“I have taken the three weeks’ vacation time that were owed to me. I may not stay that long, especially if a small fire can’t heat the place. I’ve been through my aunt’s possessions, and there really isn’t anything apart from the paintings. And I’m not even sure which of those I’d want. They are quite good, but . . .”

“Not your taste?”

“Not exactly, especially the abstracts and the nudes.”

“I like a good nude myself,” he said, giving her a wicked grin. Then he corrected himself. “Sorry, that was impolite of me.”

“Not at all. I am particularly fond of some of Degas’s nudes. I’m a big fan of the impressionists.”

“Me too.”

“Oh, you like art?”

“Some of it. I’m old-fashioned in my taste, although my new apartment is all very modern—sleek white lines. Bare walls.”

“You don’t want to express yourself,” she said, standing up because she didn’t like feeling at a disadvantage. “It was like my great-aunt’s room when she died. Nothing of herself in there at all. You’d never know what kind of person she was, except it was exceedingly neat and tidy.”

“Ah well, you’d never be able to say that about my rooms,” Luca said. He turned for the door. “I should go. I’ll have a heater sent up. Of course when the renovation is finished, the whole building will be centrally heated. You will be nice and warm when you come back.”

“Yes,” she said, staring out of the window, where a large freighter was now sailing out of the canal. “I don’t know when that will be. It all depends . . .”

“On when your son comes home,” he finished for her.

Her eyes met his. “Yes,” she said again.

On his way to the door, he paused. “Don’t go for a few more days. My father emailed to say they are on their way home. Leaving the grandchildren with great sadness, but my mother has a medical appointment. You should meet them and see if he remembers anything of his old nanny.”

“Thank you,” Caroline said. “I’d like that.”

“And my mother is American. She can speak English with you, which will be a great treat for her. She gets tired of speaking Italian and Venetian all the time.”

“Venetian is a separate language?”

“Oh yes. Quite different. The older generation here still speak it.”

“There are so many fascinating things about this place. I rather wish I could stay longer.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Job? Income? Grandmother? Son?”

“You like your job?”

Again she hesitated. Why did this man that she hardly knew seem to have the ability to see into her soul, to read her mind? And why did he seem to care so much?

She shrugged. “It pays to feed us, but it doesn’t make use of my talent or education.”

“Which was what?”