“Most of the time.”

“A true Venetian.”

“Not for Venice. My family was from Rome. It was my grandfather who came here.”

“Your grandfather? In America, that would make you a founding family.”

“Founding?”

“Old.”

“Ah. No, but in Rome we were an old family. Since the empire.”

“Which empire?”

She hesitated, not sure what I meant. “Rome.”

“What, with chariots?”

She smiled. “Yes.”

“Claudia. A Roman name,” I said, watching her sip from her glass, easier now, even the sharp lapels on the suit somehow softer. “How do you know Bertie?”

“I don’t. He invited everyone from the Accademia. I work there. His friend has a cousin who knew-”

“I heard. I couldn’t keep it straight then either. I haven’t been yet-the Accademia. Maybe you’ll give me a tour. Now that we’ve broken the ice.”

“There, that’s one,” she said quickly, ignoring my question. “You can help me with that. What does it mean, break the ice? I know, to be friendly, but how does it mean that? Like breaking through ice on a lake? I don’t understand it.”

“I never thought about it,” I said. “I suppose just a general stiffness, when people don’t know each other, breaking through that.”

“But not melting the ice-you know, the friendship making things warmer. It’s breaking.” She looked down at her drink, genuinely puzzled.

“All right, melted then. But now that is, would you show me around the Accademia?”

“You should have a guide for that. I’m not really an expert on the paintings.”

“I’m not interested in the paintings.”

“Oh,” she said, unexpectedly flustered. She looked away. “Are you in Venice long?” A party question.

“My mother’s living here-for now, anyway. She’s one of the frivolous people over there.”

“I didn’t mean-”