“I thought it was drink.”

He picked up his glass. “Well, that too. The point is, he’s not a gigolo.”

“So you introduced them.”

“No, no. They’ve known each other for years. Since the old days. When we were all-well, younger than we are now. The parties, my god. I suppose that’s part of it. It reminds them. Anyway, you ought to be grateful. You don’t want her sitting home alone, do you? Imagine what that would be like. It’s the first thing that occurred to me. There she was, all excited on the phone and packing bags, and I thought, what on earth am I going to do with her? In the winter, no less. People think they’re going to like it here in the winter-they come for Carnival and wouldn’t this be nice? — but they never do. The third night at Harry’s, you can see it on their faces. Bored stiff.”

“You’re not.”

“It’s my home. I know what to expect. The point is, Grace needed a friend and now she has one. She’s happy and she’s out of your hair. You’ve got your life to get on with-not worry about her. What are you planning to do, by the way?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“Oh, the young. All the time in the world.”

“Right now I’m enjoying Venice, that’s all.”

“Are you? Grace says you sleep all day.”

“No, I walk all day. It’s the only way to see the city. Then I get tired and sleep at night.”

“Mm, a sort of farmer’s life. Up and down with the birds. Are you that bored?” he said, his voice still light, just a hint of concern underneath.

“Not really. I like it. It’s like being on leave.”

“From what?”

I shrugged. “The army. Everything. Just for a while.”

“Don’t stay too long, then. You don’t want to get addicted.”

I looked at him, caught by the word, as if he knew somehow about the mornings sitting against the Dogana, drifting, the beauty of the place a kind of opiate.