‘Are you all right?’ asked Angus. ‘You looked a bit … distracted.’

‘The beauty!’ muttered Antonia.

Angus exchanged a quick glance with Domenica.

It seemed that Antonia thought that further explanation was required. ‘It’s so intensely beautiful,’ she said quietly. ‘The landscape – look at it. Those cypresses over there – such melancholy trees – they make me want to weep; they really do. And did you see that tiny shrine as we came down the hill? A little shrine to the Virgin, with a minute bunch of flowers laid on the ledge before it. Where would one see that in Scotland?’

‘Not in a great number of places,’ admitted Angus. ‘But then we are a Protestant country. Or were.’

‘Oh, it’s nothing to do with religion,’ said Antonia. ‘It’s to do with beauty. It’s to do with the fact that there are people here who beautify their public space – even their roadsides. And what do we do? We destroy our landscapes, render them ugly with great pylons, with giant metal windmills.’

Angus agreed. ‘Yes, you’re right. We’re insensitive to beauty – for the most part. But that’s why we’ve been coming to Italy for years. We come to get in touch with beauty. To have our souls restored.’

Domenica listened to this exchange. There was nothing wrong with Antonia, she decided. She was affected by the change in surroundings, but so was she, and so was Angus. It would be odd if they had come to Italy and felt exactly the same as they felt in Scotland. What would be the point of travel if one felt exactly the same once one reached one’s destination?

They continued the journey. As they approached Florence the traffic became more intense, even though they had avoided the main highways and followed, as far as possible, quieter back roads. At last they reached a place where, in a small piazza on the edge of an industrial area, they were able to leave the car. A taxi then took them on the final leg of the journey into the centre of the city.

‘The Ponte Vecchio,’ Antonia suddenly screamed. ‘Look!’

The taxi driver swerved, alarmed by the sudden shouting.

‘You must excuse my friend here,’ said Domenica in Italian. ‘She is Scottish, you see. Scottish people are prone to sudden outbursts.’

The taxi driver nodded. ‘That is well known,’ he said. ‘Normally it is connected with football, I believe.’

‘Not in this case,’ said Domenica. ‘Architecture.’

‘What did you say?’ asked Antonia.

‘Nothing important,’ answered Domenica. ‘But look over there – we can ask him to drop us there. The Uffizi is just round the corner, I think.’

They alighted from the taxi and made their way to the point where a queue was forming outside the ticket office of the Uffizi.