We managed to skirt around the side of the square without getting too wet and both ordered a bowl of minestrone soup, which warmed us up nicely. I was so glad that I could finally enjoy food again. We finished our soup, followed it with coffee and a pastry, and still the rain hadn’t eased up. Then we were conscious of a loud siren, blaring out over the city.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Aqua alta!” a man at the next table said, waving his arms excitedly. He got up in a hurry, left some coins on the table and ran out, his coat over his head.

“What does that mean?” Henry asked.

“I think it means that some of the streets get flooded. We should go home while we can.”

Henry nodded. He insisted on paying the bill. “Will you be able to get home all right?” he asked.

“I’ll be fine. I expect the traghetto is still operating,” I said. So we parted company. My raincoat and scarf were soon soaked through. The wind had come up, driving the rain in different directions, first hitting me in the face and then in the back of the neck. I reached the traghetto dock and found the gondola tied up with its cover on.

“Blast,” I muttered. I was now in for a long walk up to the Accademia Bridge before I could cross the Grand Canal.

I slogged on, feeling more and more frustrated, as there is no such thing as a direct route in Venice. I had to retrace my steps to cross a canal, then constantly choose left or right instead of going forward. Finally I reached the Accademia Bridge and had to battle both wind and rain, clinging to the railing as I made my way up the fifty steps and then down the other side. When I came down to the little piazza, it was already flooded. I waded through the icy water, feeling it lapping over my ankles. Other people trudged through it as if it was only a minor inconvenience—a woman carrying a laden shopping basket, another pushing a pram with the child suspended just above the water level.

I was now so cold I was shivering uncontrollably. Campo Santo Stefano loomed ahead of me. Not too far now. I stumbled into an unseen drain and fell forward. I would have gone flat on my face into the icy water if a passing man hadn’t grabbed me and hauled me to my feet again. I passed a bar and was amazed to see men sitting on stools, drinking and smoking while water lapped below them. It seemed that nobody else cared too much about the rising waters.

“Madonna!” Signora Martinelli exclaimed when I came into the flat and stood in the hallway with water dripping from my clothing.