I’ve also made friends with the fair girl from South Tyrol. Her name is Veronika. She is less intrusive and disturbing, but funny and sweet and so young. Just the antidote I need to depression. And I have seen Leo again, in spite of all efforts to avoid him. Most days we have no classes after lunch. It seems to be a time for siesta here, as in Spain. The shops all close until four. The city slumbers, apart from energetic tourists. But I find I am not able to rest in the afternoon. My brain is still buzzing after the morning’s session, and I am itching to paint. We have studios reserved for students at the accademia where we can go to paint, but I have started doing what Leo suggested and going out with my sketchbook, trying to capture ordinary people going about their daily lives.

Two days ago, I was sketching in a narrow street just off the Campo Sant’Anzolo, which is on the other side of the big church of Santo Stefano, so it is in my neighbourhood. I liked the way the laundry was strung across the street, row after row. It created an interesting contrast of light and shadow. I thought it would make a good painting—maybe even a semi-abstract that Professor Corsetti would approve of. I was deep in thought when I sensed that someone was standing behind me. I spun around and saw Leo there.

“Can you not find something more beautiful than drying underclothes and sheets?” he asked, a smile on his face.

I fought to keep my face calm and distant. “Are you spying on me?”

“No, pure coincidence, I promise you. I have just come from Alberto Bertoni—the bookshop on the corner. Have you visited it yet? One of the oldest in the city. I can find amazing things there. Real treasures. I had to pass it on my way home from a business meeting with my father, so I was lured inside. And then I find you. Two pleasant surprises in one day.”

He squatted down beside me, perching on the steps where I was sitting. “How are you enjoying our city? And your academy?”

“Both are wonderful, thank you.”

“What are you doing in this neighbourhood?”

“I live nearby.” I regretted the words as soon as I said them.

I saw the reaction his eyes. “Really? In which street?”

“I’m not going to tell you, or you will come and visit me, and we’ll both get into trouble.”

“All right. But not on this street, I take it?”

“No.”

“You know what it is called, don’t you?”

“I don’t.”

He was grinning. “It is Rio Tera dei Assassini.”

“‘Rio Tera’—that means a former river that has been filled in to make a street.”

“And ‘assassini’?”

“It sounds like ‘assassins.’”

“Exactly. You are right. The street of assassins.”