‘My husband,’ said Romina proudly.
‘Complimenti!’
‘Thank you. Come on in. I’ll show you around.’
They waded through vast black pots of cut flowers, and bags and boxes belonging to the crew, into the hall. Panfilo took in everything, sweeping his eyes over the walls, ceilings and furnishings. Years of experience had taught him to home in on the important features; little details that most people would overlook. He observed the light, different in every room, and the colours Romina had chosen for the walls. He admired her taste; it was flamboyant but faultless, and wished Alba would bury her pride and come and take a look. There was a time when she had always joined him on shoots and taken pleasure from snooping around beautiful houses.
Out on the terrace Romina introduced Panfilo to her friends. Dennis, Stephanie, Ma and Caradoc were playing cards. Nanni had taken Fiyona into town on the excuse of enjoying one final coffee before she left that afternoon. They were both too ashamed to face Panfilo. Porci trotted up to sniff the new arrival. ‘My friends, this is the famous Panfilo Pallavicini!’ Romina announced, opening her arms theatrically.
‘The great Panfilo!’ The professor exclaimed. ‘We’ve been awaiting your arrival with anticipation.’
‘What a peaceful sight!’ Panfilo ran a hand through his long hair. ‘Life up at the palazzo is good.’
‘Up to a point,’ grumbled Ma. ‘It would be better if I was winning.’
‘I’m going to show Panfilo the folly,’ said Romina.
‘I hope you don’t find any ghosts,’ Dennis called after her.
‘I’m sure Luca has frightened them away,’ Ma muttered sarcastically.
‘Luca has been much too busy with the living to worry about the dead,’ said Caradoc.
Panfilo followed Romina down the garden. ‘My husband is constantly building things,’ Romina explained. ‘Now he’s building a grotto out of tree stumps. What on earth will he think of next?’
‘It’s beautiful,’ said Panfilo. ‘You have done an incredible amount of work. It’s hard to imagine that it was a ruin only two years ago.’
‘There was something rather wonderful about the ruin, actually. I wish I had taken photographs. I’d like to make a book of before and after shots. A place as historic as this should be documented for posterity. All I have left of the past is the folly. Do you know it?’
‘I’ve heard a lot about it from my daughter, but I’ve never been up here. It will be a pleasure to photograph. The only trouble is I don’t know how I’m going to choose a few pictures out of so many. It requires a book, not just an article.’
‘You are so right. That’s what I think. Maybe you and I can write the book.’
‘I think my wife would divorce me.’
Romina smiled. ‘I shouldn’t worry. You’d be snapped up before you wondered where you were going to lay your head at night!
When they reached the folly, Romina was surprised to see Porci lying against the door. ‘And what are you doing here, little pig?’ She had an awful feeling that someone was inside.
‘A pet?’
‘My baby Porci,’ she breathed, as the animal stood up to be let inside. Romina tried to look nonchalant, not wanting to give anything away, smiled confidently at Panfilo and opened the door. Porci trotted in. To her intense relief, the place was empty.
Panfilo gazed around the exquisite little building. The symmetry was perfect, the harmony as sensual as a beautiful piece of music. Romina threw open the shutters and let the sunlight tumble in, illuminating the books, the four-poster bed and the pretty dressing-table and desk. Then something made her look down to the ground outside the window; there, among the ferns, was a heap of cigarette butts.
Romina felt her fury mount. The intruder had to be found. This had to stop. Luca had to get a grip and catch her before she set fire to the place. But, not wanting to ruin the day she had been looking forward to for weeks, she gritted her teeth and shoved it out of her mind.
‘Isn’t it divine?’ she said, smiling at Panfilo.
‘It is more than divine,’ he replied seriously. ‘It’s special.’ He rubbed his fingers and thumb together. ‘There’s something in the air. I can’t put it into words. It’s a feeling, as if the air is charged with sorrow.’
‘I call it love,’ said Romina.
‘Perhaps. Lost love. It’s a sad feeling. Perhaps I can capture it.’ He looked out of the window, working out where the sun rose and set. ‘We’ll do this last. When the sun is going down and the light is mellow.’