She came away, disappointed, then struck out for St Mark’s again.

Along the way she recognized more sketches: a little side canal where gondolas were tied to poles, an interesting rooftop, a disused water pump. It made her feel warm inside to know that Aunt Lettie had come this way when she was a girl—and that so little had changed. A strange thought was growing in Caroline’s head: Maybe I should get a book and start sketching? Was that what her great-aunt wanted from her—to become the artist that Aunt Lettie had never become? Did she not approve of fashion design? It was so hard to know.

She reached the waterfront and stood staring out across the lagoon to the island with a tall church tower on it. The beauty took her breath away as she walked past gardens towards the campanile of St Mark’s. This time of year there were few tourists, and she examined the souvenir booths, wondering if any of them sold keys like the one she owned. But they didn’t. The souvenirs were all cheap plastic Chinese monstrosities: snow globes, baseball caps, pens, fake daggers. The last time she had seen St Mark’s Square, it was packed with tourists. Now it was almost empty, and Caroline treated herself to a coffee in one of the outdoor cafés. She sat staring at the improbable rooftop domes of the basilica, smiling as she examined eighteen-year-old Lettie’s attempts and then the improvement ten years later. She had talent, Caroline thought. Why did she not pursue it? Had the war drained all of her creativity? She could see the parallel in her own life, that a time of stress and tragedy takes away all but the will to survive. She finished her coffee, went to pay and was horrified to learn the price. The waiter shrugged. She was paying for the experience, not the coffee.

She decided to leave the interior of St Mark’s for another time. She wasn’t in the mood for anything religious. Granny was quite religious, but Aunt Lettie had never been. Caroline herself had found it impossible to pray after the recent events in her life and the horror of 9/11. So she went behind the basilica to where she could get a view of the Bridge of Sighs. After standing on the little bridge looking down the canal, she decided to head for the Rialto Bridge. Aunt Lettie had sketched that area several times. After a few wrong turns, she reached the Rialto, stopping along the way to look in the enticing little shops. There was a shop that just sold pens. And one that just sold marbled paper, or masks. How could they keep going? She wondered. Did lots of people in Venice buy marbled paper? Or puppets? What a fascinating place, she thought. I’d like to get to know it better.

That made her question just how long should she stay here. It was obvious that she’d never find the locks for her keys, if they came from Venice in the first place. So should she just concentrate on a suitable site to scatter Aunt Lettie’s ashes? Was there a law against dumping ashes in a canal? Maybe she could hire a water taxi and scatter them into the lagoon. But not yet. After she realized she was hungry, she stopped to have a ham and cheese panino before resuming her quest. Aunt Lettie had sketched the market at the Rialto. Was there a place she particularly loved? It was hard to tell from the sketches. Caroline wondered about the young man in the first sketchbook. Well, no use looking for him. He wouldn’t be alive now! Probably a gondolier who rowed her around. Some of them were rather good-looking!