“Or Switzerland,” Leo said. “Switzerland will never get involved in a war. Let us just hope that Herr Hitler respects Switzerland’s neutrality. It would be all too easy to invade and take it over.”

“Don’t.” I closed my eyes. “Everything seems so hopeless, doesn’t it?”

“We will get through it, I promise you,” he said, and embraced me.

For a moment I shut my eyes, feeling the warmth and security of his arms around me. Then I realized that we could be seen. I pushed him away. He was looking at me with great tenderness that almost melted my soul. I realized I had been thinking only of myself.

“But what about you?” I choked back tears. “They are calling up young men into the Italian army and navy.”

He gave me a swift grin. “One of the advantages of having a father-in-law who is hand in glove with Mussolini,” he said. “They will not touch my family. I am an asset to help with smooth transportation of supplies. I will remain here and keep an eye on you.”

At least I had to be content with that.

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 29

Juliet, Venice, November 1, 1939

September has turned into October, into November. The fine summer weather I had come to associate with Venice had broken at the end of September. Clouds now gathered frequently over the Dolomites, bringing fierce squalls of rain. I helped Signora Martinelli haul up coal for the boiler. My room, with its radiator, is still cold and damp. Even the pigeons, sitting on the ledge across from my window, puff out their feathers and shiver. The swallows have long gone to warmer climes. So have the tourists. The city feels empty.

However, for me things have been improving. The bouts of sickness and dizziness gradually stopped, and I felt well again. In fact it was hard to believe I was pregnant. But I had been to see Leo’s doctor, who had assured me that this was so.

“You are still relatively young and healthy,” he said. “I foresee no complications. Make sure you eat well and get enough rest and fresh air. Plenty of good food to fatten you up.” He eyed me critically. “You are too thin. Lots of good pasta, eh?”

And so I have gone about my usual daily routine: classes, walks, occasional evening invitations. The professor’s wife has not invited me again, perhaps worried that her cooking might produce another bad result for me.