‘And who is this?’ he said.

‘This is … my daughter,’ said Carina.

‘What’s your name?’ said Stefan.

He was holding out his hand. No sound seemed to come from Lena’s mouth and she had to repeat the word as she placed her hand in his. ‘Lena.’

‘Come and sit down, Lena. You too, Carina. I can make some tea. Are you hungry?’

‘No, sir,’ said Lena, as though she were talking to Herr Kaufmann.

‘Why not?’

‘We had some sausage on the train.’

‘Some sausage on the train? Don’t tell me that! Wait here while I shave and change my shirt.’

When he came back into the room, he took a jacket from a chair and led the way downstairs. It was not far to a trattoria where the people seemed to know him. They called him Signor Fontana, which Lena thought was a good name. There were fishing nets draped over the walls and candles stuck into green bottles.

Stefan and Carina began to talk about things of no interest to Lena, who looked round the room at all the people. A grey-haired waiter came and spoke in Italian to Stefan, then brought them plates of spaghetti and clams with jugs of red wine and water to drink. Lena sucked up the spaghetti and asked Stefan if they could have some more. The same waiter brought a plate of fried fish and another jug of wine.

Afterwards, they went back to the rooms in via dei Fabbri, where Lena slept in the bed with her mother while Stefan took the couch. In the early hours she heard him snoring with a soft noise like one of the incoming boats when it sounded its horn at a bend in the river.

The next morning was cold, but Stefan made them hot milk and coffee and went out to buy bread.

‘Would you like to come fishing on my boat?’ he said as they ate. ‘We won’t go far because it’s cold, but we could go just outside the harbour and catch something. My boat’s up in that small dock where we first met.’

‘No,’ said Carina.

‘I thought you liked the sea. That’s what you said.’

‘I only like to look at it.’

‘I’ll come,’ said Lena. ‘Can I come?’

Carina couldn’t be persuaded to join in, so it was just two of them who set off to walk across the city, her hand in his as they went up the winter streets, Lena’s body bulked out by wearing all the spare clothes she had brought. It took them half an hour to reach the dock, where they walked along a mole till they came to some steps. Stefan’s boat was the last in the line. It was a good size, but had seen better days; the thin blue stripe painted round the hull had half peeled away and the woodwork looked dry and splintery. He grasped Lena under the arms and swung her aboard.

‘Take this,’ he said, handing her a canvas bag with a rope fastening. ‘It’s our lunch. Now sit down up there in the front. I’m the captain, so you have to do everything I say.’