Behind him were two fine-looking young men, both apparently in their early thirties. Neither looked remotely like the man she was investigating.

‘My nephews, Marco and Leo.’ Both young men greeted her with a flourish. ‘You are very fortunate to find them here. Leo lives in Tuscany and Marco in Rome, but they came to see me when I became ill. My other nephew, Guido, lives with me all the time. He’ll be here soon.’

So Guido was the one she needed to see, Dulcie thought. Alive to every nuance, she hadn’t missed the way Leo and Marco had studied her without seeming to, and exchanged glances. They were gallantry itself, but the count outdid them both, brushing them aside to lead her out onto the terrace where he had ordered drinks.

From here the view was dazzling, not just the Grand Canal but the Rialto Bridge, bathed in floodlight. Dulcie looked a long time, awestruck by so much beauty.

‘I see you understand my city,’ the count said, smiling. ‘You pay it the compliment of silence.’

She nodded. ‘Words would only spoil it.’

‘I linger here every night. It is best enjoyed alone or-’ he bowed ‘-with charming company. But I neglect your comfort. What will you drink?’

She accepted a wine that he recommended and returned to studying the view. Although the balcony looked out over the water she could see grounds to either side of it, ending in trees and shadows.

Then it seemed that one of the shadows moved, but the impression vanished in an instant.

‘Is something the matter?’ Francesco asked.

‘No, I just thought I saw someone move down there. I must have been mistaken.’

They looked down into the gardens, but all was still and silent.

A last-minute phone call from an important customer meant that Guido was later reaching the palace than he’d meant to be, and arrived in jeans and sweater. Knowing this would incur his uncle’s censure he slipped into the garden by a small gate to which only the initiated had the key, and moved quietly through the growing shadows. With luck he could reach his own room and change quickly into what Francesco called ‘the proper attire’ and what he called ‘stuffed shirt.’

Through the trees he could discern the terrace overlooking the water, where the count would be entertaining their guest to pre-dinner drinks. Yes, he could see him now, also Leo and Marco, but the lady was still obscure. He could just make out that she was wearing an ice-blue dress, but not her face. It would be useful to discover more of her and know the worst that awaited him this evening. As he emerged from the trees he hugged the wall, flattening himself against it as he edged nearer the terrace.

There was a flash of pale blue as she turned to look outwards, and suddenly he saw her face clearly.

For a split second he froze with shock. Then he moved fast. It was too late to return to the trees. The only concealment lay directly under the terrace. A swift dash, and he just made it.

‘Is something the matter?’ he heard his uncle ask over his head.

Then Dulcie’s voice. ‘No, I just thought I saw someone move down there. I must have been mistaken.’

Guido’s brow was damp. This couldn’t be happening to him! What had become of his famous luck that had protected him through a thousand scrapes? Creditors-he’d paid them all eventually, but his early days in business had involved much tap-dancing-ladies with marriage in their eyes, husbands with shotguns, he’d sidestepped them all with wit and charm.

But where was his guardian angel now? Absent without leave, that was where. Another few minutes and he’d have walked in on Dulcie and his family, to be introduced in his true identity. It was no use saying that he’d meant to tell her soon anyway. He hadn’t meant it like this.

Muffled noises from above, Leo and Marco voices, then his uncle’s, irritated. ‘What’s happened to the fellow? My apologies for my nephew’s tardiness. Call him one of you and ask when he’ll be here.’

Guido moved fast to switch off his mobile before it could ring and reveal his location. He mopped his brow.

Marco spoke. ‘His phone is off.’

‘No matter,’ Francesco declared. ‘He’ll be here at any moment.’

Not on your life! Guido thought desperately.

‘I do hope so.’ That was Dulcie. ‘Because I’m really looking forward to meeting your third nephew, count…’

Their voices faded.

With calamity staring him in the face, Guido thought fast. Nobody had seen him. He could still get away. His mind was racing. Slip out the way he’d come in, call his uncle to apologise for the unexpected crisis that would prevent him having the pleasure of joining them tonight. Then tap-dance like mad.

He was about to begin his journey back through the garden when a truly appalling thought turned his bones to jelly.

He knew his uncle’s routine with new guests. It never varied. Dinner, then a tour of the palace, finishing in his study. There he would produce his photo albums and display family pictures in which Guido would feature prominently.

He groaned aloud, wondering what he’d ever done to deserve this. But the list was too long to contemplate. At all costs Dulcie mustn’t be allowed to see those pictures.

Backing against the wall he encountered a small door that he knew was never used. If he could get through he would be in a passage that led past the kitchen to the rear of the house and from there it was just a step to his uncle’s study.

As he’d expected, the door was locked, but the wood was so old that a thump from a stone splintered it easily. The passage was pitch-black and he had to grope his way along, stumbling on the uneven floor, and once actually falling. He picked himself up, sensing that he was covered in dirt, but he had no time to worry about that. There was a light up ahead. The kitchen would be busy tonight and he must get past the door without being seen.

It took five minutes anxiously waiting for the right chance to present itself, and then he had to take a flying leap. Then he was in a narrow corridor, at the end of which was a secret door. By pressing the right knob he could make a section of the wall revolve, and bring himself into the study. The device had been installed in the seventeenth century by a count who feared assassination. Guido felt assassination might be a merciful end compared with what faced him if he couldn’t get those photo albums.

His luck held. The study was empty and dark. The less light the better, so he put on just one small lamp and went to the desk drawer where his uncle kept the key to the glass-covered bookcase where the albums were kept. Moving quietly he knelt down and began to turn the key in the lock.

‘Freeze!’

The voice came from behind him. He took a deep breath, hoping against hope that the cold metal he could feel against his ear wasn’t what he thought it was.

‘Stand up and turn around slowly with your hands up.’

He did so and found his worst fears realised as he stared down the length of a double-barrelled shotgun.

As the minutes ticked past with no sign of the missing heir the count’s smile became glassy, until at last he announced that dinner could wait no longer. The four of them entered the vast, ornate dining room where Dulcie was escorted to the place of honour.

Francesco reminisced about Lady Harriet, with many anecdotes which Dulcie was sure he’d either invented or transposed from other ladies. Now and then he reverted to the bachelor theme.

‘I keep hoping my nephews will marry and comfort me in my old age,’ he mourned. ‘But they’re all stubborn and selfish.’

‘Very selfish,’ Leo agreed with a grin. ‘We have this funny idea of marrying to suit ourselves rather than “serving the blood line”.’

‘I’m afraid we’re all lonely bachelors in this family,’ Francesco sighed.

‘And your nephew Guido,’ Dulcie asked. ‘Is he a lonely bachelor?’

‘Well, he’s certainly a bachelor,’ Marco observed.

His uncle gave him a look that would have cowed an easily frightened man.

‘I must apologise to our guest for Guido’s tardiness,’ Francesco announced. ‘But I have no doubt he will be here very soon.’

He raised his voice on the last words, as if sending a message to the delinquent to remind him of his duty. But no erring nephew materialised, and the three Calvanis exchanged glances, wondering where he could possibly be.

‘Liza, please put that thing away,’ Guido begged nervously. ‘Here, let me take it.’ He relieved the housekeeper of the shotgun and assisted her to a chair.

‘It’s not loaded,’ she said faintly. ‘I thought you were a burglar. Maria vergine! I might have killed you.’

‘Not with an unloaded gun,’ he pointed out. ‘Although you nearly gave me a heart attack. And if I’d been a burglar what were you thinking of to tackle me like that? You’ve been watching too many gangster movies.’

‘Yes,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I just thought a little excitement would be nice.’

‘A little ex-? You need a restorative. Where does my uncle keep his best brandy? Here you are.’ He handed her a glass, saying kindly, ‘This will make you feel better. And if you want excitement, you can help me out of a spot I’m in. I need to get rid of these,’ he indicated the albums. ‘Just for a few hours.’

‘But he always shows them to his guests,’ Liza declared.

‘I know, that’s why I’ve got to make them vanish. I can’t explain but a lot depends on it. In fact, everything depends on it. Liza, my whole future life is in your hands, my marriage, my children, my children’s children, the whole Calvani blood line for the next hundred years. If you don’t help me it’s all finished. You wouldn’t want that on your conscience, would you?’

‘You’re up to something.’

‘Have you ever known me when I wasn’t?’

‘No. But you won’t manage it this way. If he finds them missing he’ll call the police.’

Guido tore his hair. ‘Then what can I do?’

‘Leave it to me, signore.’

Count Francesco was at his best when talking about the past glories of Venice, and although Dulcie recognised that it was a performance she still fell under its spell.

‘Everyone came here for carnival,’ he said expansively. ‘It was a time for pleasure. You know, of course, why it’s called carnival?’

‘I’m afraid I don’t,’ she said. This was clearly the reply expected.

‘It comes from carne, meaning flesh. Knowing that it would soon be Lent, a time of austerity, people revelled in the pleasures of the flesh, preferably from behind the safety of a mask. The orgies continued right up until Shrove Tuesday and stopped on the stroke of midnight.’

‘So that’s why Carnival is in February,’ Dulcie said.

‘The February carnival is a modern revival, designed to attract tourists during the winter. But who can make merry in the cold? I mark carnival in my own way, with a masked ball in summer. This year’s ball will take place next Wednesday, and I hope you will honour me by attending.’

‘Well, I’m not quite certain if I’ll still be here next week,’ she murmured.

‘Oh, but you must,’ he said earnestly, ‘if only to spare my blushes about tonight. I don’t know how to apologise for Guido’s reprehensible behaviour in not turning up. I shall inform him of my displeasure.’

‘But you’ve already done that,’ Dulcie smiled, ‘when he telephoned to apologise, half an hour ago. I’m disappointed not to have met him, but since this was a last-minute arrangement it must have been difficult for him.’

‘You are most gracious to say so. But next week he will make his apologies in person.’

There was no turning him from this idea, so Dulcie murmured something vague and polite, and gave herself up to the enjoyment of the palazzo. When the guided tour was at an end they all drank brandy and coffee, and then the three men accompanied her to the landing stage where the boat was waiting. Leo and Marco would have taken her hand but the Count waved them away with an imperious gesture.

‘To assist a beautiful lady is my privilege,’ he said with old-world courtesy. ‘Buona notte, signorina. I’m sorry the evening wasn’t more satisfactory. I’d hoped to show you my photo albums. I can’t understand how my housekeeper came to lose the key. It’s not like her to make such a mistake.’

‘I shall look forward to seeing them another time,’ Dulcie said.

‘Yes, when you come to the masked ball. Next Wednesday. Don’t forget. And Guido will be there.’

‘I’m really looking forward to meeting him.’

The boatman settled her comfortably, and a moment later they were on their way down the Grand Canal. The Calvanis waved until she was out of sight.

‘She’s perfect,’ the count said.

‘Just the same uncle, you’re barking up the wrong tree,’ Leo observed.