Then he revved up the boat, and off he went. Caroline made her way up the stairs to the flat and, once inside, sank into one of the chairs. It had been an emotionally draining morning. Clearly her visit had awoken a painful memory for the old woman. The more Caroline thought about it, the more she became sure that it was something the old woman had seen when she looked at Caroline that had triggered that memory. Was there a family resemblance? And she began to suspect that Luca’s grandmother did remember Miss Browning after all.

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 23

Juliet, late at night, Sunday, July 23, 1939

I don’t know how to put any of this down on paper, but I must. One day I will want to remember it, all the details. Every little detail.

The day of the Festa del Redentore. My landlady informed me that she would not be preparing an evening meal for me because of the festival. “You know—the Redentore. I mentioned it to you before. One of the biggest days of the year in Venice. Everyone joined in. Those who had a boat would be out in it. She would be crossing the bridge to picnic, to attend Mass and to watch fireworks. It was a day for families, but as she had no family in the city any longer, she would be joining the other widows from the street, and their children and grandchildren. I would be welcome to join them over on the island of Giudecca if I so desired. The big Mass at the church was at seven o’clock in the evening, but there were all sorts of events before that: boat races and a market and games for the children.”

“So you won’t be going to church in the morning if there is a Mass in the evening?” I asked.

She looked horrified, as if I had suggested she might want to walk around with no clothes on. “Not go to Mass? Of course I must go. To receive communion. Since one must fast from midnight onwards, it has to be a morning Mass. I could not survive with no food or drink until the evening.”

To me, a member of the relaxed and easy-going Church of England, this was one of the rules that seemed strange. If an empty stomach was important to receive communion, then an hour would suffice, surely. From midnight on was excessive. But then there was much about the Catholic Church I did not understand—like confessing sins to a priest and having them forgiven. My wandering thoughts were interrupted as my landlady asked, “So you will come to the feast?”

“Probably not to the Mass,” I said. “I might watch the boat races and then the fireworks. And some fellow students might join me for a picnic, but it’s really a day for family, isn’t it?”

“I won’t be home to prepare your meal in the evening.”