* Isabella certainly prayed, but gave little thanks. Her father had already arranged her passage to Barcelona on a trading ship under the captaincy of...an old friend, Louis Bertrand. Captain Bertrand had often been a guest at the Silverto household and Isabella knew him as a steadfast and upright citizen of the Mediterranean who would protect and chaperone her on the two-week voyage. Isabella was to be the ship’s only passenger. Her father had sought and received Bertrand’s assurances of his. A line from a song drifted into my head: ‘You always loved this time of year’. Well, not quite. Actually, a lot of the time, she hated it. It meant the end of sunny days and warm endless evenings with the heady perfume of late summer flowers. But she did love the leaves. It was the colours, I think. All those bright reds and oranges, twisting and twirling as the breeze wafted through the trees. They were warm colours, nature’s last hurrah before the cold really took hold. And, of course, they. More

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