She woke to light streaming in. Before her the whole panorama of the lagoon sparkled in early sunlight. The apartment was remarkably cold, reminding her she needed to find a new electric heater rapidly. She made tea, ate a roll with apricot jam, then started on her investigation, full of anticipation. In the hall cupboard she discovered a portfolio of drawings and paintings—ranging from nude sketches, sketches like the ones in the books, to strange abstracts and some finished portraits. Aunt Lettie had had talent, she thought, and put aside the paintings for later. Then she went through the desk. Some of the drawers were empty. She couldn’t find any personal papers, just more sketches and some finished paintings. She checked under the bed and found a suitcase, containing more clothing, again crumpled and seemingly stuffed into the suitcase. Why had she left her clothes behind? She must have had to flee in a hurry, probably when Italy entered the war and she knew she had to go to Switzerland.

Having exhausted the places where her aunt could have kept papers, Caroline wrapped herself in a crocheted afghan she had found, seated herself in one of the big chairs and started to look at the paintings and drawings. She turned them over, one after the other, nodding in appreciation, until she came to a page that made her stop, staring: the page contained sketches of a baby. She put it aside, then continued, turning up more sketches of the same baby. What’s more, she recognized it. It was the same baby that appeared as the cherub in the painting on Aunt Lettie’s wall. Was it just a neighbour’s child she had used as a model? Another thought struck her—of course. That was how she was connected to the Da Rossi family: she had been a nanny to their child! She couldn’t wait to tell Luca. But then why had her memory invoked such hostility in old Signora Da Rossi? Perhaps there had been some kind of tragedy: The child had died, and the signora blamed Aunt Lettie? That might have been part of the reason she left in such a hurry.

Hearing footsteps coming up the stairs, she put down the drawings on the low table and stood. There was a tap on the door, and Luca entered.

“Good morning,” he said. “How are you enjoying your new residence?”

“Very much, although it’s too cold at the moment. I need to find an electric heater.”

“I will have my men locate one for you,” he said. He went over to the window, then turned back to her. “You have not found any of your aunt’s papers? Anything to do with the lease?”