The impending birth was brought home to me when Francesca arrived one day with a big bag of knitting wool.

“And how is this child to be dressed?” she asked. “I see no baby clothes, and you are not knitting anything. And shawls. And blankets. And you do not even have a bassinet.”

“I’m going to give my child up,” I said.

She replied, “All the same, it will need to have clothing when it comes into the world. Do you know how to knit?”

“I do,” I said.

“Then you’ll find patterns and wool in that bag,” she said. “And I’m going to ask my older daughter what things she can spare. But at least buy the poor child a new bassinet to lie in.”

This awakening made me visit the doctor again. He examined me and nodded.

“All proceeding normally,” he said. “It shouldn’t be too long now. Here is my telephone number. You are to call me when the pains are well underway. Any time. Day or night.”

Since I lived alone with no telephone, I didn’t see how this could be possible. Should I stagger down the street in the middle of labour pains to find a telephone kiosk? But then Francesca announced that she had been instructed to stay with me around the time the baby was due. I was really glad. It seemed that everything was going smoothly. The child would be born. I’d recover and then go home. It’s funny how easily I accepted those things at the time.

Then today, April 9, there was a news bulletin on the radio. Germany had invaded Denmark and Norway. Britain had bombed a German naval base. Suddenly it became real again, but I reassured myself that if Hitler was busy up in Norway, I’d still find a way across France.

April 25

Today was the biggest feast day in the Venetian calendar. The feast of St Mark. The square outside the basilica was jam-packed with people, and a young girl, dressed as an angel, flew over our heads on a wire to the church. I didn’t get a good view as I was loath to find myself squeezed into the square, so I stood aside, under the colonnade. It was on days like this that I felt my loneliness most acutely. Festas were family celebrations. So on impulse I took the boat across to the Lido and visited Contessa Fiorito.

“What a lovely surprise,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about you and wondering how you were faring.”

“All is well,” I said.

“And the baby? Who will look after you? Why don’t you come out here, and I’ll employ a woman?”

“You are most kind,” I replied, “but Francesca, who cooks and cleans for me, is going to stay overnight when the baby is due.”

“And after the child is born, you’ll go home?”

“That’s the plan,” I said.