But that was then. This was now. Love had vanished with brutal suddenness. She would have given anything to avoid the Vittorio, but there was no help for it.

‘Most expensive hotel in Venice,’ Roscoe said. ‘So buy the clothes, then get out there fast. Fly first class. No cheap economy flights in case he checks up on you.’

‘You mean he might employ a private detective too?’

‘No knowing. Some people are devious enough for anything.’

Dulcie maintained a diplomatic silence.

‘Here’s a cheque for expenses. It’s not enough to look rich. You’ve got to splash it around a bit.’

‘Splash it around a bit,’ Dulcie recited, glassy eyed at the size of the cheque.

‘Find this gondolier, make him think you’re rolling in money, so he’ll make up to you. When you’ve got him hooked let me know. I’ll send Jenny out there, and she’ll see the kind of man he really is. She won’t believe it, but the world is full of jerks on the look out for a rich girl.’

‘Yes,’ Dulcie murmured with feeling. ‘It is.’

On the night of Count Francesco’s return, supper at the palazzo was formal. The four men sat around an ornate table while a maid served dish after dish, under the eagle eyes of Liza. To the count this was normal, and Marco was comfortable with it. But the other two found it suffocating, and they were glad when the meal was over.

As they prepared for escape the count signalled for Guido to join him in his ornate study.

‘We’ll be at Luigi’s Bar,’ Marco called back from the front door.

‘Couldn’t this wait?’ Guido pleaded, following his uncle into the study.

‘No, it can’t wait,’ Francesco growled. ‘There are things to be said. I won’t bother to ask if the stories I’ve heard about you are true.’

‘They probably are,’ Guido agreed with a grin.

‘It’s time it stopped. After all the trouble I’ve taken, making sure you met every woman in society.’