“Can you deny that you respond to me?” About the Author Title Page Dedication CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE Copyright

“Can you deny that you respond to me?”

“That’s not the point,” said Harriet desperately, and tried to pull away, but Leo laughed softly, and pulled her closer.

“If you prefer, we could just pretend to be engaged, just to give Nonna pleasure.”

“Nonna would expect us to marry—you can’t marry someone just to please your grandmother.”

He bent his head and kissed her hungrily. “It would please me, also, believe me. And,” he added, his voice deepening to a note that played havoc with Harriet’s defenses, “I will take great pleasure in demonstrating how much it will please you.”

CATHERINE GEORGE was born in Wales, and very early on developed a passion for reading, which eventually fueled her compulsion to write. marriage to an engineer led to nine years in Brazil, but on his later travels the education of her son and daughter kept her in the U.K. And instead of constant reading to pass her lonely evenings she began to write the first of her romances. When not writing and reading she loves to cook, listen to opera, browse in antiques stores and walk the Labrador dog.

Catherine George makes a welcome return to Harlequin Presents®, with romance of the highest quality. Catherine loves to write about attractive characters, intriguing situations and emotionally intense relationships. Enjoy!

An Engagement of Convenience

Catherine George

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Lilias, with love.

CHAPTER ONE

WHEN THE BORROWED SUITCASE came trundling into view Harriet felt a sudden, wild desire to snatch it from the carousel and fly straight back from Pisa to Heathrow. But as the bag drew near a male hand reached out for it and thwarted any rash idea of escape.

‘Rosa,’ said a deep, unmistakably Italian voice.

Harriet turned, resigned, to confront a man whose face had become as familiar as her own. But the photographs she’d pored over had failed to do him justice. Leonardo Fortinari, dressed in a casually elegant suit, was taller than expected. His eyes and hair were as dark as her own, and in the photographs taken several years back he’d been striking rather than handsome. But older, with the gloss and arrogance of maturity, he was formidable.

‘Why, Leo, I’m honoured,’ she returned, her smile deliberately mocking to cover her panic. ‘I was about to catch a train. I didn’t expect anyone to meet me.’ Leo Fortinari least of all.

He shrugged negligently. ‘I had business in Piza.’ Ignoring the crowds jostling them, he stood still, looking her up and down with a frowning gaze so intent she felt it, tactile, on her skin. ‘You have grown into a beautiful woman, Rosa.’

Harriet’s heart thumped under her expensive borrowed jacket. ‘Thank you,’ she returned with determined composure. ‘How is Nonna?’

‘Delighted, naturally, by her prodigal’s return. Come. I will drive you to the Villa Castiglione. She is impatient to see you.’

They were speeding along the autostrada before Leo Fortinari resorted to anything personal. ‘I trust you have recovered, Rosa?’

Harriet shot a startled glance at him.

‘From the tragedy of losing your parents,’ he said gravely.

She bit her lip, taking refuge in silence.

His face softened slightly. ‘I was sorry to miss the funeral.’

‘Thank you for your letter,’ she said. ‘It was very kind.’ And very stilted. As though he’d felt forced to write it.

The rest of the journey continued in far from comfortable silence. Leo Fortinari was courteous but distant, and by his manner obviously not of a mind to forgive the youthful Rosa. Good! In the present circumstances this disturbing man was best kept at a distance. It had never occurred to Harriet that she would have to face him so soon, that the great man himself would meet her at the airport. His younger brother Dante, possibly, or one of the Fortinari minions, never the great Leonardo himself. But on the plus side, it was a relief to get the encounter over with right away. Because as far as Harriet could tell she’d cleared one of the two most difficult hurdles. Now there was only Nonna, otherwise Signora Vittoria Fortinari, tonight. The meeting with the rest of the family, including Rosa’s other cousins Dante and Mirella, was to be at the family party next day. If she survived that long. Harriet’s tension mounted as the car bore her nearer and nearer the acid test of meeting Signora Fortinari. The journey led through undulating countryside dotted with ancient farms and grand country houses, with churches and bell towers here and there against a backdrop of vines and silver olive trees and dark, pointing figures of cypress. But Harriet had no eyes for it. As the car ate up the kilometres her sole thought was how to get through the weekend with no harm done to anyone. Herself included. She had always longed to return to Italy, it was true. But not desperately enough to embark on this present harebrained escapade. At least not until an offer had been made she was powerless, in the end, to refuse.

Harriet cast a look at her companion’s forceful profile, relieved that Leo Fortinari had no inclination to talk to the passenger he believed was his cousin Rosa. Harriet sank lower in her seat as she thought of the moment at the Chesterton Hotel when Rosa Mostyn had sauntered into a private room full of women talking at the tops of their voices about the careers and husbands acquired since they’d left Roedale, the prestigious school for girls situated in beautiful Cotswold surroundings a few miles outside Pennington.

Harriet was an Old Rœdalian herself. She’d won a scholarship at the age of ten, for one of the handful of day places in a school largely given over to boarders. A few days earlier the headmistress had rung Harriet to ask her to attend the reunion to praise the school’s modern improvements to the contemporaries who had young daughters. And because Harriet was returning to Roedale to teach Modern Languages the following term she’d agreed. After a round of greetings and chitchat she’d been sipping a spritzer, wondering how soon she could get away, when Rosa Mostyn appeared, the very last person Harriet had expected to see.

After eight years it was still a shock to come face-to-face with someone who could have been her twin. Rosa stood still in the doorway, her huge dark eyes gazing round the sea of animated faces. Her hair hung smooth, like black satin, to the shoulders of a suit cut by some inspired, and probably Italian, designer, a chunky gold ring on the hand she raised in salute as she caught Harriet’s eye. Sheer perfection, thought Harriet, as she watched Rosa glide through the chattering throng, greeting some people vivaciously, smiling politely at others she very obviously couldn’t remember from Adam. She came to a stop at last beside Harriet, smiling warily.

‘Hello. Remember me?’

‘How could I forget?’ Harriet’s answering smile was wry when a ripple ran through the room as the resemblance was spotted, remembered, and remarked on. ‘The waiter mistook me for you when I arrived.’

‘Sorry about that.’ Rosa hesitated. ‘Are you with anyone?’

Harriet shook her head. ‘None of my set deigned to turn up.’

‘Mind if I tag along then?’

‘Not in the least.’

Rosa gave her an expectedly grateful smile, then tapped Harriet’s left hand. ‘No ring. Which doesn’t mean anything, of course. What do you do with yourself these days, Harriet?’

Wishing passionately she could say she was head of a successful company, or some playboy billionaire’s mistress, Harriet told Rosa the truth. ‘I teach. In fact I’m going back to Roedale to teach French and Italian next term. But at the moment I’m doing translations for a local firm which exports to Europe.’

Rosa nodded. ‘You were always a whiz at languages.’ She signalled to the barman. ‘Vodka and tonic, please, and a refill for my friend.’

Harriet felt surprised. Rosa Mostyn and Harriet Foster had been anything but soul mates in the old days. Quite apart from the accidental resemblance, which both of them found deeply embarrassing, Harriet was a scholarship girl who travelled to school daily by bus, and worst of all, clever. Whereas Rosa was a boarder, more concerned with push-up bras than straight A’s, and lived for the day when she could leave.

Harriet accepted the drink and raised it to Rosa in thanks. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.’

Rosa shrugged. ‘I had no intention of coming. But I got a phone call at the last minute to say my date for the evening had fallen through. I was all dressed up with nowhere to go, so I thought, why not? My family owns the Chesterton Hotel and I could show my Mostyn nose to the staff here, and at the same time see how everyone’s changed—or not,’ she added, looking round the room.

‘None of your cronies here, either,’ commented Harriet. ‘In school you could never move for them.’

Rosa smiled cynically. ‘The Mostyn money, dear, not my charm and personality.’

They sipped in silence for a moment.

‘I was sorry to hear about your parents,’ said Harriet after a while.

‘Thank you,’ said Rosa quietly. ‘They’d never flown on the same plane before the crash.’ She downed her drink. ‘Pity I’m driving, or I’d have another. How about your family? I remember your sister Kitty, tall, blonde and great at games—a lofty prefect when we were small fry.’

Harriet nodded. ‘She’s married now. My mother still lives in Pennington, but my father died when I was at University.’

‘I’m sorry. I know how that feels.’ Rosa eyed Harriet curiously. ‘You’re still single, then. No boyfriend? ’ She laughed suddenly. ‘With your—or rather our looks—there must surely be men in your life?’

‘None at the moment,’ said Harriet lightly. ‘How about you?’

Rosa’s eyes lit up like lamps. ‘I’ve actually met a man who couldn’t care less about my money, for a change. After an early disaster I swore I’d leave the falling in love bit to the other sex. Then I met Pascal a few weeks ago and wham. Flat on my face. Can’t eat, can’t sleep. Hilarious, isn’t it?’

‘Does he feel the same way?’

Rosa sighed. ‘I wish I knew. I met him when he was at the Hermitage covering a conference for a few days, but since then our encounters are few and far between. He’s a foreign correspondent with a French newspaper.’

‘Ah. Is that why the date fell through tonight?’

‘Yes. He had to take off to cover some story half a world away, and couldn’t make it. If not,’ said Rosa with brutal honesty, ‘I wouldn’t be here in a roomful of squawking women. Present company excepted,’ she added, grinning. ‘You never squawked—too frighteningly composed, always.’

Harriet grimaced. ‘Moody, you mean. I was a hugely difficult teenager. My family must have heaved a sigh of relief when I went away to college. After I qualified I got a teaching job in Birmingham. But my mother hasn’t been well lately, so I’ve come back home for a while. And we’re both enjoying the arrangement.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Sorry, Rosa, but I promised the Head I’d do some networking—convince all the young marrieds that Roedale is the school for their daughters present and future.’

Rosa pulled a face. ‘Rather you than me.’ She hesitated for a moment. ‘I don’t suppose you’d fancy having supper with me somewhere afterwards?’

Taken aback for a moment, Harriet found she rather liked the idea. ‘Why not? Give me half an hour.’

Which had been the beginning of it all. Harriet sighed heavily enough to attract a quizzical look from Leo Fortinari.

‘Am I going too fast, Rosa? Are you nervous?’

Harriet smiled brightly. ‘Yes. But not about your driving. I’m just wondering how Nonna will react to the sight of me.’ Which was the truth as far as it went. Though sitting at close quarters with this self-assured Italian male was no help to relaxation, either. But Leo Fortinari would expect that. According to Rosa their parting years ago had been anything but cordial.

He turned his attention back to the road. ‘You are different now, Rosa. At one time you had no nerves at all. But have no fear, Nonna forgave you long ago. We shall be with her in half an hour.’

Half an hour!

The supper with Rosa after the school reunion had been surprisingly enjoyable for Harriet. As schoolgirls they’d had nothing in common, but as adults they found a rapport totally unexpected to both of them. After that first night they began going out together regularly, and when Rosa was even more blue than usual over Pascal’s continued absence she would appear on the Foster doorstep, in need of sympathy both Harriet and her mother found easy to provide.

‘Quite extraordinary,’ said Claire Foster, the first time Harriet brought Rosa to the house. ‘I saw you in school once or twice, of course. But the likeness is even more marked now you’re older.’

‘Only Harriet’s smaller, and her hair curls,’ said Rosa enviously, and coaxed Claire Foster to go out for a meal with them.

And when Claire protested she was too tired after a day of caring for her bedridden mother, Rosa, dressed to the nines, went off in her Alfa Romeo and bought fish and chips they ate straight from the packages at the kitchen table, the three of them giggling together like schoolgirls.

Before long all three of them were on close terms. Childhood friends had married and moved away, and Harriet’s college friends were London based and she rarely saw any of them other than at a party or a wedding. Rosa filled a void Harriet hadn’t even realised was there until the night of the reunion. And it was a relief to confess her worries to someone sympathetic. Claire Foster was on a hospital waiting list for a minor operation, and the rambling old family house was in desperate need of repairs Harriet’s earnings as a translator couldn’t begin to cover.

‘Mother’s forced to sell the house,’ said Harriet one evening, over a meal in a wine bar.

‘What a hassle for her, especially if she’s not feeling well,’ said Rosa, frowning. ‘Does she mind?’

‘Yes. Desperately. It’s been the family home for generations. She adores it.’ Harriet leaned forward suddenly. ‘Those men over there, staring at us. Do you know them?’

Rosa favoured the riveted males with a basilisk stare, then turned back to Harriet, winking. ‘Just a couple of Romeos turned on by the resemblance.’

‘I doubt it,’ retorted Harriet. ‘We’re hardly a perfect match—me in my office gear, and you in those jeans. How you can breathe beats me, let alone sit down.’

‘It’s the cut, darling, they cost a fortune.’ Rosa flushed suddenly. ‘Sorry—tact was never my strong point.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Harriet, unperturbed.

Rosa looked at her steadily. ‘Actually, Harriet, I do. I worry a lot.’

‘About Pascal?’

‘All the time,’ admitted Rosa, sighing. ‘But in this instance I mean Claire, and you. What happens to your grandmother if you get a smaller place?’

‘She comes with us. At the moment she’s got selfcontained quarters upstairs, and we use the rest. But the idea of three of us cooped up together in some poky flat gives me nightmares!’ Harriet shrugged, depressed. ‘For some reason I’ve never been a favourite with Grandma. Kitty was her pet. But I’ve always felt unhappy—and guilty—because I find it so hard to love my grandmother, or even like her. Frankly, Rosa, she’s a difficult lady. Which is nothing to do with age—she always was. And now she’s bedridden and in pain quite a lot, poor dear, her fuse is even shorter.’

‘I suppose she hates the thought of a nursing home?’

‘Mother won’t hear of it.’

‘Your mother’s a saint!’ said Rosa emphatically.

‘More than you know. Heaven knows how she had patience with me when I was a teenager.’

‘I was no angel myself,’ said Rosa soberly. ‘But what was your problem?’

Harriet pulled a face. ‘It makes me embarrassed to think of it now. I’ve never told anyone—not even Guy.’

‘Who’s Guy?’ pounced Rosa.

‘Ex-boyfriend.’

‘Why ex?’

‘He’s Deputy Head at the school I taught at in Birmingham. When I left at the end of my first year to help Mother he objected, said I should put him first.’

‘So exit Guy! Any regrets?’

Harriet shrugged. ‘I missed him at first. Or maybe I just missed the social side and so on.’

‘Was he good at the ‘so on’?’ asked Rosa, smiling wickedly.

Harriet grinned back. ‘None of your business.’

‘Which means he wasn’t.’

‘If anyone was lacking in that department it was me, Rosa.’

‘No way,’ said Rosa emphatically, her big eyes sparkling. ‘Definitely Guy’s fault if he couldn’t ring your bell. Anyway, what were you going to tell me that you couldn’t tell him?’

Harriet pulled a face. ‘In my teens I got this bee in my bonnet, a fantasy about being adopted. I developed a real attitude—made my parents’ life a misery.’

Harriet’s youthful angst had been aggravated by her sister’s teasing. Their father, Alan Foster, had been large and fair, like a throwback to some Viking invader—and Kitty was his image—while their tall, willowy mother had the chestnut hair and pale complexion of her own father.

‘And then there was me,’ said Harriet. ‘Black hair and eyes, olive skin, and a head shorter than anyone else in the family. And at the mercy of teenage hormones. Kitty used to tease so much that I was a changeling, I began to believe it.’

‘But you weren’t adopted, surely!’

‘No, of course I wasn’t.’ Harriet grinned sheepishly. ‘Quite apart from the gruesome birth details Mother gave me when I was older, I’ve got a perfectly valid birth certificate confirming my pedigree. My looks are just some peculiar freak of genetics.’

Rosa was quiet for a moment. ‘Talking of Kitty,’ she said slowly, ‘I know it’s none of my business, but couldn’t she help a bit, financially?’

‘Not a chance. Kit’s husband started up his own business recently, they’ve got a hefty bank loan, and she’s pregnant, which means giving up her own job.’ Harriet changed the subject swiftly. ‘Anyway, enough of that. Tell me about Pascal. Still no news of him?’

Which was the question which had landed her where she was right now, thought Harriet despairingly, as her destination loomed nearer. Pascal Tavernier, it became plain as the weeks went by with no word, had left Rosa flat, without even the grace to tell her to her face.

‘Since that last phone call, saying he was off to the Middle East, I haven’t heard a word,’ said Rosa unsteadily. ‘And this morning, to cap it all, I got a letter from my grandmother, asking me to Tuscany for her eightieth birthday. I used to spend my summer holidays there at one time, but I haven’t been back for years.’

‘Why not?’ asked Harriet curiously.

Rosa sighed. ‘I was in my “rebel without a cause” stage, and Nonna’s an autocrat of the first water. I behaved badly, did something she couldn’t forgive. So I was expelled from Eden. Told to go home and stay there until I’d repented of my sins.’

‘What did you do, for heaven’s sake?’

Rosa was silent for a moment. ‘I fibbed a bit,’ she said at last, ‘about Pascal being my first real love. At one time I had a terrific crush on my cousin, Leo. You know I’m half Welsh, half Italian. Leo’s the Italian connection, a Fortinari, like my mother. He runs the family vineyards.’

‘And?’

‘I cringe to think of it, now, but I used to follow Leo round like a puppy. I was a much bigger nuisance than you ever were, Harriet, believe me.’

‘But no response from Leo, I take it.’

‘Not a flicker. So I decided to make him jealous by flirting with someone else. Leo was ten years older than me, and seriously unimpressed. Things got a bit out of hand at that point, so Nonna sent me home in disgrace.’ Rosa shuddered involuntarily. ‘When my parents died she was too ill with grief to come to the funeral, but she’s been writing to me regularly since, and now, just when the timing’s all wrong for me, she wants me in Fortino at last, to celebrate her birthday.’ She sighed, and thrust a hand through her heavy hair. ‘Harriet, I can’t tell you how much I long to make my peace with Nonna. But I can’t go.’

‘Why not?’

‘Not until I’ve heard from Pascal.’ Rosa swallowed, suddenly deathly pale. ‘Sorry—need a cloakroom.’ She bolted, leaving Harriet staring after her in consternation.

Rosa was a long time in returning. When she slid into her seat at last her face was ashen and desperate, a look of such intense misery in her eyes Harriet put out a hand to cover hers.

‘What’s wrong?’ she said gently. ‘Is it Pascal?’

Rosa took in a deep, shaky breath. ‘Serves me right, I suppose. Since Leo I’ve always called the tunes where men are concerned. But not this time. Pascal’s obviously forgotten all about me.’

Harriet squeezed her hand. ‘In which case, Rosa Mostyn, cross him off the list. Forget him.’

‘Easier said than done,’ said Rosa, with an unsteady smile. ‘Pascal’s left me something to remember him by.’

Harriet stared in dismay. ‘You mean—?’

Rosa nodded desolately. ‘I’m expecting Pascal’s baby. I’ve tried to pretend it wasn’t happening. But I can’t ignore it anymore. And because I left the Villa Castiglione under a bit of a cloud, no way am I going back showing signs of being pregnant. If I had Pascal in tow as the prospective father, of course, it would be different But not alone. Not like this,’ she added hopelessly.

‘Does your brother know?’ asked Harriet, frowning.

‘No way. Tony would go up like a rocket. In any case his wife Allegra’s about to produce their first any minute, and she’s not well. My little problem is the last thing either of them needs right now.’

Harriet’s grasp tightened. ‘Rosa, I’m so sorry. What can I do to help?’

Rosa’s imploring black eyes locked with Harriet’s. ‘Will you go to Italy in my place? Pretend to be me for a weekend?’

‘What?’ Harriet pulled her hand away, staring at Rosa incredulously. ‘You’re joking!’

‘You’re the only one who could do it,’ said Rosa rapidly. ‘You look like me, you speak Italian fluently. And no one there has seen me for years, except at the funeral earlier this year. And that day my face was so blotched and swollen with crying I was unrecognizable anyway.’ She leaned forward urgently. ‘If you’ll do this for me, Harriet, I’ll pay for Claire’s operation, get the repairs done on your house, and get someone in on a permanent daily basis to help with your grandmother.’

‘Not on your life!’ Harriet jumped up, her face rigid with offence. ‘Some things you just can’t buy, Rosa.’

Outside in the street Rosa caught Harriet by the arm. ‘Please don’t be angry. I can’t bear it.’ She sighed heavily ‘Look, for weeks I’ve been trying to find a way to help you and Claire, but I knew you wouldn’t accept money from me. I hate to see your mother so unwell and exhausted. You, too, working by day, and helping with your grandmother at night. So look on this as a simple equation. You need money. I’ve got a lot of it. All I ask from you is two or three days spent at the Villa Castiglione as Rosa Mostyn. I’ll provide the clothes and everything else you’ll need. In return I’ll ask my brother to send the Chesterton Hotel maintenance people over to your place, and I’ll get your mother into hospital right away.’

Harriet, incensed, had refused point-blank. But later on Rosa found an unexpected ally in Claire Foster. After listening to Rosa’s sad little story, instead of supporting her daughter in her indignation, Claire reminded Harriet that it wasn’t so long since she’d complained about the uneventfulness of life back in Pennington.

‘Sounds like fun,’ she said wistfully. ‘In your place, darling, I’d do it like a shot. What an adventure!’

‘And a profitable one for the Fosters, of course,’ said Harriet tardy.

Claire winced, and Rosa rushed to put her arms around her, glaring at Harriet. ‘How can you say such a hurtful thing to your mother? But even if it’s true, why not? You’re lucky you’ve still got a mother. You should jump at the chance to do this for her—’ And to Harriet’s dismay Rosa began to sob bitterly, burying her head on Claire’s shoulder.

Harriet felt like a criminal as her mother comforted Rosa, and let her cry. But after a while Rosa sat up, scrubbed at her eyes, and apologized, sniffing hard.

‘Sorry for the drama, folks. Hormones in a twist. Anyway it was a damn fool idea, Harriet. Forget it,’ She turned to Claire. ‘Look, you know I’ve become very fond of you both. So let me pay for the operation and the repairs anyway, Claire. Please. No strings. Except to let me come here now and then.’

‘Wouldn’t your brother object to a spot of moonlighting by his maintenance people?’ said Harriet dryly.

Rosa scrubbed at her mascara stains. ‘Not in the least, as long as I keep on making my Mostyn presence felt at both hotels while his attention’s on Allegra. Tony owes me.’

On her return home in disgrace from Italy Rosa’s penance had been a job at the Hermitage, the lavish Mostyn hotel in the country. Outraged by his mother-in-law’s letter, which caused a rift never to be healed, Huw Mostyn put Rosa to work as kitchen help at first, and from there she worked her way upwards through various jobs until her father finally sent her on a management course she took to like a duck to water.

‘Rosa,’ said Claire gently, ‘why has it taken so long for your grandmother to want you back?’

‘Because I flatly refused to repent and apologize,’ said Rosa, biting her lip. ‘Besides, after being packed off home like that I just couldn’t face going back again. I did repent in time, but by then it was far too late to apologize, stubborn fool that I am.’

Harriet jumped up as her grandmother’s bell rang. ‘You stay there, Mother.’

Enid Morris, as usual, wanted Claire, but Harriet explained that her mother was tired, saw to her grandmother’s most intimate needs, settled her back in bed with her book and her spectacles, doled out her pills, placed a drink in exactly the right place, found the right channel on the television, then rearranged the pillows several times until the invalid was grudgingly satisfied. Harriet went downstairs afterwards deep in thought. Her mother, in poor health herself, performed these same tasks dozens of times a day, and not only coped with a querulous invalid, but with the laundry, shopping, and cooking that went with the job. Harriet felt sudden shame. All that was needed, to make life a little easier all round, was a trip to the Italy she adored, pretending to be Rosa Mostyn for a couple of days. As only Harriet Foster was equipped to do.

Harriet paused at the foot of the stairs, looking into the hall mirror. She stared hard and long at her reflection, which, she couldn’t deny, was a mirror image of Rosa’s. She lingered outside the sitting room door, listening to Rosa talking to Claire, and even to her own hypercritical ear, she could have been listening to herself. Both of them had husky voices, with a distinctive little catch that Guy Warren, in a fit of frustrated rage, had once termed misleading because it was so sexy.

Harriet waited a minute longer, then thrust open the door, and before she could change her mind, said, ‘All right, Rosa, I’ll do it. I’m probably mad, and I’m sure to regret it, but as Mother said, it’s an adventure. As long as your grandmother isn’t harmed in any way by the switch, I’ll pretend to be her loving granddaughter for a day or two. But this is a one-off, Rosa. Afterward you’ll just have to tell her about the baby.’

CHAPTER TWO

HARRIET’S TENSION INCREASED as the purring Maserati turned off on a narrow road which wound up a hill in dizzying curves. Leonardo Fortinari drove his petrified passenger through an entrance flanked by stone pillars into the steep, tiered gardens of the Villa Castiglione, and stopped at the foot of well-worn steps leading to a balustraded terrace adorned with small, time-worn statues and stone urns spilling flowers. After a glance at her taut face he touched a hand fleetingly to her denim-clad knee.

‘Courage, Rosa.’

To her secret consternation his touch seared through the denim like a brand. Harriet sat very still to disguise her reaction, her eyes fixed on the two-story building. The house was as familiar from a photograph as Leo Fortinari, but unlike the man beside her it was smaller than expected, old and very beautiful, built of venerable gold stone, with an arcaded loggia on three sides.

‘Before we go in,’ said Leo curtly, ‘do nothing this time, Rosa, to upset Nonna in any way. She is valiant, as always, but she has not been in good health lately. She was insistent you came back to see her again because she believes her time is short. Do nothing to shorten it. Understood?’

Annoyed by his dictatorial tone Harriet gave him a disdainful look. ‘Nothing’s changed, then. You still believe the worst of me.’ This was Rosa’s firm belief, and so far Leo Fortinari was doing nothing to contradict it.

He gave a short, mirthless laugh. ‘Do you blame me?’

Harriet said nothing. If in doubt, say nothing and look mysterious, had been Rosa’s instructions. Sensible ones, probably. If anything about this entire situation could be described as remotely sensible. Harriet got out of the car before Leo could touch her again in assistance, slung the strap of Rosa’s expensive leather bag over her shoulder and followed him inside.

A small, beaming woman came bustling towards them across the cool, marble-floored hall, greeting Leo in a flood of whispered Italian in a strong local accent Harriet had to concentrate hard to understand.

‘Welcome, Miss Rosa,’ she added in an undertone. ‘You must be tired. I shall bring coffee before I take you to your room. The signora is sleeping. You will see her later.’

‘You remember Silvia, of course,’ said Leo, as the woman went off.

‘No. She’s new since I was last here.’

And thank heaven for that, thought Harriet, as he ushered her into a room Rosa had described in such painstaking detail that the abundance of pictures, gilt-framed mirrors and carved furniture was reassuringly familiar. Making no attempt to hide her nerves, she sat down on a sofa upholstered in faded ruby velvet, desperate to get the meeting with the signora over with. Though if Leo hadn’t spotted the switch, she comforted herself, perhaps no one else would, either. Like Rosa, she had no telltale distinguishing marks. And to make Harriet word-perfect in her role, Rosa had brought dozens of photographs and letters to the Foster house, recounting every detail of her family she could think of as Harriet took reams of notes which she read over and over in bed every night until she knew them by heart.

‘How quiet you are,’ said Leo, giving her a leisurely scrutiny as he pulled up a chair. ‘You have changed with maturity, Rosa. You are thinner, also your hair curls.’

‘Clever hairdresser,’ she said, unruffled, prepared for this. ‘Do you approve?’

Leo’s jaw tightened. ‘You know very well that you are beautiful, Rosa.’

Harriet’s eyes fell before his cold, assessing gaze, then she looked up with a smile, thanking Silvia as the woman came in to set down a large tray with coffee and tiny sweet biscuits, before rushing off to rejoin the women preparing tomorrow’s feast in the kitchen.

‘I had forgotten that faint, charming accent, Rosa,’ he said, watching her as she poured.

Rosa had told Harriet Leo liked his coffee black, but she looked him in the eye and offered him cream. ‘Since I was banished I haven’t needed Italian much. Though it comes in useful in my job.’ Which, was entirely true.

‘So you have forgotten I like my coffee black and sweet,’ commented Leo. A black eyebrow arched. ‘What else have you forgotten, Rosa?’

‘As much as I possibly could,’ she said tartly. ‘Will you have a biscuit?’

Leo shook his head, and leaned back, watching her through the steam from his cup. ‘So. How do you like working at the Hermitage?’

‘More than I expected to when I started,’ said Harriet, quoting Rosa.

His eyes held hers relentlessly. ‘You had different ambitions once.’

‘Modelling, you mean.’ Harriet shrugged. ‘Just teenage daydreams. I’ve recovered from those. Every last one of them,’ she added deliberately.

‘Have you, indeed?’ The black-lashed eyes narrowed. ‘You were beautiful enough for modelling. Even more so now time has wrought certain changes,’ he added, eyeing her up and down with a look which seemed to register everything from the exact shade of her lipstick to the size of her shoes.

Harriet turned away to refill her coffee cup, wishing Leo Fortinari would remove his disturbing presence and take himself off to his famous vineyards, which she had learned were several kilometres away from the Villa Castiglione.

‘How are Mirella and Dante?’ she asked politely.

‘Dante is my right hand since my father’s retirement. Mirella, as you know, is married now. She is already expecting her first child.’ Leo leaned forward to replace his cup on the tray. ‘So is Tony’s wife, I hear.’

Harriet nodded. ‘Any moment now, which is why they couldn’t come for Nonna’s birthday.’

‘I hope everything goes well for her. Mirella, thankfully, is in the best of health.’ His eyes narrowed to a taunting gleam. ‘You did not come to her wedding.’

He was baiting her, thought Harriet angrily. ‘For obvious reasons,’ she retorted, staring him down.

‘You mean you were afraid to come?’

She shrugged. ‘If you like.’

‘Would you have come if Nonna had invited you personally before this?’ he asked, leaning nearer. ‘Or were you afraid of meeting old friends?’

‘Stop bullying the child,’ said a voice from the doorway.

Leo rose to his feet, and Harriet followed suit quickly, her heart in her throat. The woman advancing towards her was dressed in a dark blue linen suit of exquisite cut. Her once dark hair was streaked with white, but faultlessly arranged, her face skilfully made up and she wore her years with grace and panache. Harriet gazed at her mutely, fighting to control her panic, then Vittoria Fortinari held out her arms, her huge eyes glittering with tears, and Harriet moved guiltily into her embrace.

‘Rosa,’ said the other woman unsteadily, holding Harriet at arms’ length. ‘How beautiful you are—’ She broke off to dab a handkerchief to her eyes. ‘But I must not cry. The make-up will melt.’ She smiled, looking so mischievous Harriet smiled back involuntarily.

Signora Fortinari drew Harriet down to sit beside her on the sofa, then smiled up at Leo, who was watching them with the intent, probing look Harriet was rapidly growing to dislike. ‘Thank you for bringing Rosa to me, Leo.’

In response to such sweet, but definite dismissal Leo Fortinari bowed formally. ‘I see I have served my purpose, Nonna, so I shall go back to Fortino.’

‘Now I have offended you,’ observed his grandmother placidly. ‘Come back to dinner later, Leo,’ she added, to Harriet’s dismay.

Leo, noting it, smiled sardonically. ‘If Rosa does not object, of course.’

‘I’d be delighted,’ Harriet lied.

‘Good,’ said Vittoria, smiling benignly. ‘Bring Dante with you, Leo. He will be eager to see Rosa again.’

Harriet relaxed a little. Dante had been in California when Rosa had blotted her youthful copybook.

‘Whatever you wish, Nonna,’ said Leo, and raised his grandmother’s hand to his lips with practiced grace. ‘But I think you should be resting tonight, in preparation for tomorrow’s celebrations.’

‘But then, you are not always right, Leonardo,’ she said gently.

Leo Fortinari acknowledged the hit with a raised hand, said his goodbyes in a way which encompassed Harriet without actually addressing her individually, and departed with the faintest hint of swagger in his retreat.

‘Now,’ said Signora Fortinari with satisfaction. ‘Tell me everything about yourself, my child—’

‘First, please let me make my apologies,’ said Harriet swiftly, following Rosa’s instructions. She took a deep breath. ‘Nonna, I know this is long overdue, but I’m desperately sorry for what happened.’

‘And I should have been more understanding—and forgiving,’ said Vittoria sombrely, and took Harriet’s hand. ‘Let us talk of it no more. You are here now, and that is all that matters. Pride is a terrible thing, Rosa, and I am guilty of it. I should have mended the rift with your father, and not allowed Leo to influence me so much. He was always so adamant that seeing you again would reopen old wounds and endanger my health. But he was wrong. Life is too short for such foolishness.’

Harriet nodded soberly, thinking of Rosa’s parents.

‘Who should know better than you, child?’ For a moment Vittoria Fortinari looked every moment of her age, and more, then she straightened and summoned a smile. ‘Now tell me, Rosa, have you brought a beautiful dress to wear tomorrow night?’

Harriet confessed to bringing more than one. Rosa had provided her with two stunning creations with mouth-watering labels, each of them worn only once.

After bringing the signora up to date on Rosa Mostyn’s current life and job, taking care to omit any reference to Pascal Tavernier in the process, Harriet reported on the precarious health of Allegra Mostyn.

‘Tony is driving everyone mad, Allegra included, because he’s in such a state,’ said Harriet.

‘It is a fortunate that men are not obliged to give birth,’ said Vittoria dryly. ‘Otherwise the human race would have died out long ago.’

Harriet’s appreciative chuckle turned into a yawn, and the other woman patted her hand affectionately.

‘Silvia has taken up your luggage. Go up to your room and have a bath and a rest before dinner, my child. You look tired. I shall visit the kitchen, and interfere with all the preparations for tomorrow. Because of them dinner tonight will be just a simple cold meal.’

‘I’ll enjoy that,’ Harriet assured her, and accompanied the signora across the square hall. The shallow, worn stone stairs led up to a gallery which ran round three sides of the renaissance-style colonnade of arches in the hall below.

‘You are in your old room, cara,’ said Vittoria, and kissed Harriet’s cheek. ‘Sleep, if you can. We shall eat at eight.’

Very much aware that the signora was watching with a fond smile, Harriet went upstairs slowly, praying she could find the right room. Following the diagram etched in her brain Harriet turned left at the head of the stairs, counted three doors along on the right, and sure enough, an open door revealed Rosa’s luggage standing at the foot of a carved wood bed in a room where everything, down to the last ornament, was just as Rosa had described it. Harriet closed the door behind her and leaned against it, letting out a sigh of heartfelt relief. So far so good. Two hurdles cleared. Only Dante and Mirella left. But Rosa had been certain there would be no trouble with Leo’s younger brother and sister. The most dangerous fly in the ointment, she’d warned, was Leo himself. Harriet cursed herself for failing to hide her dismay when his grandmother commanded him to dine with them. Leo had been amused by it, damn the man. Now that Signora Fortinari had accepted her without hesitation it was obvious that Rosa was right. Leo was the main danger.

Rosa had strongly advised against being friendly with Leo Fortinari. Harriet was to be as cool and distant as she liked, because that was how Rosa would have behaved if she’d come herself. If only she had! thought Harriet wearily, and blessed the industrious Silvia when she found her clohes unpacked and put away. Feeling more criminal than ever she shut herself into the bathroom and used Rosa’s cellphone to call her mother, and after a swift report on initial success, promised to ring next day and asked Claire to pass on the news.

Later, after a bath and a rest among the cool linen sheets of the bed, Harriet felt a lot better. Wrapped in a dressing gown she stood at the window for a while, able to enjoy the view to the full now there was no hostile male presence to spoil it for her. She had spent time in Siena during her language course, and had fallen in love with Italy the moment she arrived. The view from the Villa Castiglione rekindled the passion as she gazed at violet-shadowed hills rolling away into the fading light. The village in the foreground was far enough below to be a mere jumble of umber walls and cinnamon roofs clustering round a church and a slender tower where a bell began to peal as she watched. Harriet listened with delight, and relaxed at last as she breathed in the remembered scent of Tuscany.

When starlit darkness eventually hid the view Harriet turned back into the room and switched on lamps, then threw open the doors of the carved armoire and eyed the selection of clothes Rosa had provided. The borrowed jeans she’d worn with a lightweight jacket for travelling were the kind of thing she wore herself, though with less famous labels. But for more formal wear Rosa had a liking for clothes totally foreign to anything Harriet owned. Once her hair was dry she smoothed on a dress knitted from cobwebfine topaz wool, with a long skirt which curved over the hips and clung at the knees in a way which suggested a mermaid’s tail. Thankful for an inch less than Rosa above and below the waist Harriet added the matching jacket to mitigate the second-skin effect a little, then made up her face with Rosa’s cosmetics, emphasizing her eyes as patiently instructed. She slid her feet into bronze pumps with tall, slender heels, then gave her reflection a mocking salute with a hand embellished with Rosa’s heavy, pearl-studded gold ring.

When Harriet went downstairs she took a peep into a dining room laid ready for dinner, then crossed the hall to find Rosa’s grandmother enthroned on the ruby velvet sofa, with a tray of drinks beside her.

‘Rosa, how elegant!’ she exclaimed.

Harriet bent to kiss the cheek held up for the caress. ‘So are you, Nonna.’

‘Come, pour yourself a glass of wine, and sit beside me while we wait. Tell me about Tony and his new wife. Do you like her?’

Harriet told everything she’d learned about the unknown Tony and Allegra, and their excitement over their first baby, then broke off to nibble hungrily on a bread stick wound with prosciutto. But she chose sparkling water to drink. Having come this far without mishap it seemed best to avoid the tongue-loosening properties of Fortinari wine.

‘You are hungry, child. You should have asked Silvia for something to eat,’ scolded Vittoria.

‘I just wanted coffee when I arrived,’ said Harriet, taking another bread stick. ‘And I can never eat on the plane. I hate flying.’

‘Do you, dearest?’ Vittoria Fortinari looked surprised. ‘You used to love it when you were a child.’

Oops, thought Harriet. Careful. ‘I’m not so keen these days—’ she halted abruptly as the other woman’s eyes filled with sudden tears.

‘Of course you are not, Rosa,’ said Vittoria huskily, and dabbed a handkerchief to her eyes. ‘Forgive me.’

Harriet’s arms went out involuntarily, and Vittoria clasped her close. They stayed immobile for several seconds, both of them deeply contrite, for different reasons, for bringing up the subject of flying.

‘Good evening.’

Harriet drew away swiftly from the scented, comforting embrace of Rosa’s grandmother to see Leonardo Fortinari approaching across the faded, beautiful carpet. Less formal, but equally impressive in an open-necked shirt under a linen jacket a shade or two paler than his perfectly cut fawn trousers, he gave Harriet a slow, all-encompassing look which travelled up to her eyes at last and stayed there.

‘I agree that Rosa looks beautiful this evening, but stop staring at her,’ said his grandmother severely. ‘You are late—and where is Dante?’

Leo removed his gaze with visible effort, and turned to his grandmother. ‘Forgive me, Nonna. Dante makes his apologies,’ he said, stooping to kiss her. ‘He is detained in Arezzo, and will not be home until late. But he promised to be first here tomorrow night.’ He turned to Harriet. ‘Your rest has transformed you, Rosa.’

‘Thank you,’ she returned with composure.

‘But she is hungry,’ said Vittoria, and rang a small silver bell. ‘Let us go straight to the table.’

Harriet made appreciative murmurs as she was served with pasta in savoury meat sauce for the first course of the meal Vittoria Fortinari had warned would be simple, due to the industry still raging in the kitchen as they dined.

‘It was always your favourite,’ she said affectionately, as Harriet made short work of her pasta.

‘With such appetite it is a wonder you stay so slender,’ observed Leo, watching her. ‘You were much rounder once.’

‘I work hard,’ said Harriet. So did Rosa, despite her money.

‘Is Tony so relentless in keeping you tied to the Hermitage?’ queried Leo, leaning nearer to fill her water glass.

Aware that Vittoria Fortinari was awaiting her answer with deep interest Harriet met his black-lashed eyes serenely. ‘Not at all. I answer to no one but myself. Now. When my parents died I inherited a substantial sum of money, as I’m sure you know. I work in the family business because I want to, not because I’m forced to. And at the moment, while Tony is so anxious about Allegra, I divide myself between the Hermitage out in the country, and the Chesterton in Pennington, to give him more time with her.’

Signora Fortinari nodded approvingly. ‘In his letter Tony told me he is very grateful for this.’

Leo Fortinari shook his head in mocking admiration. ‘It is hard to believe that reckless little Rosa has changed into such a responsible adult.’

His grandmother eyed him coldly. ‘It is time, Leonardo, that we put the past behind us, and enjoy the present What little I have left of it,’ she added, laying a dramatic hand on her heart.

‘Nonna, you will live to be a hundred,’ he assured her, but from then on his manner became noticeably less hostile to the prodigal granddaughter.

Rosa’s teenage episode obviously rankles with him even now, thought Harriet, as the plates were removed. Leo, apparently taking his grandmother’s words to heart, helped both women to thin slices of spiced ham, and to the accompanying salad of cheese and ripe red tomato slices dressed with olive oil and basil. Harriet accepted his attentions politely, but listened with genuine interest as he talked of the latest Fortinari Chianti Classico.

‘Is that what we’re drinking?’ asked Harriet.

Leo raised his eyebrows. ‘No, little savage. This is from the 1997 vintage—the best for fifty years. Nonna has opened it in honour of your return.’

‘Instead of the fatted calf?’ said Harriet, smiling, and willed Leo to change the subject. One of the many differences between herself and Rosa Mostyn, was her very un-Italian ignorance of wine.

‘A fondness for wine was never one of your failings, darling,’ said Vittoria, startling Harriet by her insight. ‘At least,’ she added, eyes twinkling, ‘not when you were seventeen.’

Nor was it for Harriet now she was nine years older than that. Wine was an unaffordable luxury in the Foster household.

‘So, Rosa,’ said Leo, leaning back in his chair, ‘you are an important aid to the running of the Mostyn empire.’

Harriet was getting tired, and finding it hard to concentrate. She spoke Italian fluently enough, but an entire evening of conversation in a foreign tongue, while simultaneously trying to maintain a faultless impersonation of Rosa, was beginning to tell. ‘Two hotels can hardly be called an empire,’ she pointed out.

‘True,’ he allowed. ‘But they are successful, and well known to foreign visitors for their luxury and comfort. Perhaps I shall come and stay at your Hermitage, and sample the Mostyn hospitality myself one day.’

‘By all means,’ said Harriet, secure in the knowledge that if he did the real Rosa Mostyn would have the pleasure of entertaining him. A thought which gave her a sudden, unaccountable pang she put down to indigestion.

Signora Fortinari instructed Silvia to serve coffee in the salon. ‘Rosa has brought something beautiful to wear to my party,’ she informed Leo, as he helped her up from the table.

‘She could scarcely look more ravishing than she does tonight,’ he said, giving Harriet a smouldering look which clenched secret muscles in response under the clinging gossamer wool.

‘True,’ agreed his grandmother, ‘but tomorrow is a special occasion.’

Harriet detached her gaze from Leo’s with effort. ‘And because of it, I’ve actually brought two dresses. Tomorrow Nonna can choose which one she prefers.’

After the meal they went back to the salon to drink coffee under the painted cherubs on the exquisite, faded ceiling.

‘You always liked the putti,’ said Leo casually, following Harriet’s eyes. ‘You were fond of one in particular.’

‘The trumpeter blowing in his friend’s ear,’ agreed Harriet, blessing Rosa’s memory for detail.

‘You look tired, dearest,’ said Signora Fortinari lovingly. ‘Drink your coffee, then off you go to bed so that you will be fresh and sparkling for my celebration tomorrow.’

‘Signora?’ said Silvia from the door. ‘Could you come, please?’

‘Another crisis,’ said her mistress with a sigh as Leo helped her to her feet.

‘I will keep Rosa entertained until you return,’ he assured her.

Harriet received the news with mixed feelings, hoping the problem in the kitchen would be resolved quickly, before Rosa’s formidable cousin tripped her up in some way.

‘Perhaps you would care to go out onto the loggia?’ he suggested. ‘Even the moon is obedient to Nonna’s wishes for a perfect birthday.’

Welcoming the idea of concealing moonlight Harriet went out ahead of him and leaned her hands on the balustrade as she gazed at the panorama before her. The summits of the rolling hills were bathed in bright moonlight, but a thin veil of mist added an ethereal touch to the half-hidden village below.

‘I’d forgotten how beautiful it is,’ she said quietly. Which was true. Each time she’d returned to Northern Italy in her student days her reaction had been the same.

‘And I had forgotten how beautiful you are, Rosa,’ said Leo softly, his eyes on her profile. ‘You have changed so much it is hard to believe you once caused me—and not only me—so much trouble.’

‘I was very young, Leo. I’m not the same person I was then.’ Her mouth twisted wryly at the truth of it. ‘Surely it’s a good thing that I’ve changed?’

‘Very good,’ he said huskily, and moved closer. ‘So good that perhaps now is the time to kiss and be friends.’

CHAPTER THREE

ROSA HAD BEEN RATHER VAGUE about the exact nature of the trouble with Leo Fortinari, but since it seemed likely kissing had come into it somewhere Harriet stepped back, determined to avoid stirring up any extra trouble on Rosa’s behalf. Or her own.

‘You disagree?’ said Leo. His voice dropped half an octave, causing turbulence Harriet’s clinging dress failed to disguise from him. His eyes dropped to the hurried movement of her breasts, and she turned away quickly, her hot hands grateful for the cold stone of the balustrade.

‘No games, please, Leo,’ she said acidly. ‘I’m not seventeen anymore.’

‘No, you are not,’ he whispered, moving close behind her.

Harriet tried hard to control her breathing as she felt the heat of his body penetrate through her dress. She tensed, feeling his breath on her neck as his hands appeared either side of hers on the balustrade, preventing her escape.

‘As Nonna said,’ he breathed against her hair, ‘it is time to forget—and forgive—the past. The present is so much more appealing, Rosa.’ She tensed as his arms slid round her from behind, his hands cupping her breasts, his mouth pressed to the hollow behind her ear.

Harriet stood motionless, head bowed, her hands clenched on the balustrade as she controlled her mutinous senses, forcing them to ignore the fire his caressing hands and lips sent streaking through her body. Stay cool and distant, she told herself wildly, and by superhuman effort controlled every muscle and quivering nerve in her body, as she battled with the urge to twist round in Leo Fortinari’s arms and surrender her mouth to the lips now moving along her jaw.

It seemed an eternity before Leo became convinced of the message she was sending him, but at last he moved away, breathing audibly, and leaned, arms folded, against one of the columns of the loggia. From the corner of her eye Harriet saw him staring down-at the view below, his profile hard and cold as marble in the moonlight.

‘When you were young you desired my caresses, Rosa,’ he said harshly.

Harriet wanted them right now, a discovery which rendered her speechless.

‘You were a most persistent charmer in those days,’ he went on, as though they were discussing the weather. ‘You threatened to kill yourself if I spumed your rash little overtures.’

‘Emotional blackmail,’ said Harriet wearily. ‘Teenage hormones on the rampage. As you can see, I didn’t carry out my threat.’

‘For which,’ he said smoothly, turning a dark, discerning eye on her, ‘we are all grateful, Rosa.’

‘Are you?’

Leo smiled, his teeth showing white in the half light. ‘If you tried your wiles on me now, I would be more receptive.’

Harriet suppressed a shiver at the thought of it.

‘You are cold?’ he said instantly. ‘Let me give you my jacket—’

‘No,’ she said quickly, and turned towards the open doorway. ‘Let’s go inside.’

Indoors, in the warm light from the lamps in the salon, Harriet was composed enough to smile politely into Leo’s watchful face as she resumed her place on the sofa.

‘Will I know all the guests at the party tomorrow?’ she asked, determinedly conversational. Rosa had made a list of likely people, and described their background and relationships, but if Leo had any helpful information Harriet was keen to add it to her research.

‘Mainly the family and a few of Nonna’s friends. Why? Will that bore you?’ he asked cuttingly.

Harriet shook her head, determined, if it killed her, to keep things pleasant. ‘No. But it’s years since I was here. I’m worried I won’t remember everybody.’

Leo gave her a smile which raised the hairs along her spine. ‘In that case, little cousin, I shall stay very close at all times to whisper reminders in your ear.’

‘Bravo,’ approved Signora Fortinari, coming to join them. ‘It is good to see you together, friends again.’

‘For you, Nonna, anything that makes you happy,’ declared Leo. ‘But now I must leave. I have many things to do before I seek my lonely bed.’

His grandmother reached up to kiss his cheek. ‘Try to seek it a little earlier tonight, my love.’

He laughed affectionately, and patted her hand. ‘Have no fear, Nonna. I shall make sure that Dante, Mirella and Franco all arrive in good time tomorrow.’

‘Such a pity that your mother and father are in California,’ sighed the signora. ‘But I absolutely forbade them to cut short their holiday.’ A sudden smile lit the magnificent dark eyes. ‘And to make up for their absence I have Rosa.’

‘For which, of course, we all rejoice,’ said Leo smoothly, and moved to stand over Harriet. ‘Good night, cousin. I shall see you tomorrow.’

She tensed, afraid for a split second that he intended to kiss her. Instead he raised her hand to his lips, looking into her eyes to gauge her reaction as he deliberately touched his tongue to her hot skin.

She pulled her hand away and bade him a very husky good night, her colour heightened. With a look of triumph in his eyes he bowed gracefully, turned away to embrace his grandmother, then left them alone together.

Vittoria Fortinari turned to Harriet with a happy sigh. ‘Now, darling, what would you like to drink before we go to bed?’

Harriet had trouble in getting to sleep that night, her wakefulness nothing to do with the fear of discovery, or the strange bed, or even nerves about the party. The problem was Leo Fortinari. For some reason she’d taken it for granted she would feel as hostile towards him as Rosa did. It had never occurred to her that she would be so powerfully attracted to him. On the moonlit loggia it had taken every last scrap of will-power she possessed to withstand the persuasion of his mouth and skilled, arousing fingertips. Harriet shivered, her face burning as she felt her nipples rise and harden against the silk of Rosa’s nightgown. If he’d kissed her mouth... She flipped over in the bed, her hands clenched in the pillow as she burrowed her face into it.

What was Leonardo Fortinari up to? she thought stormily. According to Rosa he had been the deciding factor in her exile from Fortino all these years. And right up to the little interlude on the loggia his attitude had shown small sign of change. Which had made his lovemaking all the more shocking. Harriet gritted her teeth. Her main worry now was nothing to do with the guests at the party, only the fact that Leo had promised—or threatened—to stay close by her side all night to supply the missing names. A prospect which did nothing at all for her insomnia.

Vittoria Fortinari’s birthday dawned bright and sunny, chilly enough at the Villa’s altitude for Harriet to put on one of Rosa’s sweaters over her shirt and jeans to eat breakfast. She stole downstairs, holding a large shiny carrier bag behind her back, and met Silvia in the hall, carrying a large tray into the salon.

‘Good morning. The signora will be with you in a moment,’ gasped the plump little woman, as she put the tray down on a table. ‘She ordered breakfast in here just for today. The dining room is ready for the party.’

‘Can I do anything to help?’ asked Harriet, hiding the bag behind a chair.

Silvia looked doubtful. ‘But the signora—’

‘I’d like to help,’ said Harriet firmly.

‘In what way, exactly?’ asked Vittoria Fortinari, hurrying into the room. ‘Good morning, darling. You can bring the coffee in now, Silvia, please.’

‘Good morning, and happy, happy birthday,’ said Harriet, kissing Rosa’s grandmother with an affection she found remarkably easy. Her own grandmother would have pushed her away irritably if she’d tried anything so demonstrative.

‘Thank you, Rosa.’ Vittoria beamed, looking so happy Harriet banished all her qualms about the impersonation and set herself to make the day as special for Rosa’s grandmother as possible.

They sat down with plates on their knees in picnic fashion, the older woman obviously enjoying the novelty as they ate slices of melon and ate hot rolls fresh from the bakery in the village before finishing all the coffee Silvia brought them. While they ate Harriet volunteered her skill at table-laying, and at folding napkins into flower shapes, skills Vittoria took to be part of Rosa’s training at the Hermitage, but which had actually been acquired in less exalted catering establishments during Harriet’s university vacations.

‘I really would like to help,’ said Harriet, meaning it on her own behalf, and at the same time hoping the offer would win points for Rosa.

‘Then you shall,’ said the signora fondly. ‘I can set a table well enough, but transforming napkins into flowers is beyond me, alas. And certainly beyond Silvia and the helpers we’ve brought in from the village. ’

Once Silvia had cleared away, Harriet reached behind her chair for the large scarlet bag and handed it over. ‘Happy birthday again, Nonna.’

Signora Fortinari received the bag with girlish excitement, exclaiming at the number of parcels inside. Knowing that Rosa had taken endless time and care to think of a gift that would please her grandmother most, Harriet watched, feeling tense on Rosa’s behalf, as Vittoria unwrapped a box and lifted the lid, then stared down at its contents with eyes which filled with tears she dashed instantly away. She took out the photograph with unsteady hands, one finger smoothing the chased silver frame as she gazed down at the faces of her daughter and son-in-law, taken only a month before the air crash.

Rosa had taken the photograph herself on her parents’ last anniversary. Happy and smiling on a sunlit afternoon on the beach where the family had gathered for a picnic, the couple were laughing at the camera, their arms around each other.

For a moment, as she watched, Harriet experienced a painful sense of intrusion. Then she forced herself back into the role she was playing, and cleared her throat. ‘I thought you’d like to remember them like that. I hope it hasn’t made you sad.’

Rosa’s grandmother put the photograph down very gently, then embraced Harriet, kissing her tenderly. ‘Such a beautiful thought, Rosa. Thank you, my darling. ’

‘Open the rest, then,’ commanded Harriet huskily. ‘Another one from me, and one each from Tony and Allegra.’

Rosa’s second gift was a cashmere sweater and long cardigan in a subtle shade of rose pink, and Signora Fortinari promptly tried on the cardigan, and pronounced it perfect. She kept it on as she unwrapped Tony’s present, which was a set of photograph frames, but in gold leaf and empty this time, ready to frame studies of the new little Mostyn when he arrived.

‘They know it is a son?’ said the prospective great-grandmother in wonder.

‘Modern technology, Nonna,’ said Harriet.

Allegra’s present was a whole range of wickedly expensive skin-care products, which Tony, according to Rosa, had considered a rather strange present for a woman of eighty. When Harriet told the birthday girl this she laughed delightedly.

‘Men! Allegra chose well. I see no reason why age should prevent me from pampering my skin.’

The rest of the day passed swiftly. Harriet was admitted to the large kitchen, where a crowd of voluble women gave the visitor a warm welcome as they began on the final preparations. Harriet helped lay a vast, damask cloth on the long table in the dining room, then began fashioning the matching napkins into lily and rosebud shapes which won the extravagant admiration of Silvia and her crew as they stacked plates and silverware at one end of the table, to leave room for the great platters of food they had taken days to prepare for the event.

And when floral birthday tributes arrived for Signora Fortinari at regular intervals, Harriet won everyone’s gratitude by arranging them in artistic displays to decorate the salon and the hall, and as a spectacular centrepiece for the table.

Because the day was warm enough to eat lunch out on the loggia Harriet insisted on serving it there herself to free Silvia for more pressing duties.

‘You have changed so much, Rosa,’ said Vittoria Fortinari, leaning back in a cane chair as she smiled at Harriet.

‘I’ve grown up,’ said Harriet soberly. Which was true enough, of both Rosa and herself. In different ways very difficult as teenagers, she felt that both of them had grown into women with more responsibility and gravitas than either of their families had ever dared hope at one time. She paused in the act of pouring coffee, seized by a sudden surge of anticipation as she heard an engine growling up the bends of the road towards the villa.

‘Dante!’ said the signora, to Harriet’s disappointment. Vittoria Fortinari beamed as a scarlet motor cycle streaked perilously through the stone pillars below and roared up the garden to come to a spectacular halt at the foot of the stone steps. A smaller, younger, and more beautiful version of Leo vaulted from it and ran up the stairs towards them, stopping in front of the signora with a low, flourishing bow, before seizing her in his arms and giving her a resounding kiss on both cheeks.

‘Happy birthday, Nonna,’ he said, in lighter, more musical tones than his brother, then turned to eye Harriet with open appreciation. ‘And this, of course, is the famous Rosa!’

Harriet was beginning to think that Rosa had been dangerously economical with the details of her youthful transgression. For a moment she eyed the slim figure in black leather quizzically, then gave him a friendly smile and held out her hand.

‘And this is the famous Dante.’

Dante laughed delightedly, took the hand in his and kissed her on both cheeks. ‘You were only ten when I saw you last, Rosa,’ he said, eyes dancing. ‘You were all eyes and braids. And permanently in trouble.’

‘Not any more,’ she assured him. At least, not if she could possibly help it.

‘Leo said I should wait until tonight to meet you again,’ he said cheerfully, ‘but I was impatient to see if you had improved since I saw you last, Rosa. And you have!’

‘Many thanks,’ said Harriet dryly.

‘Impudent boy,’ said his grandmother lovingly. ‘Sit down and drink some coffee.’

‘In a moment,’ he promised, and went back down to the Ducati. He took a parcel from the pannier, then raced up the steps and went down on one knee in front of his grandmother. ‘For the love of my life,’ he said theatrically, and handed the present over.

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