‘I could stay here for ever,’ said Domenica. ‘Doing just this – which is largely nothing.’

‘I know what you mean,’ said Angus. ‘I could too.’

‘We mustn’t vegetate,’ said Antonia. ‘Florence beckons.’

‘I suppose so,’ said Angus. ‘The Uffizi. And the Brancacci Chapel at Santa Maria del Carmine. Could I put in a special plea for a visit to the Brancacci Chapel? I want to see the frescoes.’

‘Anything is possible,’ said Domenica, adding, ‘now that we are in Italy.’

‘There is a fresco by Masaccio,’ Angus went on. ‘St Peter baptising the neophytes. And there are the most extraordinary hills in the background – rather like anthills.’

‘We shall certainly see those then,’ said Antonia.

‘And Cyril,’ said Angus. ‘Cyril would love to see pictures of St Francis for whom, as a dog, he must have a special affection. There is a lovely one of the saint with birds perching on his arms. I think it’s in the Chiesa di San Francesco.’

‘If he’s allowed in,’ said Antonia.

‘I cannot imagine that animals would be barred from a church dedicated to their patron saint,’ said Domenica. ‘But one never knows.’

‘Of course dogs have their own patron saint,’ Angus pointed out. ‘St Hubert of Liege is one, as is St Rocco. I’m a bit hazy on St Hubert, but St Rocco I know a little about. He went into the forest to die of the plague but was befriended by a dog who brought him food it had stolen from its master’s table. He is often depicted with a dog at his feet – the dog bearing some food in its mouth.’

Domenica laughed. ‘I find the whole idea of patronage so colourful,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid that I don’t know if there is a patron saint of anthropologists. One would have thought that an occupation as hazardous as anthropology can sometimes be should have the protection of a saint or two, but there we are. We must struggle on bravely.’

‘If there is none, then it’s a curious omission,’ agreed Angus. ‘Bearing in mind that there are patron saints for some very obscure occupations. Did you know that there is one for greeting card manufacturers? St Valentine of Rome, quite appropriately.’

Antonia got up and went off to her room. ‘I must write,’ she said. ‘All this talk of saints has reminded me of my own Scottish saints. I must return to them.’

Once she had gone, Angus turned to Domenica. Lowering his voice, he said, ‘Have you noticed anything odd about Antonia?’

‘Where does one begin?’ she whispered.

‘No, seriously. When I came out here this morning she was standing over there looking out towards Sant’ Angelo. I said good morning to her but she appeared not to hear me. So I went up to her and stood beside her and do you know what? Her eyes were closed, and she was shivering. Like this. Shivering all over.’