VE Day and the oddest thing happened as I joined the conga in the middle of Trafalgar Square with Bunty and Joyce from the factory. It was such a marvellous feeling to dance and celebrate now that Hitler has surrendered and the war is over. A few minutes earlier, and Giovanni had whooped and lifted me high in the air, swinging me round and round before bringing me back down to earth with a long, lingering kiss, full on the lips in the middle of the street, and I’ve never blushed so much in my entire life. But I really had no need to as Bunty and Joyce were each kissing men in uniform too, and they hadn’t even met them until today.

As everyone in the conga laughed and snaked through the crowds, I kicked my legs out side to side, gripping Joyce’s waist in front of me, and as I looked out into the throng of people all around me, that’s when it happened. I saw my darling Jimmy! Pale and ethereal almost, and with a vacancy in his eyes that I had never seen before. He was standing there and staring directly at me as if he and I were the only people in the world. It was the strangest feeling as my ears blocked out the noise of the crowd and I felt a floating sensation, all dreamy and slow as Jimmy lifted a hand, hesitated, and then turned and walked away. I watched as he faded, just like a ghost drifting back towards heaven.

The sun was dazzling, of course, making my vision filmy, and the streets were so crammed with everyone singing and cheering and waving flags, so I know I was mistaken. It couldn’t possibly be Jimmy, as I know that he’s gone, but I definitely saw a chap who looked just like him. Black curls the colour of treacle and green eyes, just like our darling Lara. So much so that it near took the wind right out of me and I stopped up short suddenly, almost making the conga line topple over on top of me. Bunty took the brunt of it, with being behind me, and wasn’t at all pleased on smudging her newly applied red lipstick on the back of my tea dress, and catching her hair on a button, making her victory roll tumble free all over her face in a terrible mess. She looked such a fright that she then had to hastily redo it all in the Lyons Corner House on the Strand, where Joyce’s cousin, Edie, works as a Nippy, and so was able to quickly chivvy her through to the staff room. By the time I had checked on poor Bunty and let Giovanni know where we were headed to, Jimmy’s ghost was nowhere to be seen and I missed my chance to go closer to him. I would have done anything to be near him one more time. I couldn’t sleep last night for dreaming about Jimmy. We were back on the carousel at the fair on Blackheath, only this time our sweet baby Lara was in Jimmy’s arms and his face was a picture as he gazed down at her adoringly. It was around then that I woke up and felt tears on my pillow.

Oh poor Jimmy. I’m so sorry you had to go, my darling, and I know that seeing you was a vision, a mirage of wishful thinking, the celebratory champagne I’d had at the Rainbow Corner club earlier playing games with my head, no doubt. But you gave your life to this dastardly war so it’s only fitting that you should be there on the day we celebrated Hitler’s demise, if only in my imagination and dreams. You will always be my first love, my darling sweetheart, even though Giovanni is my truelove now. Meeting him has made the dark cloud lift and the light in my life come back on, and I know that he will adore Lara as soon as Mother agrees to let me bring her back to London, and it will be safe for her now so there really is no reason for Mother to object.

I will pretend she is my young sister, if that is what it takes to have her close to me without the taint of illegitimacy. I know that Mother has grown very fond of her, and Lara, likewise. I see the bond between them every time I visit the village of Tindledale, and it breaks my heart to know that Lara views me as a doting sister rather than her proper mother. But in time that will change and Giovanni and I will become a family with Lara at the heart of it, with us, here in London, for Giovanni wishes to love Lara as his own and has no desire to return to America and to his disapproving parents. We have that in common, you see, except his downfall – as far as his family is concerned – is his love for art and not for the law; his lawyer father owns a firm in Manhattan in New York, and always envisaged Giovanni would follow in his footsteps. But Giovanni has no desire to practise law and he really is a very talented artist, for I have seen some of his pencil drawings and they are terrific.

‘Bingo!’ Grace clapped her hands together and then swivelled the screen of her laptop around so that Ellis, who was sitting opposite her, could take a look at the page of Connie’s diary entry dated 1945. ‘See this paragraph right here …’ She tapped the screen after jumping up and dashing round to stand next to him.

They had just got back to the townhouse and were sitting around a red metal table on the small balcony off the sitting room, admiring the view, boats and gondolas drifting along the canal, an elderly Venetian woman pegging her washing out on a little line looped between two flower boxes beneath her windows, a baker further along offloading trays of bread and scrumptious-looking cakes from a boat and into the back of a café. Grace was mesmerised by the ordinary, day-to-day life of the people who lived here, and was grateful that they weren’t staying in one of the touristy areas where she might have missed it all. They had also enjoyed lunch in a traditional Venetian cicchetti bar, serving wine known as ombra with small tapas-style plates of meatballs, fried squid, boiled eggs and sardines, with herby tomato stacked bruschetta and slices of bread with baccalà, a creamy cod topping that had tasted delicious. Sitting on high stools at the bar alongside native Italians all chatting enthusiastically and using their hands to articulate, Grace had loved the buzzy, frenetic yet friendly atmosphere. It made her feel alive and like she was properly a part of life once more.

She had also been stunned when she’d first seen inside the Airbnb the previous night. It was actually a Venetian loft, with original wooden beams in the ceilings and Caravaggio-style murals on the walls of every room, and furniture that wouldn’t look out of place in a high-end, five-star hotel. It really was spectacular, and she had sent Betty and Larry a text message to say thank you for choosing such a sumptuous place for them to stay. Betty had replied saying that Ellis had chosen it having stayed there before, and so of course Grace had then gone off to bed wondering if his girlfriend had been with him on that occasion. She had found out that her name was Jennifer and she had sounded very sophisticated and efficient when she had called Ellis’s mobile when he was in the bathroom last night.

Grace hadn’t been sure if she should take the call when the phone had rung, and had still been deliberating when Ellis had yelled for her to get it, if she wouldn’t mind. And so the woman on the other end of the line had started the conversation with a very breathy, ‘Darling, I’m looking at venues for our engagement party and would love your input …’ at which point Ellis had appeared and taken over the call.

Grace had heard him say, ‘Hi babe,’ as he padded off to the privacy of his bedroom and then, ‘Just work. I’m helping her out for my aunt and uncle.’ And then, ‘Sure, Jennifer, I can’t wait either,’ before promising to check his emails for details of the venues that she was going to email links to, and that he’d take a look and let her know his favourite one. So not only did Ellis have a girlfriend, but she was soon to be his fiancée, and so any flirty fantasy notions Grace might have inside her head must be banished immediately.

She had taken a deep breath and exhaled, as if to eradicate all but totally professional, work-related, searching-for-a-living-relative-for-Connie-type thoughts from her head, then and forever more. And there would be no more silly pondering on how soon-to-be-engaged Ellis’s thigh felt against hers. As Grace Quinn was most definitely not like that. No, she wasn’t a Perky Yoga One. And then, as if the universe had been colluding to reinforce this thought, Grace’s mobile had rung just as she was about to fall asleep and it had been Phil. And he had been absolutely fuming. Grace had never heard so much emotion from Phil, but then he never had been one for saying how he really felt, until last night …

‘So you make up some bullshit story about your mum not letting you come on the spa break and then I find out from that gay boy holed up in your house that you’ve gone off to Italy. Grace, when I said you should get in someone to look after your mum, I meant so that you could come away with me and we could have some sexy time.’ Grace had blanched at this point as she hated that phrase. ‘Not so you could lie to me and go off with another geezer. And all that crap you came out with about not being able to go out anywhere new … well, that was obviously a load of old rubbish too. Because, Italy. It’s not exactly round the corner. Anyway, you’re dumped. Not that you were much cop in the sack anyway. I’ve had hotter dinners—’ At which point she had hung up and thanked her lucky stars. Phil had then sent her a text a few minutes later saying she owed him three hundred and seventy-six pounds for the whole spa weekend since he never would have paid his mate for the booking if he had known she was going to fleece him over it.

‘Well done, Grace,’ Ellis grinned, leaning forward in his chair and bringing her thoughts back to the moment. ‘So we now know that Giovanni is definitely the artist and therefore Connie as his wife was heir to his artwork that was in her possession … well, in her storage unit until we had it moved to a secure place. Nice work.’ She beamed, and then quickly adjusted her face so it wasn’t quite so jubilant or – dare she think it – flirtatious-looking. Because that wouldn’t do. She’d hate Jennifer to feel betrayed in any way by another woman; not that she would know how Grace was behaving, but that wasn’t the point. Grace of all people knew what betrayal felt like, not that Matthew had been innocent in his affair with the Perky Yoga One, of course not. But Grace used to wonder, in the early days after it all happened, just how much of a part the Perky Yoga One had played in luring Matthew into thinking ‘it just happened’.

‘Thanks, Ellis,’ she replied, sombrely. ‘Another piece of the puzzle solved. I’ll make a note in my pad.’

‘Sure,’ Ellis said, turning his head to look up at her, his eyebrows creased with curiosity. ‘Are you OK, Grace?’

‘Yes, thanks, I’m fine. Would you like more coffee? I could pop out this time to get it,’ she said, hurriedly, suddenly wanting to get away from him. But then a stab of her old step-counting anxiety reared up and she regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. Thinking about Phil’s phone call was making her feel unnerved. Whilst it was a relief to not have to pretend their relationship was anything real any more, his words had still hurt. Since last night, she’d had a little voice of doubt whispering in her ear … ‘not much cop in the sack’ … and the inevitable conclusion to that being, no wonder Matthew cheated on me. And so she was battling to get back those euphoric feelings of renewal that she had felt on first arriving here in Italy.

‘I’m not sure we have time for more coffee,’ Ellis said, looking at his watch. ‘We need to head to the station soon to catch the train to Santa Margherita.’ And Grace could have kissed him in relief. Aghhhh. No. Not a kiss. That’s not what she meant. Sorry Jennifer. Certainly not. Maybe just a courteous hug instead, perhaps …