Other daydreams had replaced those of Eddy being in love with her – daydreams of being able to stay in Florence long after it had been deemed that her family could return to England; daydreams of a life free of the restrictions that, being a Serene Princess, she had always, until coming to Florence, had to live by. A faint touch of colour heightened her cheeks as she imagined marrying someone neither royal nor aristocratic, but someone who loved her, and whom she loved in return.

One of the maids hurried out onto the loggia, saying breathlessly, for the stairs to the loggia were steep, ‘Mi scusi per il disturbo. La signorina Light aspetta fuori per andare al Duomo con il signor Thaddy.’

‘Grazie mille.’ May tucked both letters into the pocket of her skirt. A few days ago, when he had accompanied Miss Light to tea at I Cedri, Mr Thaddy had been surprised that Miss Light, on her many visits to the Duomo, had never given any attention to the tomb sculpture of Bishop Antonio degli Orsi.

‘Are you,’ Miss Light had said uncertainly, flustered at being thought not quite au fait with the Duomo’s many treasures, ‘referring to the tomb of one of the popes, sculpted by Donatello and Michelozzo?’

‘Not at all,’ Mr Thaddy had said kindly in his slight but very attractive brogue, ‘for as you have discovered, that is a tomb monument too big to be ignored. The sculpture of Bishop Orsi is far smaller and is by a Siennese sculptor, Tino di Camaino. It is placed very high and unobtrusively on the inner facade wall of the Duomo and is a particular favourite of mine, and of May’s, Rowena’s and Belinda’s.’

Miss Light had looked towards her in bewilderment. ‘But why on earth, May? I can never imagine a tomb monument as a favourite sculpture.’

‘Because of the way he is sitting, and his expression. He has his hands crossed at the wrists and drooping downwards in front of him, and he looks so glum and bored with being dead, it is impossible not to be amused by him.’

‘Then I must see him and be amused by him, too,’ Miss Light had said decisively. ‘Perhaps on Friday, if Friday is convenient to both you and Mr Thaddy?’

It had indeed been convenient, and now Miss Light, in her very comfortable horse-drawn barouche, was at I Cedri and waiting for May.

‘I have arranged with Mr Thaddy that we will meet him at five o’clock in the Piazza di San Giovanni,’ she said, when May stepped into the barouche beside her. She repositioned her lace-edged parasol so that it wouldn’t collide with May’s. ‘The nice thing about a late-afternoon visit to the cathedral is that the Duomo is always so blessedly cool.’