The church had been full. I had no idea there were so many expatriates in Venice. I suppose some of them must have been tourists, but many knew each other and were obviously residents. I saw Mr Sinclair, the consul I had met at the contessa’s soirée. He greeted me with a nod as we exited the church after the service.

“You are still here, I see, Miss Browning. I take it you will be going home now?”

“I’m still making up my mind,” I said. “I have been reassured that Venice will not be involved in any war. Nobody would dare to bomb Venice. And they say that Italy is not ready to go to war with anyone for some time. Mussolini wants to build up his army first.”

“That’s true enough,” Mr Sinclair said. “But he has signed the non-aggression pact with Hitler. We may find ourselves dragged into a war, whether we like it or not. It will be a question of choosing sides, and Italy has sided with Germany.”

“You are sure there will be war?” one of the women asked. “Will Mr Chamberlain not manage to broker peace again? Let Germany have Poland? After all, it is part of their ancestral homeland, isn’t it?”

“If we don’t stop Hitler from grabbing what he wants, he’ll swallow the whole of Europe,” Mr Sinclair said. “I’m rather afraid that war is inevitable. We have drawn a line in the sand. Hitler has crossed that line. And I don’t know how long Italy can stay out of it.”

We were a sombre group that went our separate ways. At two o’clock that afternoon, we heard on the radio that England and France had declared war on Germany.

Now it became obvious to me that I should go home, however much I longed to stay. I could not let my mother face a war alone, even if Aunt Hortensia was with her. And I couldn’t risk being trapped in an alien country if the war came in our direction. I wondered if Leo had returned from the countryside. I really didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.

I went to my classes the next day and felt the tension in the air. The Italian boys were whispering about what they would do if they were called up into the army. None of them wanted to fight.

“My brother was killed in Abyssinia,” one of them was saying. “Such a waste of life. Why would Italy want Abyssinia anyway? What use is it to anyone? Only to stoke Mussolini’s vanity now that he has an empire.”

“Hush. Careful what you say.” Another boy touched his arm. “You never know who is listening, and there are those who think that Mussolini is the saviour of our country. They really believe he’ll create a second Roman empire and we’ll all live like kings.”