‘They’re staring at us,’ she whispered, looking around at the other diners.

‘So let them,’ he said merrily. ‘Oh you English, you’re so cold.’

‘Me? Cold?’

‘No, never, carissima. You’re a dream of perfection, and I love you madly.’

‘Say it in Venetian,’ she begged. ‘You know I love that.’

‘Te voja ben-te voja ben-’

How could there be such joy in the world? Her handsome Gino had come to England to take her back to Venice where his family were waiting to welcome her. Soon they would be married, living together in that lovely city.

‘I love you too,’ she said. ‘Oh, Gino, we’re going to be so happy.’

But without warning the darkness came down, obscuring first his face, then everything. Suddenly the world was full of pain. He was gone.

There were flickers-more pictures, but they came from much earlier. There was Gino as he’d been on the day they met in Venice, winning her heart with his cheeky humour and glowing admiration. She’d been struggling with the language, and he’d come to her aid. Somehow they had ended up spending the evening together, and he’d made her talk about herself.

‘You know so many languages,’ he’d said, ‘French, German, Spanish, but no Italian. That’s very bad. You should learn Italian without delay.’

‘But do I really need another language?’ she’d asked, not because she really objected, but to provoke an answer.

There had been a special significance in his look as he’d said, ‘Well, I’m glad you couldn’t speak it today, or we wouldn’t have met. But now I really think you should learn.’

After that he had set himself to teach her his language, and done it very thoroughly.

More pictures-the airport where he’d seen her off, almost in tears from the strength of his feelings. Then the call to say he was coming to England, the ecstatic meeting, and that last evening together-