As we got off the galley at Kamares, she looked up at the mountains that surrounded the harbour, and cried out with joy. ‘Oh, Grandpa, it’s beautiful . . . magical!’ I cringed at her calling me her grandfather, even though it was true. It made me feel old, though that was also true. You see, I gave up counting my years when I passed seventy. And I didn’t want to be reminded of the fact every time Katie opened her mouth. I pulled a face. ‘I told you to call me Nick.’ Katie frowned and tugged at the golden hair that cascaded down over her shoulders. It was a mixture of her grandmother’s ash-blond hair and my red locks. Though my hair was more salt and pepper now. ‘I’m sorry, Grand— Nick. But I haven’t known you all that long, and I love having a real grandfather.’ Maybe I should explain why she hasn’t known me all her life. My name is Niccolo Zuliani of Venice, though my friends call me Nick, a name my English mother gave me.
