I looked out of the cab window at Oxford Street; it was not very crowded on this Monday morning. The shop windows spilled light onto the wet pavement. Selfridges, where I had purchased the fur and several evening dresses, seemed to stand in blank-faced admonishment of my folly. I turned to Aidan. “Let’s go down to Marshall & Snelgrove, shall we? They have nice dresses and things, not too expensive.” I regretted this as soon as I had said it. “Not that I mean, you know…”

“It’s all right.” He patted my hand. “I’m not completely broke, actually. And anyway, I’ve got this new job.”

“Oh, yes!” I had forgotten that Aidan had a part in a new film. “You must tell me all about that!”

“I will, but let’s get you kitted out first.”

He bought me two medium-weight wool dresses, some underwear and stockings and an adorable vertically striped cardigan with a deep V-neck. It was pricey; I tried not to show Aidan how much I liked it, but he saw through me immediately and insisted on buying it. Once we had added a nightdress and a pair of soft leather pumps, the amount rung up by the assistant was alarming. Aidan paid without comment, and it was not until we were back out in the street that either of us spoke. We began at the same time, then stopped, then both tried again. Aidan laughed. “You first.”

“I was only going to say thank you, again, and promise you again that I will pay you back.”

“And I was going to say that you will need some more clothes soon. Summer ones.”

“But my summer things will be sent from the Thamesbank, won’t they?”

“Yes, they will.” It had stopped raining. He used the furled umbrella to hail another cab. “But they might be too warm for where you’re going.”

I did not understand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yes you are.”

The cab stopped. “Somerset House,” said Aidan to the driver. Then, to me, “That’s where they store the records of births, marriages and deaths.”

“I know that. So where am I going that will need cool clothes?”

“Italy.”

“Italy?”

He helped me and my packages into the back seat and squeezed into the small remaining space. “It’s a place in Europe. It looks like a boot.”

“Aidan, do not tease me, just tell me what you mean!”

He sat back with satisfaction and took out his cigarettes. “My new film is being made on location, which means the outdoor scenes will be filmed in a real place, out of doors. And that place is … Italy.”

I was so surprised that if I had not been wedged into the corner of the taxi, I might have fallen on the floor. “So do you mean we could have gone to Paris and filmed our outdoor scenes?” I gasped. “Instead of pretending, with those stupid painted walls?”

“No, no!” Aidan shook his head. “David Penn Productions has not the funds for location filming; it costs an absolute fortune. But the director who’s making this picture, Giovanni Bassini, is very keen on filming outdoors, and his backers seem to have tons of money.”

I had begun to recover my composure. “So it’s like when the newsreel people came to Haverth, is it?” I ventured. “They brought their cameras, and lights and cables, and goodness knows what.”

“Yes, but this is on a much larger scale. The film company won’t cart all the stuff over to Italy, they’ll hire an Italian company’s equipment.”

I stared at the back of the cab driver’s head without seeing it. My mind was crowded with so many thoughts and questions, it was hard to find a sensible way through them. “So where exactly are we going?” I asked eventually.

“To Castiglioncello, on the north west coast of Italy. Giovanni, who is a very good friend of David Penn, has a villa there. If there’s one thing David likes to do when he’s finished a picture, it’s to be entertained at Giovanni’s villa. I would stake my life on his turning up there before long.”

“And where do I come in?”

“You will be introduced as my Welsh cousin, who has come to Italy to learn Italian.” He gave me a shy look. “I’m afraid, Clara, you will actually have to do so, for verisimilitude. And no one in Castiglioncello, except David, of course, will know who you really are.”