But she shook her head. True, the heat was fierce, but far from being uncomfortable it seemed to bathe her in its glow. She stood as close as she dared to the red-white light streaming from the Glory Hole, feeling as though her whole self was opening up to its fierce radiance.

‘Get back,’ Salvatore said, taking hold of her.

Reluctantly she let him draw her away. The heat was making her blood pound through her veins and she felt mysteriously exalted.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked, keeping his hands on her shoulders and looking down into her flushed face.

‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she murmured.

He gave her a little shake. ‘Wake up.’

‘I don’t want to.’

He nodded. ‘I know the feeling. This place is hypnotic, but you have to be careful. Come over here.’

He led her to where a man was blowing glass through a pipe, turning it slowly so that it didn’t sag and lose shape. Watching him, she felt reality return.

‘It’s incredible that it’s still done that way,’ she marvelled. ‘You’d think it would be easier to use a machine.’

‘It is,’ he said. ‘There are machines that will do some kind of job, and if “some kind of job” is what you want, that’s fine. But if you want a perfect job, lovingly sculpted by a glass worker who’s put his soul into his art, then come to Murano.’

Something in his voice made her look at him quickly. Until now their conversation had been a light-hearted dance, but his sudden fervour made the music pause.

‘There’s nothing like it,’ he said simply. ‘In a world where things are increasingly mechanised, there’s still one place that’s fighting off the machines.’

Then he gave a brief, self-conscious laugh.

‘We Venetians are always a little crazy about Venice. To the outside world most of what we say sounds like nonsense.’

‘I don’t think it’s-’

‘There’s something else that might interest you,’ he said as though he hadn’t heard her. ‘Shall we go this way?’