“My dear signorina ,” he said, shaking his head, “Venice is a city of cats. More cats than people. They keep the rats down, which is good, but they also have many babies. Too many.”

“Oh, I see.”

He studied my crestfallen face. I in turn studied him. After my shock, I had not taken in the fact that this was a sleek teak craft and that its driver was young and extremely good-looking. He had a fine head of unruly dark curls and a strong, chiselled jaw. He was wearing a white shirt, open at the neck. Exactly as I had wanted my gondolier to look. When he smiled, his whole face lit up. His eyes actually sparkled.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I expect we can find a place for them. One of our servants, perhaps, or we can have them taken out to our villa in the Veneto.”

“Really? That would be wonderful.”

He started the motor again and manoeuvred the boat to the side of the canal, lifting the kittens on board and then handing me my hat and my bag.

“Your bag is heavy. You have been shopping?”

“No. My art supplies. I’ve been sketching. I’m going to be an artist. I start at art school in September.”

He nodded approval. “Congratulations.”

“I hope they are all right,” I said as the box on the seat teetered. “They may already be wet and catch cold.”

I put down my bag, then opened the box of kittens cautiously. Four little black-and-white faces looked up at me. “Mew?” they said in unison.

“Look at them. Aren’t they adorable?” I said, holding it open for him to see. “And they are fine. Absolutely fine.” I put a hand up to my mouth as I felt myself about to burst into tears. It wouldn’t do to cry in front of a strange man. I closed the box again in case the kittens escaped.

He shook his head. “You English! In Italy, animals are either useful to us or we eat them.”

“You don’t have pet dogs?”

“Old ladies, maybe. We have dogs for hunting and guarding.”

I had become aware that I must look an absolute fright, my dress sodden and clinging to me, my hair now plastered to my cheeks. A pool of water was collecting on the floor of the boat.

“I’m sorry. I’m making your boat wet,” I said.

He grinned. “It’s a boat. It is used to getting wet.” Then he shook his head as he studied me. “You must remove those wet clothes, and wash off that canal water before you catch a terrible disease,” he said. “The canal water is not good, signorina. My house is close by. I can take you there, and our maids can wash and press your dress. Nobody needs to know of your little adventure.”

“Oh dear,” I said, sorely tempted by this. “I’m afraid Aunt Hortensia would not approve of my going to the house of a strange man.”