His eyes opened wide. “That is amazing. Because my name is Romeo.”

“Really?” I could hardly get the word out.

He looked at me, then burst out laughing. “No, not really. I am teasing you. My name is actually Leonardo. Leonardo Da Rossi. But you can call me Leo.”

We emerged from the cool darkness of the side canal to the shining expanse of the Grand Canal.

“You see”—Leo gestured to the building on our left—“that is my house. It would have been simple to have had your wet clothes cleaned there.”

I looked up at the magnificent palazzo, with its Moorish arched windows and extravagant decorations. Not really, I thought, but did not say. I suspected that Leo might not be what he claimed. But he was very handsome and had such a wonderful smile. And he was taking me home. Whether he would quietly drown the kittens or not, I wasn’t so sure.

We moved up the canal, negotiating around slow-moving gondolas and large barges, until we came to where a side canal turned off to my pensione.

“You must show me your sketches before we part,” he said. “May I look? I think you might make your book rather wet.”

“I haven’t really done much yet,” I said as he lifted my sketchbook from my bag, and feeling reluctant to let anybody see my work. But he was already thumbing through pages.

“Not bad,” he said, nodding. “I think you have a gift for art. The way you capture the people in the square. There is humour in it.”

I suspected this was because I hadn’t got the perspective quite right, but he went on, “Have you been to the Biennale yet? If you are a student of art, it is essential.”

“What is it?”

He frowned. “You have not heard of our Biennale? It is a huge art exhibition in the gardens. Many countries have pavilions. Countries from all over the world exhibit the best in modern art. You would love it.”

“I will tell my aunt.”

“I would be happy to escort you.”

I chewed on my bottom lip. “How is it you have so much free time?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I have just finished my course at the university in Padua. In the autumn I must start to learn the family business, but at this moment my time is my own. So will you let me show you the Biennale?”

“I’ll certainly ask Aunt Hortensia whether we can go,” I said. “But I’m afraid she may not accept your kind offer to show us around. She feels her duty to protect me very strongly.”

This made him smile. “I am hardly likely to have evil in my heart when in the presence of a formidable aunt.”

I had to smile, too. “She really is formidable.”

The steps leading to the pensione garden came up beside us. I touched his sleeve. “Look, could you stop a little further down the canal? I’d rather that nobody saw me getting out of your boat looking like this.”