’ Drago said quietly. ‘And perhaps we fight against that realisation, because we’re fighting for our lives.’

      ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Yes.’

      James had put his suitcases in the wardrobe, insisting that he would unpack them later. There had been no need for her to worry herself. But he’d kept out the bag where he kept his cameras.

      ‘I’m dying to see the pictures you’ve taken,’ she’d said, opening the side of one of them, ready to take out the little card that fitted into the computer.

      It had been gone.

      ‘I’ve removed them all,’ he’d said quickly. ‘If anything happens to the cameras on the journey, at least I’ve got the cards.’

      ‘But you always keep the cameras with you. You’ve never bothered taking the cards out before.’

      He’d shrugged.

      It was obvious now that the cards had been full of pictures of Carlotta, and he’d made sure she wouldn’t see them.

      Reaching into the bag, she’d found a small metal object, which she’d drawn out and studied curiously. It was a padlock, but unlike any padlock she’d ever seen, with tiny pictures on each side. One side had showed a heart, and the other side depicted two hands clasped. The shapes had been studded with tiny, gleaming stones that had looked as though they might be diamonds.

      ‘How charming,’ she’d said.

      ‘Yes, isn’t it?’ he’d said heartily. ‘I thought you’d like it.’

      ‘Is it for me?’

      ‘Of course.’

      She’d felt for the key in the rucksack. Then she’d smiled at him, all fears removed.

      ‘I shall keep you padlocked in my heart,’ she’d told him. ‘See?’

      But the key hadn’t fitted into the lock.

      ‘Sorry,’ he’d said. ‘It must be the wrong one. I’ll sort it out later.’ He’d kissed her cheek. ‘Now I’m going to collapse into bed. I’ll call you in the morning.’

      That memory returned to her now, but she didn’t mention it to Drago, because she didn’t know what it meant. James had never given her the right key, and had taken back the padlock in the end.

      ‘When did this happen?’ Drago asked.

      ‘About September.’

      He nodded. ‘Yes, I remember Carlotta suddenly started spending a lot of time away from home. She was gone for a whole week in September, then she was at home for a while. There were weekends, then another week in November. I found out afterwards that she’d spent that week in England.’

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