“Our seafood is the best,” he said. “And the venison, at this time of year. You wait until you try it. In Venice, we eat well—if you know where to eat.”

“Do you live in the city?” she asked.

“Me? I now have a flat on the Lido, overlooking the sea. I like it there better. More space. My family has a palazzo in the city. You know Palazzo Rossi? It is now a five-star hotel. My father gave it up years ago. Too expensive to keep up, with all the staff needed and the repairs. So now he has an apartment in one of the new buildings on the Grand Canal, and a hotel company leases the palazzo from us.” He looked up with a satisfied grin. “It’s quite profitable, apart from now, when nobody dares to travel.” A waiter whisked their plates away, and Luca refilled their glasses.

“And you, Signora Grant, where do you live? What do you do?”

“I have been living in London. My husband and I were both in the fashion industry. He designed, and I work for a women’s magazine.”

“Very nice.”

“It was. Until he went off to New York and met that woman.” She was amazed at the anger in her voice.

“Ah. So now what will you do? Continue to live in London and work at your fashion magazine?”

“I’ve just moved in with my grandmother. She’s all alone in the country now that my great-aunt has died. It’s very peaceful.”

“You need peace?”

“I think so. I need to accept what has happened.”

He looked up suddenly and leaned across the table towards her. “I think you need to fight,” he said. “The husband keeps your son. You want him back. Peace won’t help you.”

“No,” she said, “you’re right. But he holds all the cards right now: He’s become rich. He’s with a famous, powerful woman. And he claims her psychiatrist is telling him my son shouldn’t fly.”

“A famous woman?”

“Desiree—the singer?”

“Oh, her!” He gave a disparaging smirk. “I remember reading about this. He wins the fashion competition and then goes off with the singer, right?” He shook his head. “Don’t worry. It won’t last. If you want him back, he will come crawling, I promise you.”

“You think so?” she asked.

He nodded. “Of course. Fame is a great seducer, but most famous people are—how do you say?—shallow. They want to be adored, no more. That gets tiring.”

As he spoke, plates of venison were put in front of them, and they fell silent as they ate the tender meat in a rich red sauce surrounded by tiny potatoes and green beans. When the plates were cleared, cups of coffee and little almond cakes were brought.

“That was delicious, thank you,” Caroline said.