I had stayed away from the contessa, not wanting to have to reveal the truth to her and yet not wanting to lie to her either. I refused her September invitation and then again in October. Maybe I had not wanted to risk meeting Leo’s father at one of her soirees, although he didn’t strike me as a great lover of the arts. And then I was crossing St Mark’s Square the other day, having made another attempt to sketch those impossible domes and statues of the basilica, when I bumped into her.

“My dear child, I was sure you had gone home when you didn’t come to my soirée,” she said, grabbing both my hands and then giving me a kiss on each cheek. “I am so delighted you decided to stay. You must come and have a cup of tea. I was headed to Florian’s. Come with me.”

I had always wanted to go to Florian’s café on the square but never dared to alone as it seemed so impossibly grand with its exquisitely painted walls and ceilings, its gilt and mirrors, plush seats, marble tables. It was like a miniature palace. Aunt H. had told me it was the oldest café in the world. The contessa seemed to have no hesitation about entering such a formidable establishment. She slipped her arm through mine, and I was whisked through the impressive front entrance. The countess was welcomed with much bowing and shown to the best table in the Chinese room. Tea was ordered, and a selection of pastries. I wisely refused the one with lashings of cream and settled for an apple tartlet instead.

After she had taken a drink of tea, the contessa started talking again. “I was devastated when you didn’t come to see me. I thought, Have I done something to offend her? Does she not like my company? ”

“Oh no,” I said hastily. “I assure you I love visiting your beautiful home. It’s just the last two occasions were impossible for me. On one evening I was sick, and on the other I had a big assignment for my painting class.”

She waved a hand. “In the future, you tell your professor that I require your presence. He will not dare to defy me.” And she chuckled. “But you will have to come to my November soirée, of course. You will never guess who has agreed to be present—none other than the great Paul Klee! What a coup for me, huh? You know his work, of course. He was much harassed by the Nazis in Germany and has wisely retreated to his native Switzerland. But what a towering figure in the art world. Say you will come.”