The book was beautiful. As she leafed through the pages, she found herself smiling at the reproductions of the panels in the Scuola di San Giorgio, lost for a moment in the artist’s mastery … and remembering the smell of the darkened chapel, Jared close at her side. But although she felt flattered he’d been thinking of her to the extent of sending the book, marking the time they’d spent together in Venice, his attention made her instantly nervous.

‘What is it?’ Devan, dressed and ready to go, was standing in the doorway, jangling the car keys.

Connie jumped. ‘Oh, I’d forgotten I ordered a book on Carpaccio when I was away. We saw these wonderful panels of his in one of the little churches in Venice.’

Devan seemed uninterested. ‘Never heard of him.’

She didn’t reply, unable to trust herself to say any more. She hoped she wasn’t blushing, although her heart was beating like a bass drum as she rose, folding the cardboard from the package and squeezing it into the bulging recycling bag hanging from the kitchen-door handle. ‘I thought I might ring Jill, see what she’s up to, if you two are off for the day,’ she said.

‘You’re back!’ Jill shrieked, when Connie called. ‘Yes, yes, please come over. Save me from all the grisly chores I’ve been avoiding.’ Jill, a petite sparky brunette a few years older than Connie, had taught history at Bristol University. Since her retirement, she’d been researching a novel – a murder mystery set in France, during the great freeze of 1709.

‘You know they used ice skates instead of gondolas to get around Venice in the freeze?’ Jill said, when Connie had filled her in about her trip. They were taking the dogs up to the top of the village and into the woods – a walk they frequently enjoyed together. Jill’s Scottie was old and not as fit as Riley, but she panted bravely in his wake as he chased elusive scents and stuck his nose down rabbit holes. ‘Even the lagoon iced over.’ She frowned. ‘Imagine … it must have been hell. People burned their furniture – if they were lucky enough to have any, of course – to keep from freezing to death.’

‘Horrible.’ Connie shivered at the mere thought. She hated being cold. ‘How are you getting on with the book?’

Jill laughed. ‘Can’t really call it a book yet. I’ll probably be researching for the rest of my life because I’m terrified of actually writing the damn thing.’