The Rinuccis: Carlo, Ruggiero & Francesco. Lucy Gordon

      He wished he knew the answer.

      She was laughing, her face alight with affection.

      ‘I’ve got to go now. I’ll call you again soon. Bye, darling.’ She hung up.

      A moment later Carlo reached the table, showing no sign that he’d heard the call or even knew she’d made one.

      ‘Perhaps we should move on?’ he said.

      She nodded. She had seen him talking urgently with a man, blocking his way so that he could not disturb them.

      Outside, he took her hand and headed for the car, but then stopped suddenly, as though something had struck him.

      ‘No—wait! The time’s just right.’

      ‘Right for what?’

      ‘I’ll show you.’

      He turned and began to lead her in the opposite direction. Gradually the houses fell away and they were going towards the shore, reaching the road that ran beside it and crossing over onto the beach.

      ‘Look,’ he said.

      The tide had gone out, leaving the fishing boats lying lopsided on the wet sand. Water lay in the ridges and the tiny pools, and the last rays of the setting sun had turned it deep red.

      She gazed, awestruck, at so much dramatic beauty before finally breathing, ‘It’s magic’

      ‘Yes, it is. Not everyone sees it, but I thought you would because of what you told me about dawn on the Thames. To some people it’s just wet sand and a few boats. If you see them by day they’re old and shabby. But like this—’

      He stopped, almost as if hoping that she would finish his thought.

      ‘Another world,’ she said. ‘A special world that only appears for a short time.’

      She thought he gave a little sigh of pleasure.

      ‘Just a short time,’ he agreed. ‘Soon it will be dark, and the special world will vanish.’

      ‘But it’ll return tomorrow.’

      ‘It may not. It isn’t always like this, only when everything is right. It’s like you said: you have to be ready to catch the moment before it vanishes.’

      He was leading her out in the direction of the sea, leaving the conventional safety of the land behind, taking her into an unfamiliar world.

      ‘Wait,’ she said. ‘Let me take off my shoes before they get wet.’

      She did so, shoving them into her capacious shoulder bag. He removed his own and she grabbed them, putting them, too, into the bag, and taking his hand again.

      Not speaking, they walked towards the horizon, until the shallow water just covered their feet.

      ‘This is when it’s at its best,’ he said quietly.

      The setting sun covered the beach and the film of water with blazing red in all directions, so that they might have been standing in a fire. It drenched them with its mysterious violent light.

      Carlo looked at her, smiling, and she braced herself, knowing that this was exactly the right moment for a skilled charmer to kiss her, and that he, who clearly knew all the moves, would be bound to make this one. But then she saw that there was something awkward, almost shy, about his smile. While she was trying to puzzle it out, he raised her hand and rubbed the back of it against his cheek.

      She stared, too dumbfounded to react. According to the script he should have kissed her, and if he’d done so she would have known how to ‘place’ him. But the closest he came was to press his lips gently where his cheek had touched a moment earlier. And when she met his eyes she saw that he was as disconcerted as she.

      The next moment the light changed. Something brilliant faded. And it was over.

      ‘It’s gone,’ she said, disappointed.

      ‘It’s gone for now,’ he agreed. ‘But there are other things. Let’s go.’

      As twilight fell Carlo drove along the coast until they reached the outskirts of Naples.

      ‘Shall I take you to your hotel?’ he asked.

      ‘Yes, please. I need to talk to you where we won’t be disturbed.’

      She knew she couldn’t put the moment off any longer. Something had started to happen, and if it were to flower she must be honest with him first.

      As they went up in the elevator at the Vallini she was planning how she would explain that their meeting had not been an accident. Such was his good nature that she had no fears about his reaction.

      The last of the light faded as they entered her room and shut the door. Before she could reach for the switch she felt his arms go around her, drawing her close, fitting her head against his shoulder.

      At once she relaxed. This was what she’d wanted for at least the last hour. Why deny it? It was undignified to have fallen so easily into the trap, especially as she had seen it from a distance, but that was what had happened.

      But the trap wasn’t the one she’d armed herself against. A glib tongue and an easy manner—those she could cope with. But the uncertainty in his eyes when they’d met hers had caught her unawares

      It was the worst moment for her cellphone to buzz. Groaning, Carlo released her, and she turned away, walking to the window as she reached into her purse. Taking out the phone, she discovered a text message.

      ‘Shall we have champagne?’ came Carlo’s voice from behind her.

      She hadn’t realised that he was so close, and jumped sharply enough to drop the phone.

      ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I’ll get it for you. It went under that chair.’

      He dropped to his knees and reached for it. Then, as he drew it out, Della saw his smile fade. In silence he handed it to her. Her blood ran cold as she saw the words on the illuminated screen.

      Have you tracked Rinucci down yet? George

      Looking up, she saw Carlo standing back, regarding her. On the surface his good humour seemed unruffled, but she could see the distance in his eyes.

      ‘You came to “track me down”?’ he asked coolly.

      She sighed. ‘Yes, I did come here looking for you.’

      ‘What did I do to merit that?’

      ‘If you’d let me explain in my own way—’

      ‘Just tell me.’ His voice was ominously quiet.

      ‘You’re ideal for a television show I’m planning. I’ve got my own production company, and I’m setting up a series about places of great dramatic events in history. I need a frontman, and someone told me you’d be ideal.’

      ‘So you came down to audition me?’

      ‘Not exactly that,’ she said uneasily.

      ‘How would you describe it?’

      ‘I wanted to meet you, and—and—’

      ‘And get me to jump through some hoops to see if I was up to your standard? And I obliged, didn’t I? I jumped through them all, and then some!’

      ‘Carlo, please—all right, I should have told you before.’

      ‘You sure as hell should.’

      ‘But I couldn’t predict what was going to happen. When I saw you with those kids, you were so perfect for my purpose that I couldn’t believe my luck—’

      ‘Perfect for your purpose?’ he echoed, in a soft, angry voice. ‘Yes, it’s all been about your purpose, hasn’t it? You pulled the strings and I danced.’

      ‘Is it so terrible that I