'That's a good morning's work,' he said. 'Now we- you're shivering. I guess you took a chill from those stones last night. Let's get you into the warm.'

She tried to smile but she was feeling worse by the minute, and was glad to turn back.

When they reached home Piero tended her like a mother, building up the stove and making her some hot coffee.

'You've got a nasty cold there,' he said when she started to cough.

'Yes,' she snuffled miserably.

'I've got to go out for a while. Stay close to the stove while I'm gone.'

He left quickly, and she was alone in the rapidly darkening building. There was something blessed in the silence.

She went to the window overlooking the Grand Canal. Just outside was a tiny garden, bordered by tall wrought iron railings, right next to the water.

By craning her neck she could make out the Rialto Bridge, and the bank lined with outdoor tables on the far side of the canal. The cafes were filled with people, determined not to be put off by the time of year.

She wandered back to the stove and sat on the floor, beside it, dozing on and off.

Then something made her eyes open sharply. The last of the light had gone, and she could hear footsteps in the corridor. It didn't sound like Piero, but somebody younger.

The sound drew close and halted. Then the door handle turned. It was enough to make her leap up and hurry into the shadows where the intruder could not see her. Inwardly she was screaming, Go away! Leave me alone!

She stood still, her heart thumping wildly, as the door opened and a man came in. He set the bag he was carrying on the floor, and looked around as though expecting to see somebody.

She told herself not to be foolish. This was probably Piero's friend. But still she couldn't make herself move. Nobody was a friend to her.

The man came into a shaft of light from a large window. It was soft, almost gloomy light, but she could make out that he was tall, with a rangy build and a lean face that suggested a man in his thirties.