The Italian's Christmas Miracle. Lucy Gordon

eyes had not softened her appearance. They were now her main claim to beauty, and more than one man had admired them, only to find them looking right through him.

      She’d thrown herself into her career with renewed fervour. Her bosses were impressed. The word ‘partnership’ began to be whispered. A year after James’s death, she should have completely moved on. And yet…

      She wandered slowly back to the water and looked up again to the place where James and Carlotta had swung up high, moments before the cable had snapped.

      ‘Why am I here?’ she asked him. ‘Why haven’t I managed to forget you yet?’

      Because he was a ghost who haunted her even now, and in this place she’d planned to exorcise him. Foolish hope.

      ‘Leave me alone,’ she whispered desperately, closing her eyes. ‘In the name of pity, leave me alone.’

      Silence. He wasn’t there, but even his absence had a mocking quality.

      Beneath a huge tree a stone had been erected, bearing the names of the dead, with James near the bottom. She knelt and touched his name, feeling the stone cold beneath her fingers. This was as close to him as she would ever be again.

      ‘Sapevi che lui?’

      The voice, coming from behind her, made her turn and find Drago di Luca towering over her, glowering. He looked immense, blotting out the sun, forcing her to see only him.

      ‘Sono Inglese,’ she said.

      ‘I asked if you knew the man whose name you touch.’

      ‘Yes,’ she said defiantly. ‘I knew him.’

      ‘Well?’ He rapped the word out.

      ‘Yes, well. Very well. Is that any business of yours?’

      ‘Everything concerning that man is my business.’

      She rose to face him. ‘Because he ran off with your wife?’

      She heard his sharp intake of breath and knew that he would have controlled it if he could. His eyes were full of murder. Much like her own, she suspected.

      ‘If you know that—’ he said slowly.

      ‘James Franklin was my boyfriend. He left me for a woman called Carlotta.’

      ‘What else did he tell you about her?’

      ‘Nothing. He let her name slip, then refused to say any more. But when this happened—’ She shrugged.

      ‘Yes,’ he said heavily. ‘Then every detail came out for the entertainment of the world.’

      The crowd jostled her slightly and she moved away. At once he took her arm, leading her in the direction he chose, as though in no doubt of her compliance.

      ‘Are you still in love with him?’ he demanded sharply.

      Strangely the question didn’t offend her as it would have done from anyone else. Their plight was the same.

      ‘I don’t know,’ she said simply. ‘How can I be? By now it should be all behind me, and yet—somehow it isn’t.’

      He nodded, and the sight gave her an almost eerie feeling, as though she and this stranger were linked by a total understanding that reduced everything else to irrelevance.

      ‘Is that why you came?’ she asked.

      ‘Partly. I also came for my daughter’s sake.’

      He indicated the child standing a little way off with an elderly woman who was leaning down, talking to her. It was the same child who’d been in the picture, a year older.

      As Alysa watched, the two moved across to where the flowers lay, so that the little girl could lay down her posy in tribute. Looking up, she saw her father, and she smiled and began to run towards him, crying, ‘Poppa!’ At once he reached down to pick her up.

      Alysa closed her eyes and turned slightly. When she opened her eyes again the child would be out of her sight line. Something was happening inside her, and when it had finished she would be all right. It was a technique she’d perfected months ago, based on computer systems.

      It started with ‘power up’ when she got out of bed, then a quick run-through of necessary programs and she was ready to start the day. A liberal use of the ‘delete’ button helped to keep things straight in her head, and if something threatened her with unwanted emotion she hit the ‘standby’ button. As a last resort there was always total shut-down and reboot, but that meant walking away to be completely alone, which could be inconvenient.

      Luckily, standby was enough this time, and after a moment she was able to turn back and smile in a way that was almost natural. She could do this as long as she aimed her gaze slightly to the right, so that she wasn’t looking directly at the child.

      Drago was absorbed in the little girl, whom he was holding up in his arms. Alysa marvelled at how his face softened as he murmured to his daughter, words she could not catch.

      The woman spoke in Italian. Alysa picked up ‘introdurre’, and guessed it meant ‘introduction’.

      ‘I am Signorina Alysa Dennis,’ she said.

      The older woman nodded and switched to English.

      ‘I am Signora Fantoni, and this is my granddaughter, Tina.’

      Tina had been watching Alysa over her father’s shoulder, her eyes bright. Now Drago set her down and she immediately turned to Alysa, holding out her hand, speaking English slowly and carefully.

      ‘How do you do, signorina?’

      ‘How do you do?’ Alysa returned.

      ‘We came here because of my mother,’ the child said, like a wise little old woman. ‘Did you know someone who died?’

      Beside her, Alysa heard Drago give a sharp intake of breath, and her heightened sensitivity told her everything.

      ‘Yes, I did,’ she said.

      Incredibly she felt a little hand creep into hers, comforting her.

      ‘Was it someone you loved very much?’ Tina asked softly.

      ‘Yes, but—forgive me if I don’t tell you any more. I can’t, you see.’

      Without looking at Drago, she sensed him relax. He’d been afraid of what she might say in front of his little girl.

      Tina nodded to show that she understood, and her hand tightened on Alysa’s.

      ‘It’s time to go home,’ Drago said.

      ‘Yes, I’ll be leaving too,’ Alysa agreed.

      ‘No!’ Drago rapped out the word so sharply that they stared at him. ‘I mean,’ he amended quickly, ‘I would like you to join us tonight, for supper.’

      His mother-in-law frowned. ‘Surely a family occasion—’

      ‘We all belong to the same family of mourners,’ Drago said. ‘Signorina, you will dine with us. I won’t take no for an answer.’

      He meant it, she could tell.

      Drago stroked his daughter’s hair. ‘Go ahead to the car with your grandmother.’

      Signora Fantoni glared, silently informing him of her disapproval, but he ignored her and she was forced to yield, taking Tina’s hand and turning away.

      ‘Poppa,’ Tina said, suddenly fearful. ‘You will come, won’t you?’

      ‘I promise,’ he said gently.

      Relieved, she trotted away with her grandmother.

      ‘Since her mother died she’s sometimes nervous in case I vanish too,’ he said heavily.

      ‘Poor little mite. How does she