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Chapters (54)
  1. TITLE PAGE
  2. COPYRIGHT PAGE
  3. DEDICATION
  4. CONTENTS
  5. PROLOGUE: VENICE, 1940
  6. CHAPTER 1
  7. CHAPTER 2
  8. CHAPTER 3
  9. CHAPTER 4
  10. CHAPTER 5
  11. CHAPTER 6
  12. CHAPTER 7
  13. CHAPTER 8
  14. CHAPTER 9
  15. CHAPTER 10
  16. CHAPTER 11
  17. CHAPTER 12
  18. CHAPTER 13
  19. CHAPTER 14
  20. CHAPTER 15
  21. CHAPTER 16
  22. CHAPTER 17
  23. CHAPTER 18
  24. CHAPTER 19
  25. CHAPTER 20
  26. CHAPTER 21
  27. CHAPTER 22
  28. CHAPTER 23
  29. CHAPTER 24
  30. CHAPTER 25
  31. CHAPTER 26
  32. CHAPTER 27
  33. CHAPTER 28
  34. CHAPTER 29
  35. CHAPTER 30
  36. CHAPTER 31
  37. CHAPTER 32
  38. CHAPTER 33
  39. CHAPTER 34
  40. CHAPTER 35
  41. CHAPTER 36
  42. CHAPTER 37
  43. CHAPTER 38
  44. CHAPTER 39
  45. CHAPTER 40
  46. CHAPTER 41
  47. CHAPTER 42
  48. CHAPTER 43
  49. CHAPTER 44
  50. CHAPTER 45
  51. CHAPTER 46
  52. CHAPTER 47
  53. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  54. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

A servant approached with a tray of hors d’oeuvres. Mr Sinclair helped himself with relish, and I took a skewer of prawns. Henry Dabney and the priest came over to join me, so the worrying conversation was at an end. I had known that war was possibly looming on the horizon, but I don’t think I’d ever examined the fact that I might actually be in danger.

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 18

Juliet, Venice, July 9, 1939

Conversation dwindled as more food was brought round. Foie gras on slices of Melba toast, thin slivers of raw beef, bruschetta topped with tapenade. All equally delicious and exciting for me. I looked around as glasses sparkled in the lights dotted amongst the trees and on the jewels the women were wearing. It was hard to believe that a couple of weeks ago I had been Juliet Browning, schoolmistress, living in a small village and eating baked beans on toast for Sunday supper while we listened to the news on the radio. But then my gaze went to Count Da Rossi. He was still handsome in middle age. I turned back to listen to what Henry was saying.

“What do you think of the food?”

“It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?”

“A little too fancy for my taste. Give me a good steak or hamburger any day!”

“So I suppose you didn’t come from this sort of background either?”

He laughed. “My dad is a self-made man. Started an auto dealership and has done very well for himself, in spite of the Depression. But my mom went to college, and she wanted that for her kids, so I started out majoring in business and then I discovered art. Of course my dad wasn’t about to pay for me to study art, so I switched to industrial design. He thought I might be able to design a new automobile for him and we’d make a fortune—take over from Ford, you know.” He gave a derisive chuckle. “And then I saw this scholarship offered to study in Europe, and I thought, Why not? So I applied, and here I am. The old man wasn’t pleased, but then he’s not funding it, is he? I figured it was my one chance to see a bit of the world before I’m stuck selling automobiles for the rest of my life.”

I looked up at his round, earnest face. “Do you have to follow your father into his business?”

“I’m the only son. Who else would take over from him someday?”