“I agree. It is hard to understand. But they have ways of proving it these days with DNA. They can determine who you are related to. If we could get a sample from your grandmother and your father, then we’d know for sure.”

“And how would you do that without either of them finding out?” he asked. “Surely such a thing would take weeks, if not months. I don’t think there are many facilities that can do such tests.” He paused, looking at her. “Besides, I don’t know if I’d want to know the truth.”

They headed up the Grand Canal, then turned into a side canal, passing the Pensione Accademia where she had stayed. Coming towards them was a single gondola, with a pudgy, aged and miserable-looking gondolier at the oar, the collar of his black oilskin turned up against the rain.

Not how you’d expect gondoliers to look, Caroline thought. Then suddenly it hit her. She might have proof. She would show Luca. They came out to the other side of Dorsoduro, and he brought the launch to the dock nearest her building with some difficulty as waves still splashed over the waterfront. He tied up, then took Caroline’s hand to steady her as she stepped out. Just as she was stepping ashore, a wave gave the boat a big lurch and she half tumbled into Luca’s arms.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you,” he said. His breath on her cheek was warm.

“Thank you.” She righted herself with an embarrassed grin. She fell into step beside him as they made for the big front door. “Luca, I think I can prove this to you. Or maybe not prove, but at least let you know I am on the right track.”

“How is that?”

“If you come up to the flat, I can show you.”

A flash of amusement crossed his face. She saw his eyes sparkle in the lamplight. “Isn’t this like you English say, ‘Come and see my etchings?’”

Caroline’s face flushed with embarrassment. “Certainly not. I only wanted . . .”

He put a hand on her arm. “Don’t worry. I was just teasing. I’m sure your motives are the most pure. Although . . .” He left it at that and, keeping his hand on her arm, steered her to the front door.

At this time of night it was locked. Caroline fished in her handbag while the wind snatched at her coat and skirt. Finally she retrieved the key, handing it to Luca, who fitted it and then opened the door. They stepped into complete blackness.

“Merda!” he muttered, as he tripped over the threshold. “Where is the damned light? Don’t tell me they turn off the electricity.”

“It’s been on in my flat,” she said.