Sometimes she would surface from her fever to find Vincenzo there, then go back to sleep, curiously contented. This was becoming her new reality, and when she awoke once to find Vincenzo gone she knew an odd sense of disturbance. But then she saw Piero, and relaxed again.

He came over and felt her forehead, pursing his lips to show that he wasn't pleased with what he found.

'I got you something,' he said, dissolving a powder in hot water. 'It'll make you feel better.'

'Thanks, Piero,' she said hoarsely. 'Or do I mean Harlequin?'

'What's that?'

'Harlequin, Columbine, Pierrot, Pierrette,' she said vaguely. 'They're all characters from the Commedia dell'Arte. Pierrot's a clown, isn't he?'

His eyes were very bright. 'It's as good a name as any. Like Julia.'

'Yes,' she agreed.

The cold remedy drink made her feel better and she got to her feet, rubbing her eyes. Her throat and her forehead were still hot, but she was determined to get up, if only for a while.

It was mid-afternoon and since the light was good she went out of the little room into the great reception hall and began to look about her.

The pictures might be gone but the frescoes painted directly onto the walls were still here. She studied them, until she came to one that stopped her in her tracks as though it had spoken to her.

It was at the top of the stairs, and showed a woman with long fair hair flying wildly around her face like a mad halo. Her eyes were large and distraught as though with some ghastly vision. She had been to hell, and now she would never really escape.

'That's Annina,' said Piero, who had followed her.

'It's Annina if we want to be fanciful,' said Vincenzo's voice.