He ushered her into the kitchen, the low door set deeply into the stone walls, and gestured for them both to sit at the long table. The room was dominated by an enormous hearth that took up most of the far wall; opposite the table was an iron range and a wall-hung enamel sink with a single faucet. So there was running water, and electricity, too, judging by the overhead light fitting and the walnut-cased tabletop radio that sat on a shelf next to the door.

Rosa was there, washing dishes in the sink, her back straight, her demeanor as forbidding as a tomb. She did not turn around to greet them.

Aldo did his best to paper over the awkwardness, directing the younger girls to fetch a fresh tablecloth, and then bowls and spoons and glasses.

“There’s still some soup, I think, and Rosa baked the bread yesterday—didn’t you, Rosa? Ah, well . . . she’s busy. I’ll see what there is, and I’ll fetch you some wine, and while I’m doing that the children can tell Nina who they are, although don’t worry about keeping them straight just yet, my dear.”

The children had been hovering at the door, but with this invitation they hurried inside and gathered around Nico, and the youngest boy—he had to be Carlo—sat on his brother’s knee with the ease of a child who knew he was loved.

“I’ll tell you who everyone is. I’m Carlo, and these are my sisters Agnese and Angela, and even though they look almost the same, Agnese is the older one by a year. Then there’s Paolo and Matteo—he’s the one who’s trying to grow a mustache, even though I think it looks like a feather got caught under his nose. And Rosa is the grumpy one who is mad at Nico. She’s nearly always mad at one of us, so you shouldn’t be too worried.”

“Carlo,” Nico warned.

“Perhaps you might tell us a little about Nina?” Aldo asked, his tone uncertain but hopeful.

“I will tell you, Papà, I promise. But we’re both tired, Nina especially. I hope you don’t mind if we rest for a while. It was a long walk from Venice.”

“From Venice, then? I—yes. Of course. We can wait.”

They ate in silence, and though Nico seemed perfectly at ease with his brother hanging off him, the dog curled up at his feet, and his sister washing the dishes with such vigor it was a miracle she hadn’t smashed the lot, Nina could barely swallow her soup.