I felt my eyes brimming with tears. “At least let me write him a note.”

Her stare was withering. “A lady does not show her emotions in public. You have let down not only your family but your country.” She paused to take a breath. “We will go to Florence one day early, and in future you will not be allowed out of my sight until I deposit you on your parents’ doorstep. Is that perfectly clear?”

“Yes, Aunt Hortensia,” I mumbled. There was really nothing else I could say. I did now realize what a stupid risk I had taken. If Leo had wanted to force himself upon me, I could not have stopped him. Maybe that had been his intention. Easy pickings. A naive English girl. But then he had stopped. He had treated me with respect. He had cared.

We finished breakfast in silence, then went upstairs to pack. I tried to think how I could leave a note for Leo, letting him know why I couldn’t see him again, but Aunt H. gave me no chance. I was whisked into a waiting gondola, and off we went to the railway station. I felt as if my heart was breaking as we passed the palaces, one after another. I would never see anything so lovely again. Then I made a vow. I’d study hard, become a famous artist and have the means to travel. One day, I promised myself. One day I will come back.

That evening, at the new hotel overlooking the River Arno in Florence, I sat at the window and drew a sketch of Leo, before his image faded from my memory. Somehow I managed to capture that unruly hair, his wicked smile, the way his eyes lit up, and there he was, on the page, smiling back at me.

CHAPTER 5

Caroline, England, March 2001

Two thousand and one had not been a good year for Caroline Grant. It had started off with optimism and anticipation. Josh had spotted a piece in a fashion magazine, advertising a competition for new designers in New York.

“I should enter, don’t you think?” he asked, looking up, his face alight with expectation. “This might be my big chance. What we’ve been hoping for.”

“New York?” Caroline said, her sensible side coming to the fore. “Won’t that be awfully expensive? You’d have to stay there for a while.”

“It will be worth it, Cara. Just think, if I win, we’ve got it made. And even if I don’t win, I’ll be noticed. I might get offers, start my own line.”

He put his hands on her shoulders, squeezing hard. “I can’t go on like this any longer. Working for someone else, designing white shirts, for God’s sake. I’m dying inside. Shrivelling up. You must see that.”

“And what about me?” she wanted to ask. “Do you think that my job is what I dreamed of when we were in art school? I had as much talent as you, and yet you were the one who got the job with a fashion house . . . and I was the one who got pregnant.”