Situated in a sunny corner of an Umbrian cobblestone street, the café was peaceful as curious tourists swung by with their cameras and guidebooks, oblivious of the presence of the people sitting behind the ivy-covered patio.
With its mediaeval walls encircling vineyards that had produced wine since the Roman era, the tiny town of Montefalco clung to its hillside like a diamond set in verdant velvet. The amber light of afternoon sun flowing through grape leaves created an atmosphere where time seemed to stand still, as if the pressing concerns of the modern world had vanished. That very quality—its capacity to render the outside world seem distant and controllable—was why Lila had settled on it.
She wore a plain white linen dress that any tourist looking for a break from the heat could
