Henry had clearly lost most of this conversation. I found it hard to keep up myself, with Italian being spoken in strange accents. Imelda was really fluent; so was Gaston. Franz had been almost silent until now, so I couldn’t tell how much he was following. I looked from one to the other. My fellow students, with whom I’d be spending the next year. Would they become friends? Would I even make a friend while I was here? And I realized that since art school in England I had not had any real friends. My former school friends had married and were busy with children and entertaining. I had never really bonded closely with the girls at college, who all seemed more bohemian, more adventurous than I, living in digs in London and going to pubs and clubs. Since then . . . well, the other schoolmistresses were so much older, as were most people in our village. I had enjoyed the company of my sister, Winnie, until she met a young man, married him, and went off to India. Now I was out of the habit of confiding in anyone apart from my mother . . . and I never shared my innermost thoughts with her. She never knew about Leo. She would not have approved. She had always been rigid in her beliefs of right and wrong, having been brought up a Baptist and only switching to C of E when she married Daddy and moved up in status.

A bell rang. “We must not be late for our next class,” Franz said. “A good impression on the first day, ja ?”

“See you tonight, then,” Gaston said.

“If Henry doesn’t get lost.” Imelda shot him an amused look.

I felt hopeful as I went towards my figure drawing class. It was exciting to be part of a group of people—people who teased and expressed opinions and had different views. I felt as if I had just emerged from a cocoon.

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 16

Juliet, Venice, late evening, July 6, 1939

I have just returned from Professor Corsetti’s soirée. I don’t think I can sleep. I feel charged with energy and enthusiasm. This is exactly what I hoped for when I agreed to spend this year abroad.

Signora Martinelli wasn’t too pleased when I told her that I would not be dining at home. “You could have told me earlier,” she said.

“I’m sorry. My professor only extended the invitation after class today. Apparently, he invites all the foreign students to his house after the first class. I could not say no, could I?”

“I suppose not,” she agreed. “You won’t be late, I hope.”

“Would it be possible for me to take a key?” I asked. “We are not invited until eight, and I would not like to be the one who leaves before everyone else.”

She hesitated. “I suppose I can trust you with a key,” she said.