Luca reached into his wallet. “Here is my card,” he said. “Call me when you have checked with our city records. If the apartment is yours, then it’s yours. I don’t understand it, but I accept it. And I urge you to be careful, because there is renovation taking place in the building. Will you want to stay there, do you think?”

She hadn’t thought about it. It seemed like a wonderful idea. “I might.”

“So please call me, and we can arrange to visit my grandmother and see what she knows.”

The man with the moustache came to help them on with their coats. They stepped out into the blustery day. Luca took her hand. “Arrivederci , Signora Caroline. It was an interesting meeting.”

“Goodbye, Luca. Thank you for a lovely lunch.” The words came out mechanically, her British manners kicking in. She walked away feeling excited but confused. Was Luca Da Rossi a charming enemy? If he was renovating the building to turn into apartments, he’d obviously like to get back that spectacular top floor. And she was a foreigner here. She would have to tread very carefully.

She walked briskly across Dorsoduro, not really noticing the dripping water from balconies above or the brisk wind that drove her. She had an overwhelming desire to have her claim proven valid. She was not going to let some stranger acquire her aunt’s Venetian retreat. The fact that the first thing she had discovered had been a drawer full of her aunt’s sketches had confirmed that Aunt Lettie had lived in that place for some time. Now she was dying to explore the rest of it—to find out just what her aunt had been doing there. She supposed the explanation was simple: Granny had said that Aunt Lettie was given some sort of bursary to study abroad for a while. So she had gone to Venice and rented a place while she studied. Except . . . why would she need a ninety-nine-year lease for an apartment if she was studying for a few months? And where had the money come from to buy such a lease? It was, as Luca could see, prime real estate.

She reached the Accademia Bridge just as a vaporetto was arriving. She jumped aboard and was grateful to be out of the rain and wind as the boat headed for the Rialto. After alighting there, she was directed to the city hall. But to her annoyance there was a sign on the big front door announcing that office hours were ten until one and then three until six. It was only just two, and it seemed that all the small shops around the bridge, likewise, were shuttered for the lunch hour. She crossed the bridge and walked around the market, which was in the last stages of closing up for the day. Only a solitary fish lay on a marble slab.