“Yes,” she says, tartly, laughing - baking for Irene is a bit of a joke, a bit something intimate, something that no one else would do, but it's also just the sort of that the Benevenuta does. She's a bit somebody's mother, in that way; she makes preserves and birthday cakes and feeds people when they come to visit her and does all her tellings-off in the kitchen. It makes a funny sort of contrast in her own mind, at least, of her gift and their secrets - the sort that she enjoys.

Benevenuta does have so many secrets.

“Happy birthday, hm?”