The Italian's Wife By Sunset

‘That’s right.’

So there was no other man in her life, he thought, making urgent calculations: her son might be twelve, if she’d been so young at his birth. He was almost dizzy with relief.

‘What made you go into television?’ he asked, when he’d inwardly calmed down.

‘Through my second husband and his brother.’

‘Second—? You’re married?’ he demanded, descending into turmoil again.

‘No, it didn’t work out, and there was another divorce. I guess I’m just a rotten picker. Gerry ran off leaving a lot of debts, which I had to work to pay. The one good thing he did for me was to introduce me to his brother, Brian, who was a television producer. Brian offered me a job as his secretary, taught me everything he knew, and I loved it—the people I met, the things it was possible to do, the buzz of ideas going on all the time. Brian loaned me some money to start up for myself, and he recommended me everywhere.’

‘So now you’re a big-shot,’ he said lightly. ‘Dominating the schedules, winning all the awards—’

‘Shut up,’ she said, punching his arm playfully.

‘You’re not going to tell me you’ve never won an award, are you?’

His eyes warned her that he knew more than he was letting on.

‘The odd little gong here and there,’ she said vaguely.

‘You’re not the only one who knows how to use the internet, you know. You won the Golden World prize for the best documentary of the year—’