He took another sip, then put down his cup once more. “One more thing,” he said. “You will need a code name for communication. What do you suggest?”

I stared out across the canal. A cargo ship was moving slowly past. Was I mad to agree to this? “My name is Juliet,” I said, “so my code name could be Romeo.”

“Romeo. I like it.” He laughed. “I should take my leave now. As you can imagine, there is a lot to pack up and dispose of after ten years here. May I have my unused food sent over to you? And wine? I’m afraid you’ll not have an easy time of getting food in the future.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I’d appreciate it.”

“Anything else you might need that I’ll have to leave behind? Blankets? An electric fire?”

“That would be wonderful,” I said. “Who knows if coal will be rationed?”

“I’ll see what I can do, then.” He held out his hand to me. “Good luck, Miss Browning. I think you’ll need it.”

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 38

Juliet, Venice, June 20, 1940

This morning I went out to stock up on food before rationing begins in earnest, leaving Angelo asleep with Francesca in charge. It felt good to be out in the fresh air with the warm sun on me, and I lingered as I walked along the Zattere. A navy vessel approached from the dock area, reminding me of what I had agreed to do. Why hadn’t I simply refused? Now I might have put myself and my son in danger. But I had been brought up to do the right thing, hadn’t I?

I turned off the broad waterfront and was making my way down a side canal to where a vegetable barge was usually moored when two men in uniform came towards me. They were carabinieri, not normally seen in the city, where the city police operate. I went to walk past. But one grabbed my arm.

“You,” he said, using the familiar form of the word. “Where is your identity card?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t bring it with me,” I lied, trying to make my accent sound Venetian.

“Didn’t you hear the directive that identity cards are to be carried at all times?” He was blocking my way forward.

“I’m sorry. I’ll do better,” I said.

“You’ll come with me,” he said.

“I’ve done nothing.”

The older of the two, a big dark swarthy man, stepped up into my face. “Someone mentioned you are the Englishwoman. An enemy alien. You will be taken to a camp.”

“No,” I said, struggling to free myself. “Let go of me. You are making a mistake.”

The two men were grinning as if they were enjoying this.

“You have the wrong person. I live here.”