“I found it interesting—one could see the image each country wanted to convey of itself. The German pavilion was particularly striking. Lots of happy peasants.”

“Who are half starving and told by the Fü hrer that it has to be guns, not butter, at home,” he said. “I have to go to Germany quite often these days. Good for business, of course, but I can’t wait to get home. When I cross the border into Switzerland, I give a big sigh of relief.”

“Do you really think they intend to go to war?”

“When it suits them,” he said. “They have been producing lots of tanks and guns, that is for sure. I think Herr Hitler wants to dominate the world. He is clearly mad, but nobody seems to notice.” He glanced around before he added, “And here in Italy, we are going along the same path, I fear. My father often has dealings with Mussolini, and he says Il Duce dreams of another Roman empire, dominating the Mediterranean. He is talking just like Hitler, how we need expansion room for our growing population, how Corsica and Nice and Malta should all be Italian. And what’s more, he has already been fighting a war in Abyssinia.”

“I saw a lot of soldiers at the station when we arrived,” I said.

“Yes, he’s busy recruiting—fighting for the mother country, you know. Plenty of poor boys with no work eager to sign up. But do not worry—we are nowhere near equipped for war yet. You can breathe for a while.”

“Let’s not talk of sad things. I only have one more night here, then we leave for Florence.”

“Oh, that is too bad,” he said. “I’m afraid I am not free tomorrow. I am still in charge of the businessmen tomorrow, and in the evening I must attend the birthday party of the father of my betrothed.”

“What?” I hadn’t meant to blurt out the word.

He frowned. “Did I not use the right word? My English is not so good these days. Lack of practice, you know. I meant the girl I am going to marry.”

“Oh no, you used the right word,” I said, trying to keep my face calm and expressionless. “So you are going to be married?”

He made a face. “In three weeks’ time. At her family church of San Salvatore. A big wedding with half of Venice present.”

“Congratulations.” I managed to say the word.

He gave a rueful smile. “I think commiserations are more in order. I put it off for as long as possible. In Venice, men are not expected to marry until we turn thirty, and I am now thirty-two, so the pressure was mounting.”

“You don’t want to marry her?”

He shrugged. “I have no choice in the matter,” he said. “We were promised to each other the moment she was born. She is seven years younger than I. My father owns a shipping company. Her father builds ships. And she has no brothers to inherit. Therefore a match made in heaven, from a business point of view.”