‘El azafran’, Isabel said suddenly, her eyes widening with pleasure as though she’d just spotted an old friend.
El azafranBeppe smiled but looked perplexed.
‘The saffron crocus,’ Audrey said, hoping he would understand. She remembered how she’d found its wilting leaves in the garden on that first visit and how the sight of it had conjured memories of her mother’s cooking. How strange, she thought now as she witnessed Beppe and Isabel’s interactions over the bulb in his palm, that her mother was actually here.
Something stirred in her then, the knowledge that good things, good imaginings, could still manifest and were sometimes better in reality than when first conceived.
It was then that Audrey made a decision that she’d not expected to make.
‘While we here,’ Rosa said as they stood o
