LITMIR.BIZ

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She lifted her hand to shade her eyes from the sun. ‘Take a look in the garage and if there’s a can bring back a few litres of petrol.’

      ‘Milk will do you more good.’

      About to laugh, she realised that he was serious but then he’d been here before. Like any excited father-to-be he would have read all the books, wanting to share every moment of such a life-changing event with Rachel.

      ‘I’ll need a little time for my stomach to adjust to the possibility of dairy,’ she said. ‘Meanwhile, unless someone has spirited them away, there should be a selection of vintage vehicles including a two-seater sports car and a scooter in one of the sheds.’

      ‘They should help pay for the roof repairs but I imagine they’ll all need a little more than petrol to get them started.’

      ‘They’ll certainly need an oil top-up but there might be some in the garage. I’ll come with you and check.’ Cleve looked as if he was about to say something irritating about putting her feet up. Before he could she said, ‘I’ll need some form of transport while I’m here.’

      ‘My vote is for the vintage two-seater,’ he said, holding out a hand. She took it, let him haul her to her feet, because not to would make too much of it. But then he kept her hand in his, holding back the long whippy shoots from overgrown shrubs so they wouldn’t catch her bare arms, not letting go until they reached the garages.

      There was a padlock but the hasp was little more than rust and all it needed was a tug. Cleve opened one of the doors and they were all there. The scooter, a little runaround that you could park on a sixpence, still bright red beneath a thick coating of dust and, underneath a dust sheet, the shape of a long¸ elegant convertible.

      The two cars had been jacked up so that the tyres were not touching the ground. Alberto had taken good care of them.

      While Cleve looked for a petrol can, Andie slid onto the seat of the scooter and grasped the handlebars.

      ‘We used to take turns riding this around the yard.’ Cleve turned to look at her. ‘Portia snuck out on it one night to ride down to the village to meet a boy.’

      ‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’ he said, reaching for a petrol container he’d spotted on a shelf.

      ‘She wheeled it out to the road so no one would hear her start it up and she didn’t dare put the lights on in case someone spotted her. She only made it to the first bend before she landed in the ditch.’

      Cleve, an only child, tried to imagine what it must be like to belong to such a close-knit family where no matter how you fought amongst yourselves, you always had one another’s backs.

      He turned the container over to check that the bottom was sound. ‘Was she hurt?’

      ‘A black eye and some colourful bruises. She told Grandma and Sofia that she’d had a bad dream and fallen out of bed.’

      ‘Inventive. How did she explain the damage to the scooter?’

      ‘Immi and I said we’d knocked it over getting it out of the garage. Alberto wasn’t fooled but he cleaned it up and had it looking as good as new before they saw it and guessed what really happened.’

      She stepped off the scooter and cautiously opened a dusty metal box sitting at the end of a workbench. Inside, neatly laid out, were folded cloths, chamois leathers, polishes—everything needed to keep the vehicles pristine.

      ‘Alberto?’

      ‘He and Elena looked after the house and gardens. I wonder if they still live in the village.’ She opened a box of latex gloves and pulled on a pair, then picked up a cloth and began to carefully wipe away the dust to reveal the scooter’s still-pristine pale blue finish. ‘They seemed incredibly old to us at the time but I don’t suppose they were.’

      ‘No.’ He raised the can. ‘This looks okay. I won’t be long.’

      ‘Bring some marmalade.’ She looked up, catching him by surprise with a grin that made her look eighteen again. ‘For the vitamin C.’

      It had been a long time since she’d smiled at him like that and he didn’t spoil her joke by suggesting he pick up something a little more effective from the pharmacy. But then, unable to help himself, he said, ‘Have you seen a doctor?’

      She straightened and for a moment he could see her struggling for an answer because his question had been intrusive, personal, none of his business. Except that it was.

      Everything about Miranda and their baby was going to be very much his business for the rest of his life. Convincing her of that might be a problem, but just when he thought she was going to give him a reality check her face softened and she put her hand against her still-flat waist.

      ‘Not yet but I’ve been to the NHS website and I’m taking the folic acid and vitamin D as advised.’ She pulled a face. ‘Keeping it down is something else.’

      It was all he could do not to reach out and cover her hand with his. To put his arm around her, holding them both, protecting them both, but, aware that she was totally in control of this situation, that she could shut him out at any time, he clutched the can a little tighter and stayed where he was.

      ‘Can you feel anything?’ The words struggled through the sudden thickness in his throat.

      ‘Not yet. Not until about sixteen weeks. He, she is due around the second week in November.’

      It was the first time she’d volunteered anything. It felt like an important turning point and for a moment neither of them moved, said anything as they absorbed the reality of what was happening to them.

      ‘I’d better go.’

      She nodded. ‘I’ll give the scooter a once-over.’

      He wanted to demand that she sit down, put her feet up, do nothing until he returned but had the sense to keep his mouth shut and after a moment he forced his feet to move.

      He’d assumed that his phone would come to life in the village but there was only the barest flicker. L’Isola dei Fiori was undeveloped even by tourist standards. For the first time in a very long time business was the furthest thing from his mind—his sole focus was Miranda and the baby—but he needed to check in to the office and he looked around for a post office, knowing that they would have a public call box.

      He called Lucy, explained that he would be out of contact for a day or two and got a somewhat sarcastic response that he’d been out of contact for a year.

      ‘It’s fortunate that you’re really good at your job, Lucy, or I’d have to fire you.’

      ‘It’s fortunate that I’m really good at my job or you’d have been out of business. Just take care of Andie,’ she said.

      She ended the call before he could reply and he was laughing as he replaced the receiver, crossed to the counter and joined the queue so that he could pick up some local currency.

      He hadn’t known what to say to Miranda until he’d realised that he was about to lose her. At that moment there was only one thing he wanted to say to her and he’d imagined flying in, finding her at some pretty villa, wooing her with good food, great wine, walks on the beach. Somehow convincing her to stay—not with Goldfinch, but with him.

      The baby changed everything; he’d realised that she was never going to buy a desperate over-the-top declaration five minutes after he’d discovered she was pregnant. Five minutes after he’d practically accused her...

      Just thinking about what he’d said made his blood run cold.

      Hard as it had been to stop everything he felt from spilling out, he had managed to play it low-key, accepting that she wouldn’t leap at his offer of marriage. Even without the baby, she’d have been convinced that his proposal was guilt-driven and rejected it out of hand.

      There had been the possibility of something between them years ago. He’d

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