When Miss Huxtable summoned me to her study in May, I was sure I had done something wrong. Had I been too risqué in showing the girls a well-painted nude by an old master? Anyway, she asked me to sit down. Her face was relaxed and friendly. Then she told me that an anonymous benefactor had made a generous offer to the school. His granddaughters had been pupils here, apparently. He was a big admirer of Neville Chamberlain and a believer in peace at any cost. I had no idea where this could be leading or how it applied to me. Then she said, “He has proposed a bursary for one of my teachers to study abroad for a year. The hope is that the teacher will come back with a greater understanding of the world and an appreciation for other cultures, thus becoming a positive influence for world peace.”

I had nodded, cautiously. “You are offering this chance to me?” I wondered why I had been selected, as the most junior member of the faculty.

She went on. She had naturally offered the chance to senior members of staff first. The French mistress, Miss Hayley, then the Latin mistress, Miss Rile, and Miss Frobisher. Even Miss Hartmann, who taught mathematics and science. All of them had turned it down. One didn’t want to leave her aged mother, another thought it too dangerous at this unsettled time. Miss Frobisher had put it bluntly. She had seen quite enough of “abroad” after last summer’s jaunt and had no wish to go again. Miss Hayley said she was too old a dog to learn new tricks.

And so it had come through the pecking order down to me. Not selected, but by default. The only one who hadn’t refused.

“I know you have enjoyed your time in Venice,” she said. “Miss Frobisher tells me you are quite taken with that city. And they do have a fine Academy of Fine Arts, so I’m told. Would you like to take this chance and study there for a year, with your expenses paid and your position here held open for you when you return?”

Only a fool would have turned that down. Of course I would take the chance. I was overwhelmed. But I reminded myself that I, too, had an aged mother. Did I dare to leave her for a year? And what about money? How would she survive if I was not earning my salary teaching?

“I’m afraid I can’t go,” I stammered out the words. “My mother relies on me, on my income, to survive.”

“I gather the stipend will not be ungenerous. Maybe even more than the pitiful salary we can afford to pay you. So you may find you are better off than before.” She paused. “And I believe your mother mentioned to me that you had an aunt who had hinted she’d like to come and live with you?”