I found myself staring into the face of a man with military bearing, iron-grey hair and a face that was definitely an older version of Leo’s. Why had he not mentioned that his father was a count?

The count must have seen my alarm because he gave me a friendly smile. “You need not look so worried,” he said, “I do not bite, I assure you.”

“It is good of you to grace us with your presence, Count,” the contessa said. She addressed me. “The count is not normally known as a big patron of the arts.”

“I resent that,” Count Da Rossi said. “I have great appreciation of real art. Invite me to a showing of Caravaggio or Leonardo or even Renoir, and I’ll be there in an instant. I appreciate beauty. But you cannot tell me that a woman with two heads, one eye and three breasts is a work of beauty!”

“Not all art is meant to be beautiful,” Professor Corsetti said. “It is meant to evoke an emotional response, maybe to stir anger or sadness even.”

“And what response would this lady with one eye and three breasts evoke?” the count demanded. “Pity? Loathing?”

“Perhaps fascination?”

The count shook his head.

“But you came anyway,” the contessa said, “even though you knew I was going to reveal a new piece of artwork.”

“I could not resist your presence, dear Contessa,” he said.

“Flatterer. But where is your son, and the adorable Bianca?”

“She was not willing to make the arduous trip across the lagoon,” he said with a smile.

“She is not well? In the family way, perhaps?”

“Not that I know of. We can hope,” Count Da Rossi said. “No, I rather think it was the company that did not excite her. Too many of us are old and boring.”

“Rubbish!” the contessa exclaimed. “Speak for yourself. I may be old, but nobody could ever claim that I was boring, could they, darling?” She turned to Vittorio.

“Absolutely not, cara mia.”

I studied this with interest. So the relationship was maybe more than gallery owner and patron, yet he must be at least thirty years her junior. But she was still an attractive woman, with such lively eyes.

“You do not have a drink.” The countess took my hand and led me away from Leo’s father. I was still a little shaken and so relieved that Leo and Bianca were not present.

“Ah, here is a friendly face,” Countess Fiorito said, switching to English as she paused next to a man standing beside the drinks table. He was dressed in a very English blazer. “Mr Reginald Sinclair, His Majesty’s consul here in Venice. Reggie, darling, one of your fellow countrymen, or rather countrywomen. Miss Browning.”