There are several other pairs of trousers in the trunk, along with two bathing suits, and a selection of collared shirts with short sleeves. My clothes from England are all drab pastels – pale, insipid blues, pinks and lilacs – even more faded with age. The clothes on the bed in front of me are like jewels – emerald, garnet, amethyst.

Encouraged by Filomena I try things on, a little shyly at first, but soon I’m spinning around, enjoying the way the silk feels on my skin, the freedom the trousers offer. I stick my hands in the pockets and regard myself in the mirror. I look so grown up, so different. So free. Somehow the simple cut of the clothing fits me better than any dress ever has.

Filomena pulls the hat off her head and plonks it on mine, laughing at my broad, unstoppable grin. “You like it all then, Bea?”

“I love it,” I say truthfully. “For the first time in my life, I feel like me. Does that make sense?” I shake my head. “I never thought that clothes could do that. It’s like magic.”

“I think so,” Filomena agrees seriously. She glances over me with a critical eye. “It is unusual, these trousers and shirts, but I thought they would work for you, and I was right. You look more of a woman in these masculine clothes.” She grins, a wicked grin that makes us into conspirators. “You will turn a few heads, I think,” she says and I flush. “Now that I have finished being the fairy godmother, I must go back to work. If I am in the studio then the muse knows where to find me.”

“Well, the muse can find me at the pool. Now that I finally have a bathing suit I can’t wait to swim.”

“If you are going to go, you’d better go now,” Filomena says brightly. “You’ve got an art lesson this afternoon, remember.” She smiles at the reluctant frown on my face. “Oh yes. How do you say? Time to pay the piper.”

Chapter Fourteen

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

After a glorious swim I return to my room to find a note pinned to my door.

On the terrace at 3.

is all it says in an untidy scrawl.

For some reason, I feel odd about spending time alone with Ben; there’s the tiniest nervous flutter in my stomach. Why? I wonder if I would feel the same if Klaus was giving me lessons. I test the thought a little, but no, that doesn’t seem alarming. Certainly not stomach fluttering at any rate.

This is unusual and not precisely welcome. As always, what I need, I decide, is facts, data, information. I have not had a lot of exposure to young men. I will observe Ben closely and try to normalize my response to him. I will be polite, pleasant. I will treat him with cool detachment, as an interesting specimen in a jar.