At the end of the week, her mobile rang, and it was Luca. “My parents arrived home and are settled in. Would you like to join us for dinner tonight?” He gave her the address.

At eight o’clock, dressed as smartly as possible, she came out of her building to find it was pouring rain again. Waves slapped over the Zattere. Goodness, she was going to arrive looking like a drowned rat, she thought. Now she had two choices: she could cross Dorsoduro, being mainly sheltered in narrow streets, but then she’d have to brave the full force of the storm on the Accademia Bridge, or she could wait for a vaporetto and have to travel all the way around until finally it came back to the Grand Canal. She decided to risk the former, managed to get across Dorsoduro without getting too windblown, but then had to battle to keep hold of her umbrella over the bridge. On the St Mark’s side, she was able to stay fairly sheltered under balconies while she located the building (with some difficulty in spite of the directions Luca had given her). It was an elegant white marble structure with a doorman in uniform who saluted her and pressed the button on the lift to the top floor.

Inside the lift she removed her headscarf and tried to smooth her hair into place. I must look a fright, she thought. As she stood at a white-painted front door, she experienced a shiver of nerves. Even at her best she would look dowdy compared to Luca’s family, and she certainly was not looking at her best right now. What if it was a big dinner party? But then Luca opened the door.

“Caroline, I am so sorry. The rain did not begin here until it was too late, or I would have come for you. Here, let me take that wet coat.” He helped her off with it and deposited the dripping umbrella into a stand in a square marble hall. Then he gave her an encouraging smile and led her inside. The room was spacious but not overpowering, with some good pieces of furniture but essentially liveable. A couple was sitting on either side of a fireplace. The man stood up as she entered. “So Father, this is Mrs Grant, the English lady I was telling you about. Caroline, this is my father and mother, the Count and Countess Da Rossi.”

The words “Count and Countess” brought her up short. Why had he not mentioned that his family was noble? The proprietress at the pensione had called them “one of the great families,” so Caroline should have been prepared. The man must have noticed her uneasiness. He came forward with his hand extended.