He examined the sheet of paper again. “It is Dorsoduro 1482.” He looked up and, seeing her blank face, added, “In Venice we do not have street numbers. We have the number within the sestiere . Impossible for foreigners to find, I think. If you like, I can look it up for you.” She followed him out of the vault and up to his desk, where he consulted a big book. “Ah, yes,” he said. “Zattere al Saloni. On the other side of Dorsoduro. Do you know the Zattere? It is the waterfront.”

“Yes,” she said, “I ate there a couple of nights ago.”

“Then you will find it. Zattere al Saloni, and it says the lease is for the apartment on the fourth floor.”

Still, she hesitated. “But do you think this is still good? Still valid?”

He shrugged. “It has the stamps of the city. The deed was registered and notarized. So, unless your aunt sold it to someone else . . .”

Caroline came out into bright sunlight in a daze. Great-Aunt Lettie had a place in Venice. She had lived here. Why did Granny not know? Why did Aunt Lettie herself never talk about it, never go back to visit it? Perhaps she had taken the lease and then sold it to someone else when the war broke out. Mustn’t get too excited, she thought. Mustn’t get my hopes up too much.

From inside a trattoria came enticing smells—garlic and maybe frying fish. Lunchtime. She should eat something. But she was now too excited, too intrigued to eat. She had to see what this property looked like. The thought whispered inside her head that she might be the owner of a flat in Venice—a place she could come to on holiday and rent out the rest of the year. It was an enticing thought.

She stopped to consult her map. The Zattere was on the far side of Dorsoduro—a long walk away—and the sky was now darkening fast again; a great bank of grey clouds hung over distant hills. She checked the water bus routes on her map—yes, one of the routes went all the way around the island and stopped on the Zattere. It might take longer than walking, but it was also more appealing at the moment. She made her way past the campanile to the vaporetto stop, bought a ticket and was told which number to take. When it came, she was lucky enough to get a seat inside. The route took her the entire length of the Grand Canal, then past the unattractive area of the parking garage, the docks and finally around to the far side of Dorsoduro. As they went through open water, the sea became quite choppy, and she was glad to be inside, watching spray hit those standing on the deck. Finally, the boat stopped at the Zattere. She disembarked and started to walk along the waterfront. The first drops of rain were falling, and she cursed leaving her umbrella in the hotel room. At least she was wearing a mac.