A Postcard from Italy. Alex Brown

like that,’ she breathed, grateful to be talking about something else. ‘And Larry …’ She hesitated, wondering if he would agree to another idea.

      ‘Go on,’ he prompted.

      ‘Well, I was wondering if I could take some pictures of Connie’s diaries and letters too? I know I can’t take the originals home, but I could read through them when I’m up in the nigh—’ She stopped talking. ‘Um, if I get time,’ she added. Larry looked at her, momentarily hesitating, as if he wanted to say something more but wasn’t sure if he should.

      ‘Grace, you can read through them here tomorrow,’ he settled for a few seconds later. ‘There’s really no need to take on more work, I’m sure you have enough to be getting on with at home as it is …’

      ‘But I’m not sure I can wait until then. Please Larry, it will give me something interesting to do …’ She looked away, disliking how desperate she sounded. But it was the truth. The thought of delving into Connie’s life gave her a sense of purpose, and it would be a break too from the monotony of her usual night-time routine of waiting for her mother to fall asleep … just so she could do something for herself, if only for a short while, uninterrupted, and without fear of being bellowed at and then chastised for not coming to her aid fast enough.

      ‘Well, in that case, I’ll get the jewellery box into the safe while you get cracking on reading more of that diary to see if you can spot some clues.’

      A little while later, Larry returned with two mugs of tea.

      ‘Betty made it just how you like it,’ he said, handing a mug to her. ‘And said to give you this too.’ He pulled a bundle wrapped in kitchen towel from his pocket. Inside was another generous slice of Betty’s delicious babka. ‘She also said I was to give you a hand with going through Mrs Donato’s things and she’ll take care of the invoice letters.’

      ‘Oh, that’s kind of her. And thank you, Larry.’ Her eyes lit up as she took the cake. She hadn’t had time again to eat a proper lunch, just half a homemade ham sandwich on the bus back to work. But at least Cora had agreed to serving herself a cheese ploughman’s with a big buttered baguette and tomato soup from a flask while Grace had Googled local engineers in the hope that one could come and take a look at the washing machine that was now playing up. She devoured the cake and took a slurp of tea while Larry lifted the first suitcase from the pile and flipped open the lid.

      ‘Well I never! There must be dozens of diaries, letters and papers in here,’ he said, placing his hands on his hips in preparation for the mammoth task ahead. ‘Right, let’s make a start. I’ll open and place each one on the chaise longue while you snap a pic, and then I’ll put it all back in the suitcase afterwards. If we get a system going then we might be done by home time …’