CHAPTER SEVEN
From Vienna they caught the ordinary train to Venice, which was nothing like the Orient Express. They arrived in the evening with just time to find a hotel.
For three days they wandered the beautiful city on the water, peaceful and happy, with no alarms or dramas. It was as if they had discovered a treasure that neither dared to touch, nor look at too closely, lest they find that it was not really there.
In the evenings they would find some tiny restaurant and sit over a glass of wine into the small hours, before strolling slowly back to the hotel. They said very little that could not have been overheard by the whole world. They seldom spoke of themselves or each other. And yet all the time the sensation of truth grew stronger, more urgent and more incredibly sweet.
On th
