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for the oldest person here.’ He chortled. ‘Someone as old as me. Ah, there he is.’ The man kneeling in prayer was so still he might already have been dead had it not been for the sudden twitch of his foot, like the tail of a dozing cat.
    ‘You can’t interrupt his prayers.’
    ‘Of course not. I’ll wait until he’s finished.’
    ‘He might take all evening.’
    ‘I’m in no hurry. I have one or two things I can tell the good Lord while I’m waiting,’ said Caradoc, shuffling over to take a seat near him.
    As he sat down to wait, Luca noticed the woman by the candles turn and walk up the aisle towards him. It was the woman he had seen on the beach, the mother of the child playing outside. He recognised her immediately by the way her hips gently swayed with each step. ‘I’ll be back in a moment,’ he whispered to Caradoc, then followed her out into the piazza . She was dressed in black, her veil reaching down to her waist. He noticed her bouncing hair and the fine curve of her hips and bottom, her slender ankles and calves. Before he had thought about what to say, he found himself greeting her in Italian. She turned, startled.
    ‘I’m sorry if I surprised you,’ he said, trying to make out her features behind the embroidered lace. ‘I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I’ve just arrived in Incantellaria from England. My parents live up at the Palazzo Montelimone.’ The mention of that place grabbed her attention. She looked less timid than curious. Good , he thought, I’ll have this all wrapped up before the old man is even half way through his prayers . ‘We’re trying to find out a little of the history of the place. Who lived there, what he was like, you know, it’s natural that one would want to know about the past. It’s such a beautiful palazzo .’
    ‘I know nothing,’ she said. Her voice was soft and low like a reedy flute. She turned away and walked on through the square.
    ‘Perhaps you have a grandmother who might know something?’ he continued, hurrying after her.
    ‘No,’ she replied, quickening her pace. ‘No one has lived there for decades. It was a ruin.’
    ‘It’s not a ruin now. It’s glorious. Is there someone you can recommend? A local historian perhaps? Is there a library?’
    ‘No one,’ she said briskly.
    Luca felt foolish chasing after her. ‘Well, thank you for your time,’ he shouted.
    She smiled politely and hurried on, her pretty little feet moving swiftly over the paving stones. The boy left the shady trees and skipped up to join her. Luca grinned at him and gave a little wave. The boy’s big brown eyes looked stunned. He hesitated a moment, his mouth agape, then turned to run after his mother who was leaving the square by a narrow street, almost lost in shadow.
    Luca returned to the church. It wasn’t going to be as easy as he thought. No wonder his mother hadn’t had much success in finding out the history, if no one wanted to talk. He took his seat next to Caradoc. ‘I bet you found out nothing,’ whispered the professor.
    ‘You’re right. She didn’t want to talk.’
    ‘Of course not. She must have thought you were just chatting her up.’
    ‘Which I wasn’t!’ Luca joked.
    ‘Beware of the men in her family. You don’t want to cross an Italian man.’
    ‘You’re telling me?’
    ‘You’re only half Italian. These southerners are very passionate. Men are killed for less.’
    At last the elderly man picked up his prayer book and prepared to leave. Caradoc tapped him on the shoulder.
    ‘Good day,’ said the professor in Latin. The old man looked confused.
    ‘ Buona sera ,’ whispered Luca. ‘Forgive us for disturbing you. We’re new in town. We live at Palazzo Montelimone on the hill. Would you mind if we asked you a little about the history of the place? We thought you looked like the sort of person who would know.’
    The old man sniffed noisily. ‘Come outside,’ he hissed, standing up stiffly. Both men followed him to the