‘I’m glad we’ve met at last,’ Hope said. ‘It was time. Come inside. Can I take your bag?’

‘Thank you, but I can carry it.’

‘Then let’s go in. There are five broad steps just in front of you.’

‘If you walk ahead, Jacko will follow you.’

The Labrador did so, finding the way after Hope until they were in the large living room and Celia was sitting. Then he curled up unobtrusively close to her chair.

‘Perhaps he would like some water?’ Hope suggested.

‘He’d love some,’ Celia said quickly. ‘He works so hard.’

In a few moments Jacko was gulping down water, making so much noise that Celia smiled, reaching down to touch him lightly.

Hope took the chance to study her, and was astonished by what she saw. Unconsciously she’d fallen victim to the assumption that blind meant dowdy. Now she saw how wrong she’d been. This self-assured young woman made no concessions to her disability. She was dressed with a combination of elegance and daring that actually suggested hours in front of a mirror, getting every detail right.

Her hair was a flamboyant red, just muted enough to be natural, just adventurous enough to be a statement. For the life of her Hope couldn’t decide which.

Her make-up was discreetly flawless, her pale complexion offset by a delicate rose tint in her cheeks. Her figure was magnificent, encased in a deep blue trouser suit whose close fit and superb tailoring managed to be both demure and revealing.

The thought flitted across Hope’s mind: If my son threw her away, he’s a fool.

‘Francesco didn’t tell me that you were coming,’ Hope said. ‘If he had, I would have looked forward to it.’

‘He doesn’t know I’m in Naples. I came to return some of his property. When he left our apartment in London he was in a hurry, and he left things behind.’

‘And you’ve come all the way to Naples to return them to him?’ Hope asked.

‘No, I was coming, anyway. I work here now. It seemed a good idea to bring them myself.’

A thousand questions rose to Hope’s lips. She wanted to ask Celia all about herself and Francesco, and what had happened between them, but she found that something forced the questions back. This young woman had a simple dignity that was impressive.

At Hope’s request she talked about the work that had brought her here. She spoke with enthusiasm but no self-pity, and laughter seemed to come naturally to her.

Hope’s first thought had been that Celia wanted to reclaim Francesco. Now she wasn’t so sure. This was a strong, independent girl, and Hope couldn’t believe she’d come to get her claws into him. She didn’t need him. She didn’t need anyone.

‘Let’s have some fresh coffee,’ she said at last, rising. ‘I’ll just go into the kitchen and tell Rosa. She’s the best cook in Naples-but you’ll discover that for yourself when you come to dinner.’

‘Thank you. I’d love to.’

Hope was gone a few minutes. Just as she prepared to return she heard the sound of a car drawing up outside, and a glance out of the window showed her Francesco arriving. She was about to call him when she realised Celia would be bound to hear her. Instead, she returned to the main room, and arrived just a second too late.

Francesco had started to walk through the doorway when he saw Celia. He stopped dead, silent and motionless. Hope, watching his face from the other side of the room, saw in it all she wanted to know.

The sight of her had astounded him, penetrating his armour that was so strong against the rest of the world, leaving him exposed and defenceless. He just stood there, staring at Celia, paler than his mother had ever seen him before. He actually seemed unable to speak, and his breathing was shallow, as though he’d received a blow over the heart.

‘Hallo, Francesco,’ Celia said calmly.

Of course she recognised him, Hope thought. She knew his step. Of the two of them, she was the one in command of this situation.

Although she had spoken to Francesco, Celia’s face was half turned away from him, so that Hope had a good view of her expression and saw the soft, eager smile that touched her mouth. Her eyes danced with pure joy.

‘I had no idea that you were coming to Italy,’ Francesco said slowly, and there was a slight hesitation in his voice that would have been a stammer in any other man.

‘I thought it was time I changed my life,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Found new horizons, learned new skills.’

‘But-why Italy?’

‘Because you may recall that I spent some time learning Italian in case you and I ever came here together. It seemed a shame to waste it. So if you had any idea that I’d come trotting after you, you can just think again, oh, conceited one!’

‘That wasn’t what I-’

‘Yes, it was. It’s the first thing that came into your head.’

‘Well, I didn’t expect to find you sitting in my mother’s front room. Does she know who you are?’

‘I think she guessed as soon as she saw Jacko.’

‘Who the hell is Jacko? Your latest romance?’

‘You might say we’re constantly in each other’s company. He takes me everywhere.’

‘I’ll bet he never gets told to keep his hands to himself because you’re better off without him,’ Francesco said bitterly.

Celia’s voice rose slightly in indignation.

‘For pity’s sake, Jacko is my dog!’

He swore under his breath.

‘Don’t be vulgar, my son,’ Hope said.

‘I didn’t see you there, Mamma. This is-yes-well…’ His voice trailed off as he realised the incongruity of what he was saying.

‘I’ve been here over an hour,’ Celia said merrily. ‘Your mother knows who I am by now. I came to return some things that belong to you. They’re in that bag by my feet, next to Jacko.’

‘He’s black,’ Francesco said, regarding Jacko. ‘I didn’t see him in the shadow.’

‘Come and say hallo to him,’ Celia offered.

He came forward uneasily and reached out to stroke the dog, who stretched up his head for a moment, then settled down again. Francesco seated himself close enough to Celia to talk quietly.

‘I don’t believe this is happening. What the devil are you doing here?’

‘I’ve told you. But well done for being honest! None of that stuff about pretending to be glad to see me.’

He bit his lip. So often in the past he’d snagged himself on her sharp wits, and clearly nothing had changed.

‘Is there any reason why I should be glad to see you?’ he growled.

‘None that I can think of.’

‘Good. Then, as you say, honesty is the best policy.’

‘I expect you’ve got someone else by now,’ she said casually. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not here to make trouble.’

‘There’s no-’ He checked himself but it was too late. Now she would know.

‘Then I’m not causing you any problems by being here?’ she said.

‘No problem at all,’ he agreed briskly. ‘I’m glad to see that you seem to be on top of the world.’

‘Right on top,’ she agreed. ‘I love your country.’

She repeated the last words in Italian, for the benefit of Hope, whose footsteps she could hear. Delighted, Hope explained in Italian that her husband was here, too, and introduced him.

Celia responded with a few more words in Italian, which made Toni tease, ‘Ah, but can you speak our dialect?’

He proceeded to teach her a few words of Neapolitan, which she mastered at once, and demanded to learn more.

‘You learn very fast,’ Toni said admiringly. ‘I expect you’re good at that?’

‘Yes, I depend on my mind a lot more than sighted people have to,’ Celia said calmly. ‘My parents, who are blind, too, used to teach me all sorts of memory tricks when I was a child. I’m still proud of my memory, but, of course, now there are all sorts of gadgets to make life easy.’

‘Easy?’ Toni echoed, smiling at her kindly. ‘Well, perhaps.’

Hope drew Francesco aside.

‘I think she’s marvellous,’ she said. ‘What possessed you to leave her?’

‘I didn’t leave her, Mamma. She threw me out. She actually said, ‘I don’t want to see you here again.’ She talks like that-like a sighted person-because she almost doesn’t realise that she’s any different to anyone else. And I can’t make her realise it.’

‘Perhaps you’re wrong to try,’ Hope says thoughtfully. ‘Why do you want to force her to realise something she doesn’t want to know?’

‘Because she can’t live for ever in a fantasy. I only wanted her to be a little realistic-’

‘Realistic?’ Hope echoed, aghast. ‘Do you think you have anything to teach that girl about realism? I don’t wonder she threw you out. I’d like to do the same.’

‘You’ll probably get around to it,’ he said with a wry grin.

Before she could say any more there was a small buzz from Celia’s wrist.

‘It’s my watch,’ she explained. ‘I set the alarm to go for six o’clock. I have to get back to town and meet a customer.’

‘But I want you to have supper with us,’ Hope mourned.

‘I’m sorry, I’d have loved to, but I’m still making my mark in a new job, so I have to try to impress people.’

‘But you will come another night?’ Hope asked anxiously.

‘I’ll look forward to it. Can you call me a taxi?’

‘I’ll take you,’ Francesco said at once. ‘I’ll be home later, Mamma.’

‘Thank you,’ Celia said. ‘Jacko?’

Hope saw Francesco lean forward, as though about to take her arm, then check himself and pull his hand back quickly. Something told Hope that Celia was fully aware of this, although she showed no sign of awareness.

‘Until we meet again, signora,’ she said to Hope, before following Jacko out of the door.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘WHERE are we going?’ he asked as he started up the car.

‘It’s a little café called the Three Bells.’

‘I know it.’

Silence. This was the first time they’d been alone together since the split, and suddenly there was nothing to say. Francesco, taken totally by surprise, was full of confusion.

When he first arrived in Italy he’d been sure she would contact him, but as the silence had stretched out he’d begun to realise that she’d really meant their parting to be permanent.

But parting was too light a word for it. Celia hadn’t left him, she’d cruelly dismissed him, tossing him out of her home as though desperate to rid herself of all traces of his presence.

Even then he hadn’t believed in the finality of what had happened. How could he when their love had been so total, so overwhelming? For him it had been unlike any other love. Transient affairs had come and gone. Women had spoken to him of love and he had repeated the words with, he now knew, only the vaguest understanding of their meaning.

Real love had caught him off-guard, with a young woman who was awkward, provocative, annoying, difficult for the sake of it-it had often seemed to him-unreasonable, stubborn and full of laughter.

Perhaps it was her laughter that had won him. He wasn’t a man who laughed often. He understood a good joke, but amusement hadn’t formed a major part of his life.

She, on the other hand, would never stop. With so much stacked against her she would collapse with delight at the slightest thing. Often her laughter was aimed at himself, for reasons he could not divine. At first it had been an aggravation, then a delight. Let her laugh at him if she pleased. He was her happy slave. Nothing would have made him admit that to anyone else, but within his heart he had known a flowering.

In her arms he’d become a different man, shedding the tough outer shell like unwanted armour and being passionately grateful to her for making it happen.

He’d known what had happened to him, and had assumed it was the same for her. He’d tried to take reassurance from this, reasoning that the sheer violence of her feelings meant that she was bound to change her mind about their parting. She would calm down, understand that their love was worth fighting for, forgive him whatever he’d done wrong-for he still wasn’t quite sure-even, perhaps, apologise.

But none of it had happened. She’d been there when he’d cleared out his things from the apartment, had made him a coffee and told him she was sorry it had ended this way. But that was all. The long, heartfelt discussion that should have marked the end of their relationship had simply never happened. Night after night he’d sat by the phone, waiting for her to call and say they must meet just once more, to clear the air. But the phone hadn’t rung. He’d sat there for hours, until the silence had eaten into him and he’d been close to despair.

He hadn’t called her after that. Not even when he was leaving for Naples. Why bother? It was over.

And now, when he’d just about taught himself to believe that they would never meet again, here she was, tearing up his preconceptions, stranding him in new territory, as awkward and unpredictable as ever. He wanted to bang his head against the steering wheel.