The Venetian Legacy

by Philip Gwynne Jones

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; International Crime & Mystery; Crime Fiction

Synopsis

'An unputdownable thriller' Gregory Dowling

'It is no surprise to find that Philip Gwynne Jones lives in Venice... art and architecture interweave into a story that builds to an almost surreal climax' Daily Mail

'Gwynne Jones's talent for evoking place and atmosphere is clear as ever' Literary Review

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No happy ever after for Nathan and Federica?

Newlyweds Nathan Sutherland and Federica Ravagnan are looking forward to weeks of sunshine and relaxation on the island of Pellestrina, in a cottage belonging to Federica's late father, Elio.

The weather is idyllic, the views across the lagoon are spectacular and the seafood is the best in Venice. But when the body of an eminent Venetian lawyer is dredged up by a fishing boat, members of the close-knit island community start to take an unhealthy interest in the two honeymooners, and whispers and rumours begin to circulate about Elio's association with a recently-deceased gang boss.

As Federica struggles to comes to terms with her father's troubled legacy, Nathan finds himself dragged into the search for the missing proceeds of an unsolved jewellery heist, and the unwanted centre of attention of the Mala del Brenta - the Venetian Mafia.

Clearly Pellestrina is going to be no honeymoon...

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Praise for Philip Gwynne Jones

'Superb - always gripping, beautifully constructed and vivid' Stephen Glover

'Clever and great fun' The Times

'Sinister and shimmering, The Venetian Game is as haunting and darkly elegant as Venice itself' L.S. Hilton, bestselling author of Maestra

'The Venetian setting is vividly described... good, fluid writing makes for easy reading' Literary Review

'Un-put-downable . . . If you love Venice, you'll love this because you'll be transported there in an instant. If you've not been to Venice, read this book and then go. If you like intrigue, and a clever plot, you'll love this book' Amazon reviewer, 5*****

'The lively, colourful narrative scuds along as briskly as a water taxi...you'll enjoy the ride' Italia Magazine

Release date: April 1, 2021

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 400

Sample

Dario smiled and patted me on the back. ‘How are you feeling, Nat?’

‘Not sure, to be honest.’ I held my hands up in front of my face. ‘I think I might be losing all sensation in my extremities. Do you think that’s a bad sign?’

‘You’re nervous, then?’

‘I think I am. Shouldn’t be, though. It’s not as if I haven’t done this before.’

‘Hmm. You know, I probably wouldn’t mention that. Now hold still.’

‘Dario, I’m fully capable of doing up my own tie.’

He stepped back. ‘Are you sure?’

I stared at my hands. Try as I might, they refused to stop shaking.

‘No,’ I said.

‘Let me.’ He fiddled with my tie and tightened it ever so slightly. Then he stood back, frowned and tugged it a little to the right. He patted me on the cheek. ‘Okay. You’re good to go.’

I took a few deep breaths, and then struggled into my jacket. I looked at the cuffs. There was no getting away from the fact that they’d seen better days. I shook my head. ‘I should have got a new one,’ I said.

‘Too late, vecio, way too late for that.’

‘No. Wait a moment. There’s a place in San Tomà. Near the bakery.’ I checked my watch. ‘I might just be able to get something there.’

Dario laughed. ‘We haven’t got time, Nat.’

‘We might have. If we hurry.’

‘Trust me. There’s no time. This is how you’re going.’

‘I’ve got to look good, Dario.’

‘Nat, man, stop panicking. You look good, okay? You look good.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m sure.’ He paused. ‘Well, you look good enough anyway.’

‘Gah.’ I patted myself down, going through my pockets. ‘Okay. I’ve got everything. At least, I think I’ve got everything. Have you got everything?’

‘I’ve got everything, Nat.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’ve got everything. Trust me.’

Gramsci sat on the back of the sofa, staring at us both. He caught my eye, and miaowed a mixture of bemusement and contempt.

I nodded at him. ‘Look at him. He’s enjoying this. I can tell.’

Dario coughed. ‘As I understand, vecio, you’re supposed to be enjoying this yourself. It’s the sort of thing you only do once.’

‘Twice, in my case.’

‘Yeah. As I said, no need to mention that.’ He grabbed my shoulders and shook me as gently as he was capable of. ‘Come on, buddy. Let’s do this.’

I took a deep breath and nodded. ‘Let’s do this.’

We made our way downstairs, and past the window of the Magical Brazilians. Eduardo caught my eye, and raised a hand in a clenched-fist salute, mouthing the word Forza at me. I smiled as best I could, and waved back at him.

We walked through Calle della Mandola and into Campo Manin. A group of young tourists sat around the statue of the revered hero of the Risorgimento, all leaning back into the shadow of the great winged lion at its base, seeking shelter from the midday sun in an attempt to stop their ice creams melting faster than they could be eaten. Daniele Manin looked out from the top of his plinth, right hand thrust inside his greatcoat, imperious and impervious to the heat.

‘I’d have got you a gondola, you know? I did think of it,’ said Dario.

‘You did? Thanks Dario. That was kind.’

‘Pal of mine is a gondolier. He’d have done it for free. Well, for a few beers at least. But I figured you wanted to keep everything low-key.’

I nodded. ‘That’s right. We didn’t want a big fuss. Just our best friends, you know. Fede’s mum. Zio Giacomo. You and Vally and Emily. That’s it.’

We walked through to Campo San Luca and made our way to the Riva del Carbon where we looked out on to the Grand Canal. Water taxis ferried happy, smiling tourists back and forth, looking fresh and relaxed as they waved to the cramped and sweaty occupants of crammed vaporetti. Delivery men tossed huge multipacks of bottled water to their colleagues on the riva without even breaking a sweat, whilst gondoliers did their best to steer their customers safely around the increasingly busy waterway.

Even with sunglasses on, I needed to shield my eyes as I looked over towards the Rialto Bridge, bristling with iPad-wielding tourists jostling each other as they competed for space in trying to capture that perfect shot of what had once been one of the most elegant waterways in the world.

Madness. Utter madness. And yet, there was nowhere in the world I’d rather have been.

I took my sunglasses off, and wiped my forehead.

‘Getting hot already, and it’s only June,’ I said.

Dario nodded, and patted me on the back. I wished he hadn’t as I could feel my jacket starting to stick to me. We made our way along the fondamenta and into the shade of the Palazzo Cavalli, a handsome sixteenth-century palazzo that, nevertheless, felt just a little bit overshadowed by all the splendour that surrounded it.

Federica, of course, was there before me. She tapped at her watch. ‘I was beginning to wonder.’

‘Sorry. Dario had to help me with my tie.’

She looked at me. ‘Oh dear. Have you been getting in a state?’

‘A bit of one, yes. Haven’t you?’

She looked surprised. ‘No. Why would I be?’

‘Well, it’s just … it’s just this is kind of a big thing. Isn’t it?’

‘Well, yes. But it’s also supposed to be a happy thing.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘So why would one be stressed about it?’

‘It’s just because …’ I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths. ‘It’s just because I want everything to be perfect, you know?’

She smiled, and touched her forefinger to my lips. ‘It’s perfect enough.’

I smiled back. ‘You look lovely, you know. I mean, you always do, but you look particularly lovely today and I just want to say …’

She shushed me. ‘And you look very handsome, tesoro.’ Then she stood back, and put her head to one side. ‘It’s just—’ She reached out and adjusted my tie. ‘There. Absolutely perfect now.’

Dario, I noticed, was shuffling his feet and checking his watch. I looked around. Marta, Federica’s mother, smiled back at me. Valentina, holding little Emily by the hand, smiled and waved. Even zio Giacomo gave a little tip of his hat.

I took a deep breath. ‘So, this is it then?’

Fede patted my arm. ‘I guess it is. So are you ready?’

I squeezed her hand. ‘Oh yes. I think I am.’

I linked my arm in hers, and, followed by our friends, we made our way upstairs to the piano nobile of the Palazzo Cavalli.

And that was it.

It took perhaps twenty minutes for Ms Federica Ravagnan to become, well, Mrs Federica Ravagnan. No gondolas, no string quartets, no fuss. Simple, and just the way we wanted it.

Except, of course, that it wasn’t quite as simple as all that.

‘So, how do you feel my boy?’

Zio Giacomo clapped me on the shoulder, and then frowned ever so slightly. ‘Not quite right.’ He adjusted my tie as, I was beginning to understand, everybody would be doing at some point over the course of the day. ‘Much better. As I was saying, how do you feel?’

‘I don’t know. Terribly grown-up I suppose. And it feels different from—’ I bit my tongue.

‘Yes?’

I decided to be honest. It was my wedding day. I was going to be absolutely honest with everybody, including myself. ‘It feels different from last time.’

‘My goodness. I’d keep that to yourself.’

‘It’s true though. I suppose I was very young. Well, still in my twenties. I think that counts as young. Too young, if I’m being honest. And so—’

‘And so?’

I laughed and shook my head. ‘And so I don’t think I really knew what I was doing. I’m not sure either of us did really.’

‘But you do now?’

I patted him on the back. ‘Yes. Oh yes, I do now. Never been more sure of anything in my life.’

‘Well, I’m glad.’ He paused. ‘I was even younger than you were, I suspect. But I always knew what I was doing.’

We walked on in silence, listening to the chatter from our friends. Giacomo’s wife, I knew, had died at a young age. It wasn’t something I’d ever felt able to properly speak to him about.

‘And yes, I still miss her,’ he said, as if following what I was thinking. ‘Every day. But I think perhaps that’s a good thing.’ He blew his nose. ‘So, tell me. Where are we going for lunch?’

‘The Magical Brazilians. I mean, the Brazilians.’

‘Oh. Are we? How disappointing.’

‘It won’t be so bad, I’m sure. Anyway, we both wanted Eduardo to be there. We’ve spent a lot of time there over the years.’

‘I remember my wedding day. It seemed as if everybody was there. Everyone we knew, all our friends, all our relations.’

‘Well, we just wanted a quiet do. Nothing flashy, just ourselves and our closest friends. You and Marta. Just keeping it simple.’ We turned into the Street of the Assassins. ‘Hang on, what’s going on?’

The blinds were down at the Magical Brazilians.

I looked over my shoulder. ‘Dario, I thought you’d sorted this out with Ed?’

Dario held his hands up. ‘I did. I promise I did.’

‘Ed never closes on Tuesdays,’ I said. ‘He barely closes at all. And he was here earlier. What’s going on?’

‘Have you tried the door?’

‘I can’t believe it, Dario. It’s our bloody wedding day and all we were after was a simple round of tramezzini and a few drinks with our nearest and dearest, and now it turns out to be the only day of the year when Ed is closed.’

‘Try the door, Nat.’

‘I don’t bloody believe this. Of all the things that could have gone wrong it had to be—’

I tried the door.

It opened.

There was a chorus of ‘Surprise!’

I didn’t know everyone. At least not by name. Some of Federica’s colleagues I’d only met once or twice before. But there was Sergio and Lorenzo, on one of their rare excursions from the communist bar on Giudecca, Father Michael Rayner from the Anglican Church, Vanni from the Questura and even Gheorghe – minus, mercifully, any large dogs.

It was not, therefore, going to be a simple round of tramezzini with friends.

I looked back at Dario and grinned.

‘You utter bastard!’ I said.

Federica looked over my shoulder, laughed, and then turned to face Dario. She hugged him. ‘You utter bastard!’

‘Yeah, we’ve done the “bastards” thing,’ I said.

Dario shrugged. ‘Hey. It’s your wedding day. What was I supposed to do?’

‘We said we didn’t want a big fuss.’

‘I know, but I didn’t believe you. Was I wrong?’

There was still quite a lot of cheering going on inside. Ed grinned and waved, and went back to his work lining up Negronis on the bar.

‘No,’ I said.

Fede hugged him again. ‘We’ll forgive you. Just the once, mind.’

‘Where’s Lorenzo?’ I said.

Sergio jerked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘He’s talking with the Tall Priest about Martin Luther.’

‘My goodness.’

‘Lorenzo likes that sort of thing. He doesn’t usually get the chance to talk about it. Never quite been our thing at the club, you know?’

‘No. I can understand that.’

‘Who’s that young guy with them?’

‘Him? Oh that’s Luciano. He works at the Rialto market. I buy fish from him and his mate every Saturday.’ I frowned. ‘I wouldn’t have thought he’d have strong opinions on Martin Luther.’

‘No? Why not?’

‘Well, we never talk about that sort of thing.’

‘What do you talk about?’

‘Fish, mainly.’

‘What, so you think because he’s a fishmonger he can’t know about Martin Luther?’

‘No, it’s because whenever I see him I’m there to buy fish.’ I sipped at my Negroni. ‘Anyway, it’s great to see you here, Sergio. Thanks for coming.’

He shrugged. ‘No worries, investigatore.’

‘I mean,’ I smiled, ‘I appreciate you’ve come a long way.’

He didn’t seem to understand the joke. ‘It’s okay. Haven’t been in these parts for a while. It’s changed a bit, though. But then the whole city seems to be changing.’

‘You ever been married, Sergio?’

He shook his head. ‘No. Never found the right person, you know. Or at least, I thought I had but—’ He paused. ‘Boh!’

‘How about Lorenzo?’

He chuckled. ‘Who knows? As far as I know he might actually be married.’ His expression changed, and he looked serious for a moment. ‘I’m happy for you, compagno.’

‘Thanks, Sergio.’ I looked around. Marta was standing on her own by the door. ‘Excuse me a moment. I think I need to go and circulate.’

He nodded, and patted me on the back. ‘Congratulations again.’

I made my way through the crowd, smiling and nodding all the way. I caught a glimpse of Fede in conversation with two professors from the university and mouthed the words ‘I love you’ at her. She smiled back with a ‘You too’.

Marta was humming something to herself as she stared out of the window. I didn’t recognise the tune but there was something mournful about it, a sense of a terrible loneliness that made me pause for a moment.

‘Marta?’

She gave me a hug and kissed me on both cheeks. ‘Congratulations, Nathan.’

‘Thanks.’ I noticed that her eyes were red. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine. Well, if Mamma can’t cry at her daughter’s wedding, when can she?’

‘I suppose so.’ I gestured at the crowd. ‘This is all rather lovely, isn’t it? I mean, I know we said we wanted things kept simple, but, well, we were wrong.’

She nodded. ‘Sometimes friends know best. My wedding day was a bit like this. There were more people, though. Both sides of the family.’ She looked at me over the top of her glass of prosecco, the question hanging in the air.

‘I don’t really have any family. Not really. My mother died over ten years ago.’

She touched my arm. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.’

‘It’s okay. Really. And my dad – well, we haven’t spoken in years.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated. ‘That must be difficult.’

I shook my head. ‘Not any more. Anyway,’ I smiled, ‘now I have a new family and a lovely mother-in-law.’

She poked me in the ribs, just as Federica would have done. ‘Too much flattery.’ Just as Federica would have said. ‘But thank you.’ She looked around the room. ‘Well now, people seem to have left my daughter alone for two minutes, and so I think I should go and speak to her.’ She kissed me on the cheek. ‘I really am very happy for you both, you know?’

‘I do. Thank you, Marta.’

She turned to go, but then both of us were distracted by the sound of tapping on the window. I turned to see a man in middle age, smartly dressed and holding a black leather briefcase, standing in the street. He nodded and smiled at Marta.

‘A friend of yours?’ I said. ‘Ask him in, by all means.’

She shook her head, and her expression was difficult to read. ‘No, it’s okay. I’ll just pop outside for a moment.’

She made her way through the crowded bar, and I watched as she exchanged kisses with the stranger, who smiled, bowed and nodded in equal measure. It was impossible to hear what was being said and neither, of course, was it any of my business. Nevertheless, there was something a little bit disquieting about the expression on Marta’s face.

The stranger reached into his jacket, pulled out an envelope and offered it to her. Marta put her hands to her face. He smiled, and spread his arms wide in a gesture that I assumed was meant to be reassuring. She took a step back, nodded as if to calm herself, and then reached out her hand to take it. They exchanged kisses again, and then the stranger turned and made his way along the Street of the Assassins, and into Calle de la Mandola.

Marta ran the tips of her fingers across the front of the envelope before tucking it away in her handbag, her hands shaking. She whispered thank you as I held the door open for her, and then looked across the room to Federica.

‘Everything okay?’ I asked, keeping my voice light.

She could switch a dazzling smile on and off at will. Just like her daughter. ‘Yes thank you, Nathan. Now, as I was saying, I really should go and talk with Federica.’

‘Okay. We’ll talk later, Marta, I’m sure.’

‘Yes. Yes, we will. Thank you, Nathan.’ Again, her voice had dropped to little more than a whisper. She gave me the gentlest of hugs, and turned away.

I stared after her, and then jumped as Father Michael clapped me across the shoulders.

‘Congratulations, Nathan.’

‘Thank you, Michael.’

‘I’ve just been talking to that friend of yours.’ He nodded at Lorenzo. ‘Fascinating man. He knows more about the Council of Reims than I do.’

‘Ah well, Lorenzo is something of a Renaissance communist.’

‘So, it all went well then? At the Palazzo – what’s it called again?’

‘Cavalli. Palazzo Cavalli. Yes, all very efficient. In and out in twenty minutes.’

He winced. ‘The most noble and holy sacrament of marriage. Efficiently rattled through in twenty minutes.’

‘I’m sorry. We really didn’t want a church wedding.’

‘I understand. It’s your day, after all.’

I looked around at the crowd. Many of them were good friends, some of them I sort of knew and a few were complete strangers. ‘It’s an odd feeling, you know? All these people are here for us. Now I understand what they say about wanting to be a guest at your own wedding.’

Rayner smiled. ‘Maybe you’d better go and circulate some more? Your public will be expecting you. And Nathan—’

‘Yes?’

‘If you do ever change your mind, I’d be delighted to give you a blessing. Seriously.’

‘That’s very decent of you, Michael. Thanks.’ I was about to add ‘but no thanks’ and then thought better of it. He would, I knew, have been disappointed that we hadn’t got married at St George’s, and what he was offering to do was a kind thing. Would it be so bad, after all? ‘We’ll think about it. Seriously, I promise,’ I said.

He patted me on the back. ‘Go on, go and circulate.’

I made my way over to Gheorghe, who was in conversation with Vanni and his wife Barbara. Before I could reach them, however, my eye was caught by the sight of Marta and Federica. Marta was smiling and laughing as if all was right with the world. And yet her smile was just a little too dazzling, and her laughter, perhaps, just a little too forced. Then Vanni, Barbara and Gheorghe took it in turns to hug and kiss me, and Marta and Fede were lost from view.

We sat and watched as Sergio and Lorenzo made their way, a trifle unsteadily, through the door. Lorenzo tipped his hat at us through the window, then Sergio took his arm and they walked off in the direction of San Zaccaria and the next boat to Giudecca. I wondered when they’d last spent an afternoon away from there and, indeed, if they’d ever do so again.

‘Just us then,’ said Dario. He turned to Vally. ‘What do you think? Should we have one before we head off?’

Ed was unable to resist wincing slightly, as he looked around the bar. If it had not exactly been a riotous party (indeed, the phrase ‘riotous party’ had different connotations in Italian, as opposed to English where it might genuinely suggest an actual riot) there was, nevertheless, a certain amount of clearing up needing to be done before opening for business tomorrow.

Vally caught his expression, and shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’ Emily lay asleep with her head in her lap, and Vally stroked her hair. ‘Time to get this one home. She’s been very good but let’s not push it.’

Fede smiled. ‘She’s been great. She was the real star in some ways. Who wants to talk to the newly married couple when there’s a cute little girl to make a fuss of?’

I thought for a moment of the man outside the window, who’d taken quite an interest in talking with the mother of one half of the newly married couple but that, I thought, could wait for later.

Dario sighed. ‘I suppose you’re right.’ He got to his feet, yawned and stretched. ‘Perhaps we need an early night?’

Vally smiled. ‘I think perhaps at least one of us does.’

‘Okay then.’ I turned to Eduardo. ‘Thanks, Ed. You’ve been a star. Sorry you’ve got so much clearing up.’

He grinned. ‘It’s no problem, Nat. It’s nice to see you looking happy, man.’

‘Thanks.’

‘I mean,’ he continued, ‘sometimes it’s hard to remember the sad middle-aged man who used to drink alone in here all those years ago.’

‘I don’t know who you could possibly mean.’ I reached into my jacket. ‘We should settle up.’

He shook his head. ‘No you shouldn’t.’

‘No, really.’

He shook his head again. ‘Really. It’s sorted. Call it a wedding present.’

‘Wow.’ I reached across the bar and gave him an awkward hug, whilst taking care not to send a tray of empty glasses crashing to the floor. ‘Thanks, Ed.’ A thought struck me. ‘I suppose in that case, we might as well stay for one—’

Fede interrupted me. ‘Or, perhaps, we might as well not.’

‘Oh.’

‘Really. Let poor Ed go back to work while there’s still a chance of him getting home before midnight.’

‘Yeah. You’re right. I’ll see you tomorrow though, Ed.’

‘Or the day after,’ said Federica.

‘Or the day after.’

‘Or perhaps the end of the week. Come on.’ She leaned across the bar to give him a peck on the cheek, and then linked her arm in mine. ‘Let’s go.’

We made our way outside, and took part in one of those very Italian farewell rituals where neither party wants to be the one that actually turns their back and leaves. Eventually, though, we were done and we waved goodbye to Dario, Vally and Emily.

‘So. That’s that then,’ I said.

‘It seems so.’

‘A job well done, signora Ravagnan.’

‘Indeed so, signor Sutherland.’

‘So. Shall we go to bed then?’

‘I think we should.’

We went upstairs to my apartment – or our apartment, I reminded myself. The keys rattled in the lock as I pushed the door open, and I waited in expectation of the usual grumpy greeting from Gramsci. Fede gently pulled me back as I was about to step inside.

I turned around. ‘What’s going on?’

‘You’ve forgotten something.’

‘I have?’

She sighed. ‘Aren’t you going to carry me over the threshold?’

‘What? Seriously?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘I didn’t think you held with that sort of thing.’

‘Caro mio, until recently I didn’t hold with lots of things. Marriage being one of them. And yet here I am. So if we’re going to do this, we’re going to do this properly. Come on.’ She slipped an arm around my shoulders.

‘Hmm. Right. Okay.’ I put my arm around her, and then reached down to scoop her up as best I could. ‘I’ve got this. I’ve absolutely got this.’

I carried her through the door, into the bedroom and attempted to set her down gently. Then a yowling sound came from between my feet, where Gramsci had tangled himself up, and the two of us toppled on to the bed together.

I kissed her. ‘I love you, you know?’

‘I do. I love you too.’ She wriggled out from under me, and brushed her hair out of her eyes. She looked over at me and patted my chest. ‘Oh, this is annoying. What were we thinking of, getting married on a work night?’

‘Hmm. We didn’t really think that through, did we?’ I stroked her hair. ‘Normal people would have booked time off. Honeymoons. Things like that.’

‘I know. But given that we’re probably only going to be able to afford to go away once it makes more sense to wait until August. We could go up to the mountains. Escape from the heat.’

‘Or I suppose we could just have got married in August?’

‘Only mad people get married in summer, caro.’

‘Ah well. So, are you back at the Querini tomorrow?’

‘Afraid so.’

‘Early start?’

She smiled, and leaned closer to me. Then she kissed me, properly.

‘Not too early,’ she said.

The Old Wolf is unhappy. I can tell that from his body language. He touches his face, covers his mouth more than he did at the start of our interview. He seems less willing to make eye contact. He smiles, at times, but I can feel him forcing the expression on to his face. Work as a journalist long enough and you start to recognise things like this. For the first time in our conversation I feel as if I am the one in control.

‘Would you like to tell me about your family?’ I repeat.

He breathes deeply and then nods. He takes a cigarette from the packet in front of him and taps it on the table.

‘I was born in Mestre at the start of the war. This you know. I never knew my father. I imagine that this, too, you know. He never came back from the war, so mamma brought me up alone.’

There is something about the way he says ‘mamma’. As if the word should be in capital letters.

‘She never spoke about him. Never. Sometimes I would ask questions. When I was little, she would hug me and say that not all boys and girls have a papà. And that would be enough for me. But when I was older, if I asked the same question, well, then she would get angry. Tell me that I wasn’t too old for her to spank my arse. So after a while, I just stopped asking.’

‘She never spoke about him at all?’

‘No. Now, you need to imagine me as a young boy exploring our house. It wasn’t big of course, but it seemed so through the eyes of a child. One day, when she was out at the market, I went down to our cellar. It was full of all kinds of junk, old chests and suitcases. I rummaged through everything. There were photos, of course – so many of them of nonno and nonna. I found Grandfather’s service revolver from the First World War.’ He chuckles. His eyes twinkle and, for a moment, the Old Wolf looks like everyone’s favourite grandfather. ‘I took that and hid it under a loose board in my bedroom. I kept it for years.’

His expression becomes serious and he shakes his head. ‘But there was nothing belonging to my father. And when I say nothing. . .