“What would that be?”

“Travel the world. Collect beautiful things. Maybe open an art gallery. Maybe write a play. I have all sorts of impractical ideas that I shall never be able to use. My father is a powerful man. We own a shipping company. We have been in commerce since Marco Polo, and my father is a good friend of Mussolini, so . . . we are favoured.”

“So you really are very rich?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Isn’t that a nice thing to be? I know my family used to enjoy a better life than we do now that Daddy isn’t well. They used to travel to Europe, and Mummy ordered her dresses in Paris. Now it’s the local dressmaker, Mrs Rush, who makes our clothes, as you can see from what I wear.”

“I think you look wonderful.”

I paused, blushing, unable to handle this compliment. And hardly daring to ask the next question. “Leo, you say you are rich, and you are certainly handsome. Why would you waste time with a girl like me?”

We were standing beneath a lamp, and I saw him smiling.

“There is something about you. You are not like the girls I know. They are bored with life and only want money spent on them. You—you are so keen to experience everything. You want to taste what life has to offer.”

“I do. Now that I am here, I want to travel. To see the world. To be a free, independent woman.” I realized as I said the words that this was exactly what I wanted. I hadn’t thought much about my future beyond art school before, but now that I had experienced Venice, I knew there was a big, beautiful world I had to see. I certainly did not want my life to be confined to a prim English village.

“Not to marry?”

“Someday maybe.” I blushed when I said this, glad it was dark. “But not until I know who I am and what I want.”

We had been walking along the dark and silent gravel path between ghostly shapes of buildings and stands of tall trees. Now we paused again.

“Perhaps your art should be more like this?” Leo said, and I saw the shape of another statue in front of us. This one was a giant work in metal, a horse maybe, rearing up, but strangely distorted and rather alarming.

“A modern German artist,” Leo said. “He shows great promise.”

“I don’t think I’d like to create something frightening like this,” I said. “I like beauty.”

“Of course you do. You are how old? Eighteen?”

I nodded.

“At eighteen, everyone likes beauty. Everyone has great visions for the future.” He paused. “Ah, here we are. The spot for our picnic.”

We had come to a small grassy area, surrounded by thick bushes on three sides, with the fourth side looking out on to the lagoon. Lights sparkled in the distance.

“That is the Lido over there,” he said. “Our beach and lovely villas with gardens. You must go and swim.”