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Flora wasn’t sure how much of that the policeman had followed, but he seemed satisfied and passed on to his next question.

‘And you, signor?’

‘I was tricked into following. Told she needed my help but then bundled into the room beside her.’

‘That is quite a story,’ their questioner remarked.

‘But a true one,’ Flora was quick to say. ‘And what will happen now?’

The policeman tucked his notebook out of sight and gave another awkward smile. ‘The young man who is alive will beaccusato– with murder, maybe. Or perhaps something not so serious. Signor Fabbri has told us that he saw the fight and does not believe that Pretelli wished to kill. It was an accident, he says, while they were fighting. The boy will be in prison for a very long time. And Signor Fabbri will be joining him. He keeps a painting that was stolen and he knew that a poor lady wasrapita.’

‘Kidnapped?’

The officer nodded, getting to his feet. ‘It is possible we ask for a statement from you, Signor Carrington, but also possible that we will not contact you again. Your part this evening has been…unimportant.’

He had turned to go before Flora, unable to contain herself, burst out, ‘Unimportant!’

Jack took hold of her hand and pulled her to her feet. ‘A shower and bed, I think,’ he repeated.

It seemed they would not be talking over the terror they’d just lived through – at least, not yet. In their present state of exhaustion, perhaps it was best. She must banish it from her mind, Flora decided, and behave as though she were simply returning from a late dinner and a delightful evening. Except that tonight, her beautiful red dress was a sodden rag and her best shoes forever unwearable.

Taking her cue from Jack, she went straight to the bathroom and, after a swift shower, wrapped herself in the towelling dressing gown and plumped down on the bed while she waited for him to reappear. Suddenly, out of nowhere, there were tears coursing down her cheeks. A non-stop flow of tears. Flora was crying, without even realising.

‘Good to get the canal water out of your hair, isn’t it?’ Jack had sauntered out of the bathroom and was towelling his head dry.

‘Flora?’ She’d made no response, and, frowning, he looked across at her. Then walked quickly over to the bed and knelt down, cradling her face between his hands. ‘What on earth’s happened?’

‘I don’t know.’ She sounded pitiable, she thought, like a small child trying to explain a bad fall. ‘I really don’t know.’

‘Brandy,’ he said, ‘that’s what you need. And a double.’

‘Not again, Jack.’

‘Yes, again,’ he insisted. ‘It’s exactly what you need and I should have thought of it earlier.’ He made for the telephone on the bedside table and gave his order to whoever was awake at that hour.

Flora looked up and managed a watery giggle. ‘You’d better put pyjamas on before the waiter arrives.’

‘OK, but then we take our drinks out onto the balcony and you tell me just what’s going on in that head of yours.’

Within minutes, the brandy had arrived at their door – the service in the hotel was amazing – and they were sitting side by side in the comfort of cushioned wicker. Glasses in hand, they looked across the narrow stretch of water at the spellbinding scene ahead: a shimmering San Giorgio Maggiore, rising like a fairy-tale palace out of the dark waters of the lagoon.

For a long while, Jack was silent, allowing the peace of the night to settle around them, but finally, he said, ‘Now tell me.’

Flora wanted very badly to share the jumble of feelings she was battling, but how to make sense of them? She supposed it must be the fear she’d felt, a fear like no other, clutching at her husband – not even her husband, but a fragment of his shirt – as he’d swum them to safety. Then the relief, the hardly believable moment, when somehow, she had no idea how, she had emerged from a watery tomb to climb steps to the quayside. To stand once more upon dry land.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared,’ she began. ‘Well, maybe once before when I was locked in the priest’s hole. That was probably as fearsome. You rescued me from that, too.’ Her voice had a wobble she couldn’t control. ‘It’s impossible to describe the terror I felt, Jack. The darkness, the water suffocating me, the sense that I would never see light again.’

He reached across and grasped her arm, stroking it gently. ‘You made it, though.Wemade it.’ There was a long pause while he sipped his drink. ‘I think…I think perhaps…that maybe we shouldrethink these adventures. Stop trying to solve the world’s problems.’

She pulled a small face. ‘You’ve said that before,’ she reminded him. ‘More than once. But somehow, we always get involved.’

‘Then we need to try harder.’

‘It’s difficult to refuse when people close to you ask for help. Or you can see there’s a wrong that needs putting right.’

‘That’s the one that always gets you! Somehow, Flora, you have to stop being a warrior for justice.’ He clinked his glass against hers. ‘Tonight, though, we should celebrate – just a little. Filomena is home where she belongs, the painting will soon be hanging in Santa Margherita once more – as long as the Church deems it safe – and some very bad men are on their way to prison.’

‘Will the team from Rome take over the case, do you think? Or will they just deal with the stolen painting? I wasn’t clear from what that policeman said – except that at one point I thought he was going to arrestus!’