Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

About The Author

Title Page

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

“You mean come and live in your new house?”

“Just until your tenant moves out. Or until we come to blows. Whichever happens soonest.” He looked at her astonished face in silence. “Are you ever going to say anything, Sassy?”

“Do you mean this, Luke?” she said hesitantly. “Wouldn’t I be.well.rather in the way sometimes?”

“When, exactly?”

She eyed him balefully. “When you say ‘Your place or mine?’ and the lady chooses yours, Luke Armytage. As you know perfectly well.”

“Two relatives sharing a house is not exactly front-page news, Sassy. No one would be surprised.”

CATHERINE GEORGE was born in Wales, and at a young age developed a passion for reading, which eventrally fueled her compulsion to write. Marriage to an engineer led to nine years living in Brazil, but on his later travels the schooling of their son and daughter kept her in the U.K. Instead of constant reading to pass her lonely evenings she began to write the first of her romance novels. When not writing and reading, she loves to cook, listen to opera, browse in antique shops and walk the family’s Labrador dog.

Look out for Catherine George’s next book, The Baby Claim (#2048), available in August, wherever Harlequin books are sold.

A Rumoured Engagement

Catherine George

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

THE bright Tuscan sunlight was almost gone. When it became too dark to read Saskia let her book fall gently to the flagged floor, turned on the ‘hot’ tap with her toe until the water was warm enough, and sank back in surroundings picturesque enough to tempt any lingerer. The crimson roll-top art nouveau bath had a white interior and white claw feet, its eighteen-nineties elegance harmonising well with the ancient stone walls of the bathroom. Piles of white crimson-bordered towels lay near the bath on a gilt and wicker stool, and on the far wall a large, dim mirror in an ornate gilt frame reflected the last glow of sunset.

Saskia roused herself eventually to wash her hair, kneeling with the spray attachment turned on her head until the water ran clear, then stood up, thrusting the streaming hair from her face. And froze, arm upraised, as the door opened and a man stopped dead on the threshold, as though he’d walked into glass. He stared in shock for a split second, muttered an appalled apology and slammed the door shut. Heart hammering, Saskia let out a long, shaky breath, and leapt from the bath to wrap herself in a towelling robe. She swathed a towel turbanwise round her hair, then breathed in, squared her shoulders and sallied forth to confront the intruder.

He was outside on the terrace, tall and loose-limbed in jeans and a thin cotton shirt, tawny hair lit by the last glow of sunset, familiar in every detail. He turned from contemplation of the landscape to greet her with the wry, lopsided smile which most women, other than Saskia, found so irresistible.

‘Hello, little sister. I apologise humbly. I had no idea you were here.’

‘Likewise.’ Saskia eyed him militantly. ‘Mother didn’t say you were in the neighbourhood.’

‘Or you’d have given Tuscany a wide berth?’

‘Not at all,’ she retorted. ‘You frightened me out of my wits, that’s all. I thought you were an intruder.’

‘Which I am, of course. I should have checked with Marina.’ He looked over her shoulder into the large sparsely furnished room. ‘I take it Lawford is with you?

‘No, he’s not’

‘No?’ He raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘I thought you two were more or less joined at the hip these days. During my last visit to Oxford, Marina seemed to think you’d found Mr Right at last.’

‘At last?’ Her eyes glittered coldly.

He leaned on one of the archways, arms folded. ‘You can’t deny an impressively long line of hopeful contenders for your fair hand in the past, Sassy. But I heard Francis Lawford was thought to be the lucky man.’

‘Don’t be sarcastic,’ she snapped.

His green eyes opened in mock surprise. ‘I meant it quite literally, little sister. The man you choose will be fortunate indeed.’

Saskia eyed him suspiciously. ‘I never know when you’re being serious, Lucius Armytage.’

‘I know,’ he agreed affably. ‘All part of the Armytage charm. Now, before you cast me out into the night, would you mind very much if I had the bath I was after earlier on?’

‘You’ve as much right to a bath and bed here as me,’ she said grudgingly. Then, abruptly, as much to her own surprise as his, offered to provide supper. ‘I’ve made some pasta. There’s enough for two. You can share it, if you like.’

He stared at her blankly for a moment, then smiled. ‘I’d like that very much, Sass-Saskia,’ he amended hurriedly at her scowl. ‘Give me half an hour to wash off the picturesque dust of Tuscany and I’ll be the perfect supper guest.’ He sketched a mocking bow. ‘And provide the obligatory bottle, of course. I left a fair selection here on my last visit.’

Saskia shrugged. ‘It’s a pretty ordinary meal, oh, Master of Wine. Not fit for your finest Barolo, or whatever.’

‘I’m sure I’ll find something appropriate.’ He paused in the doorway. ‘Now I come to think of it, we’ve never shared a meal alone together before, little sister. Which calls for something special to mark the occasion.’

Saskia watched him go, frowning, then took off the towel and shook out her hair, gazing at the stars piercing the twilight sky. She had run away to the Villa Rosa to lick her wounds in private. But after three days of her own undiluted company she found she quite welcomed the prospect of a guest for dinner. Even in the shape of Luke Armytage.

In her uncluttered bedroom on the upper floor, where pale curtains moved gently at the open window, Saskia dried her hair, brushing it into the chin-length bell-like shape she’d paid a small fortune for the week before in London. Her departure had been hurried, with only a large canvas hold-all for luggage, which meant that her choice of clothes was limited. And because Luke had a maddening habit of looking just right at all times, Saskia discarded the jeans and sweatshirt she’d had ready in favour of a short, clinging dress in dark brown jersey with a plunging V-shaped neckline.

After three long days spent in Tuscan sunshine her olive skin was the colour of honey, and to show off her tan she thrust the sleeves up to her elbows, slid her bare feet into gilt thonged sandals, and added a few deft touches to her eyes and lips. When she went downstairs Luke was waiting for her on the terrace, dressed in pale trousers and a yellow shirt, his wet hair slicked back. Two large glasses and an opened bottle of wine waited on one of the tables.

‘I thought we might have some of this beforehand,’ he said, half filling the glasses.

Saskia took one from him with a word of thanks. ‘What shall we drink to?’

‘To us,’ he said promptly, and swirled the wine in his glass, sniffing deeply. ‘Not bad,’ he pronounced, after tasting it.

She copied the process mockingly, took in a little air with the wine, and savoured the taste on her tongue. ‘Delicious. Not that I’m an expert like you. What is it?’

‘You mentioned pasta, which is what I meant to cook for myself tonight, so I looked out a local table wine. This one’s particularly good-note the fresh crimson tint. How would you describe the flavour?’

Saskia took another mouthful and waited for the aftertaste, which lingered long enough to tell her the wine was a good one. ‘Cherries?’

Luke nodded. ‘Clever girl. Juicy, bitter cherries, at that.’ He raised his glass again. ‘To my good fortune.’

‘You’ve run something really special to earth today?’

‘In a way.’ He gave her a leisurely top-to-toe inspection. ‘I meant I’m pleased to have an unexpected companion for dinner. And you look very special indeed, Sassy. Am I allowed to pay you compliments?’

‘The “special” part’s all right,’ she retorted, ‘but not the name.’

‘All right, Saskia. I won’t tease.’ He held out the bottle, but she shook her head.

‘I’ll leave it until we eat. Otherwise you’d have to cook the dinner.’

‘I can, easily,’ he assured her.

‘I know. You can do everything,’ she said, resigned. ‘Tonight, however, you’ll have to put up with my cuisine.’

‘Gladly!’

She eyed him suspiciously. ‘You’re being very nice to me tonight, Luke. Why?’

‘Does there have to be a reason?’

She looked away. ‘I thought my mother might have said something.’

He shook his head. ‘I haven’t spoken to Marina for some time. r’ve been on my usual treasure hunt. I only hope the business isn’t grinding to a halt in my absence.’

Lucius Armytage was a wine merchant, with two London-based shops and a mail-order service, all of them specialising in quality wines for the connoisseur. Although only in his mid thirties, he was a Master of Wine, a successful businessman, and the author of a book dedicated to bringing the pleasure of wine to a wider audience. And in the ten years since his father had married her mother he had always managed to rouse resentment in Saskia Ford.

Tonight, it seemed, despite the embarrassing incident earlier, Luke was favouring her with the easy charm he normally reserved for the rest of her sex.

‘You can stay here and watch the stars come out,’ she said, getting up. ‘Or you can come and watch while I put the meal together.’

Luke got up at once, and collected the glasses and wine. ‘That’s no choice, little sister.’

In the kitchen Saskia put a pan of sauce on to heat, and without being asked Luke put knives and forks on the table, found checked cotton napkins and talked easily of his travels in his constant search for quality wine to sell in his shops.

‘I’ve been in Piedmont-or Piemonte, whichever you like. Magnificent food, and wine to match.’

‘It must be a wonderful thing to have a satisfying job which takes you to such beautiful places,’ she said enviously, and plunged fresh ribbons of pasta into a pot of boiling water.

‘Don’t you enjoy your job?’ he said, surprised. ‘I thought life on the trading floor of your smart bank was the ultimate buzz.’

‘It was, once.’ Saskia shrugged. ‘Lately I’ve lost the taste for it. But I’ve got a mortgage to pay off, and so on, so I suppose I just have to stick at it. I’m not a City trader with a high salary, remember. I’ve been Charles Harrison’s PA for so long he takes me for granted, keeps delegating more and more to me-but enough of that. This is nearly ready.’

They sat down to steaming plates of pasta bathed in a tomato sauce perfumed with garlic and basil, and rich with mussels and prawns.

‘Ah,’ said Luke, sniffing the air with reverence as he poured the wine. ‘Marina’s special sauce.’ He shot a look at Saskia. ‘Did you make this?’

‘Of course. I made the pasta, too.’

They ate without talking for a while—Saskia’s hunger, for the first time in days, matching that of her unexpected visitor.

Luke paused to cut hunks off the loaf which lay nearby on a board. ‘Want some of this to mop up?’

Saskia nodded, wiping the bread round her plate greedily until the last drop was gone, something she would never have done in company with Francis.

‘Were you expecting company tonight?’ Luke asked curiously when their plates were empty.

‘No.’

‘Then how did you have this ready and waiting?’

‘I made the basic sauce and the pasta yesterday, but I haven’t been feeling very hungry lately, so I left it for today and added the mussels and prawns. Which was lucky for you. Your timing was impeccable.’ She got up to take the plates. “There’s some pecorino in the fridge.’

‘Perfect.’ Luke watched her as she set the cheese and a bowl of peaches on the table. ‘How long have you been here?’

‘Three days.’

‘How long are you staying?’

‘Eleven more, unless I get bored with my own company.’ Saskia eyed him with sudden hostility. ‘Why? Am I in your way?’

Luke shook his head, and cut another slice of bread to eat with his cheese. ‘It’s the other way round, surely?

You were here first.’ His eyes met hers. ‘Did you know that Marina gave me a key to this place years ago? It’s a boon to me on my travels. I get heartily fed up with hotels.’

‘I knew you used it occasionally, of course.’ A faint, wry smile touched the corners of her mouth. ‘I didn’t give you a thought on my headlong rush here, I’m afraid.’

‘Or at any other time,’ he said dryly, and began peeling a peach with precision, his eyes fixed on the task. ‘Am I allowed to ask why you rushed?’

Saskia shrugged. ‘I suppose so. Though it’s not very interesting. I was going to spend my holiday in a very different way. But fate had a trick up her sleeve.’

Luke leaned forward and laid the peach on her plate. ‘I assume this is something to do with Francis Lawford?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then if he’s hurt you in some way I imagine you hold me responsible.’

Saskia stared at him. ‘Why on earth should I do that?’

‘I introduced him to you.’ Luke’s long, flexible mouth went down at the corners. ‘He was damned persistent about it. You remember the occasion?’

Saskia nodded. Her mother and stepfather had persuaded her to go with them to a wine tasting at one of Luke’s shops. And Francis Lawford, development director of a successful restaurant group, had been among the other guests. He fancied himself as something of a connoisseur, and was a regular customer at Armytage Wines, both for himself and for the restaurant chain. The rest, she thought morosely, was history. Past history now.

‘Until recently I was very grateful for the introduction,’ she assured Luke. ‘But I don’t want to talk about that right now. The dinner wasn’t bad, and the wine was wonderful. I don’t want to ruin a pleasant evening.’ Which was true, she realised, with faint surprise. The evening so far had been far more pleasant than expected.

Luke laughed. ‘I’d take that as more of a compliment if you didn’t look so astonished about it.’

Saskia smiled suddenly, and he nodded in approval.

‘That’s better. The first real smile since I arrived.’

‘Since I arrived, too,’ she said lightly. ‘Let me clear this away, then we’ll have coffee on the terrace.’

‘Right.’ Luke got up and went over to one of the floorto-ceiling cupboards. ‘There should be some Vin Santo in here to drink with it.’

‘Don’t you ever think of anything but wine?’ she said, laughing.

He turned mocking eyes on her. ‘Indeed I do. But I won’t shock you by giving details of my private life! Besides, Vin Santo is regarded here as the wine of friendship. It might help to stop us fighting.’ He sobered, looking at her searchingly, then turned back to the cupboard. ‘Is Marina perfectly happy about your solitary holiday?’

‘Not perfectly, no. What are you looking for?’

‘Eureka,’ he said in triumph, and returned to the table with a bottle of Vin Santo and a packet of santuccihard little almond biscuits-to eat with it. He filled two small glasses, and dipped one of the biscuits into his own. ‘Go on. When in Rome, and all that.’

Saskia dipped a biscuit, and nibbled. ‘I hope I can sleep after all this.’

‘Has sleep been difficult lately?’

‘Yes.’

There was silence for a moment. Then Luke stretched out a hand and touched hers very fleetingly. ‘Problems, Sassy?’

She removed her hand, and turned away to the coffee pot on the stove. ‘Nothing I won’t solve. In time.’

‘In other words, Mind your own business, Armytage.’

Saskia shook her head. ‘I didn’t mean that at all. It’s just hard to admit that I’ve been a fool.’

‘Over Lawford?’

‘Yes.’

Luke contemplated her thoughtfully. ‘Is there anything I can do? In my capacity as brother I could go and have a word with him for you, if you like.’

‘In which case you might lose his order. I gather it’s pretty substantial. And in any case you’re not my brother.’

‘I’m your stepbrother.’

‘Just because my mother married your father it doesn’t mean we’re related, Lucius Armytage,’ she retorted.

Luke’s eyes frosted over. ‘No. You’ve always made that very plain.’ He drained his glass and stood up. ‘The wine didn’t work after all. Don’t bother about coffee, I’m for bed-’

‘Please don’t go yet,’ said Saskia urgently. ‘I’m sorry, Luke. I didn’t mean to snap.’ She managed a smile. ‘I’m actually rather tired of my own company. We could play some music, or just count the stars. We don’t have to talk.’

He looked at her in silence for a moment, then shrugged. ‘We can talk for a while, if that’s what you want’

Outside, under the pergola, they sat in silence in the starlit darkness at first, then began talking about their respective parents, and the twins, and Saskia’s job as PA to the head of capital markets in one of the City’s merchant banks.

‘I’m thinking of making a move,’ she said, with a sigh. ‘Orchestrating the constant changes in my boss’s schedule is quite a challenge. Of course I like the client contact and the project work. And the bank is a prestigious one-looks good on my CV. But the past few days on my own here have given me time to think, take stock. Here in Tuscany the City seems like something on another planet.’ She smiled. ‘Of course, when I get back home I’ll probably be glad of the hustle and bustle. But at the moment I hate the thought of it.’

Luke’s wicker chair creaked as he stretched out his long legs. ‘I’m fortunate, I suppose. My way of earning my daily bread is unfailingly interesting-to me, anyway-not least because I travel regularly in pleasant places.’

‘But everything always has gone smoothly for you, Luke.’

‘Not entirely.’ He paused. ‘I wasn’t very happy when my parents divorced, believe me.’

Saskia bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think. How old were you when they parted? Thirteen, fourteen?’

‘Fifteen. Not quite grown up. In fact still young enough to bawl like a baby the night my mother told me she was going to live in America with Joe Harley. I could spend my holidays in California with them, she assured me, and we could talk on the phone all the time, and write to each other regularly. None of which was much comfort to me at the time.’

Saskia sat very still, listening intently. Luke had never said a word on this particular subject before.

‘In the end,’ Luke went on, ‘I even gained in some ways. I owe my interest in wine to Joe. He was always very good to me. I spent a lot of holidays helping out in his vineyards in Napa Valley, learning about New World viticulture almost by osmosis.’

‘But you lived with your father.’

‘Until I could afford a place of my own, yes. Dad had some idea about selling the house in Oxford at first, but I think he kept it on so I wouldn’t have too many changes to cope with at once. And now he’s glad he did, of course.’ He chuckled. ‘Funny, really. My mother couldn’t cope with the academic life. Marriage to an Oxford don wasn’t her scene at all. Yet Marina seems to thrive on it. But I’ve often wondered if she minded moving into what was virtually another woman’s home.’

‘Mother and I lived in a cramped little flat over her dress shop, Luke, so she adored the house from the first. Besides, she made some changes once we moved in. Even more when the boys were born.’ She paused. ‘How did you feel when the twins arrived?’

Luke laughed. ‘Astonished, at first. But who could resist that pair of charmers? My father was as pleased as Punch. I was happy for him. He spent ten lonely years on his own before he met your mother, remember. She gave him a new lease of life.’ He turned to look at her. ‘Your father died before you were born, I know. While we’re on the subject, how did you shape up to the thought of a stepfather?’

Saskia was quiet for a moment. ‘At first,’ she said slowly, ‘I was afraid and miserable, sure Sam would come between Mother and me. But I soon got over that once I knew him better. He’s always been kindness itself to me.’

‘The only fly in the ointment, then, was me.’

Saskia had been fifteen, and Luke ten years older when Samuel Armytage had married Marina Ford. Saskia had been prickly and full of illogical resentment for the good-looking, energetic young man, who had already opened the first of his shops and owned a smart car and a flat in Parsons Green.

‘You were so perfect, Lucius Armytage, and so superior and horribly pleased with yourself. You always had some gorgeous, slender sexpot in tow, while I was a seething mass of teenage angst with puppy fat, spots on my face and braces on my teeth. How I loathed you!’

‘Don’t I know it?’ he said with feeling. ‘I used to time my visits home for when you weren’t around.’

‘Don’t think I didn’t notice!’

He laughed. ‘I hope I’ve changed a bit since then. You certainly have. Our paths haven’t crossed for a while lately, but I hear the news from Dad and Marina. They seemed rather relieved that you’d stopped changing the boyfriend every five minutes and settled on one, at last’

‘Wrong one, as it happens,’ she said lightly.

‘Want to talk about it?’

‘No, thanks. You don’t want a tearful woman on your hands at this time of night.’

‘Hurt badly, Sassy?’

His tone was so unexpectedly tender her throat thickened.

‘Hopping mad, rather than hurt,’ she said gruffly. ‘With myself, for being such a fool. Mortifying. I honestly thought I had better judgement.’

‘I meant what I said about having a word with Lawford,’ he said casually, getting to his feet. ‘Or whatever you prefer in the way of chastisement. I object to my relatives getting hurt.’

‘But we’re not really relatives, Luke.’

‘How would you describe us, then?’

‘Connections?’

‘Too remote. As far as Lawford’s concerned you’re my stepsister.’ His smile was even more crooked than usual. ‘I reserve the right to come the heavy brother if he’s caused you lasting damage, Saskia.’

‘The damage is to my pride only-and very temporary. But thank you for the thought. It’s very-sweet of you.’

Luke chuckled. ‘That’s a first. No one’s ever called me sweet before.’

‘Not even Zoë?’

‘Definitely not Zoë. You’re out of touch. That’s been over some time.’

Something Saskia knew perfectly well. ‘Really? Who’s the current lady, then?’

‘There isn’t one. I’ve been too busy.’ Luke took the tray from her. ‘I’ll see to these if you’re tired.’

‘How domesticated,’ she mocked, and followed him through the living room and out into the kitchen.

‘We single chaps have to be these days.’

‘Doesn’t some kind lady wait on you hand and foot in your new house?’

Under the bright overhead light Luke gave her a sardonic look as he put the cups in the sink. ‘I have a cleaner, yes, whom I cherish because she’s large, cheerful, efficient and a doting grandma. As long as I exclaim over photographs of her brood she’s willing to “do” for me a couple of hours twice a week. Otherwise I cope unaided.’

‘And cope brilliantly, of course.’

‘Of course.’

Saskia shook her head, smiling, then yawned suddenly. ‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be. Perhaps you’ll sleep better tonight.’

‘I hope so. Goodnight, Luke.’

‘Goodnight, little sister. I’ll just sit on the terrace a while longer.’

Which was rather tactful of him, thought Saskia as she made preparations for the night. It saved bumping into him again tonight in awkward circumstances. She brushed her teeth vigorously, her cheeks burning. All evening she’d done her best to forget the earlier confrontation here in the bathroom. And Luke, somewhat to her surprise, had behaved as though their first meeting had been on the terrace. Which was unusual. His dealings with her normally held more than a tinge of mockery. Perhaps he’d been just as embarrassed as she was, of course. Or was being tactful because he was sorry for her-not a thought which pleased. She hated the thought of pity from Luke, or from anyone else.

Saskia stared at her flushed reflection, furious with herself now for spending so much money on her hair to please Francis. The hairdresser had added fine threads of gold here and there to highlight the tawny brown, and it looked good. But somehow it also emphasised the fact that she was alone here in Italy, instead of in London with Francis. Not that she was alone tonight. Despite their past lack of rapport she had been surprisingly glad of Luke’s company after the initial fright. She had begun to be tired of her own company. She would even miss him when he went on his way in the morning.

CHAPTER TWO

IN the morning, however, Saskia got up to find Luke sitting at the breakfast table with a pot of coffee in front of him, obviously in no hurry to go anywhere.

‘Good morning,’ she said, yawning.

‘Good morning, Sassy. Sleep well?’

She nodded. ‘Actually, I did. My sleepless nights finally caught up with me.’

Luke raised an eyebrow. ‘Or maybe you were more relaxed with company in the house.’

Saskia helped herself to coffee from the pot and sat down. ‘I’m not nervous on my own, Luke.’ She looked at him squarely. ‘What exactly are your plans? Is my presence here a problem?’

He returned the look in silence for a moment, then shrugged. ‘I admit I’d intended staying here for a few days. I should have checked with Marina. But not to worry; I’ll find a hotel.’

She drank some of her coffee. ‘You don’t have to do that,’ she said, after a while. ‘I’m sure we can manage to occupy the same house for a few days without coming to blows. Especially if you intend to be out every day.’

‘I can arrange to be out every evening as well,’ he said dryly, ‘if you’d prefer.’

Saskia could well imagine it. Luke was the sort of man who had friends everywhere. And not all of them female, she allowed, with justice.

‘It makes no difference to me either way,’ she said, deliberately indifferent. ‘Want some breakfast? No bacon and egg, though-just fruit, yoghurt and a couple of yesterday’s rolls I could heat up. I need to do some shopping.’

‘I could run you somewhere, if you like,’ he offered.

She shook her head. ‘No, thanks. I’ll walk to the village later.’

Luke jumped to his feet. ‘As you like. If you’ll excuse me I’ll take a shower. I skipped one earlier, in case I woke you.’

‘I’ll have breakfast ready by the time you are, then.’ He shook his head. ‘Don’t bother, Saskia. I’ll get something on my travels.’ He strode from the room without looking at her, and she stared after him, biting her lip.

She had offended him again. Which was by no means the first time. But this time, for once, she hadn’t intended to. On the rare occasions they spent time in each other’s company these days they were usually in Oxford, with Sam and Marina, and made an effort to remain civil. Not, conceded Saskia with sudden honesty, that Luke was ever uncivil. She was the culprit. Due to an in-house gym at the bank and a determinedly healthy diet her skin was good these days, and while she would never be thin she was no longer overweight. Nevertheless, the moment she was in Luke’s company some secret part of her instantly reverted to the plump, hostile teenager of their first meeting.

Saskia switched the oven on, set out butter, fruit and some cartons of yoghurt, made a fresh pot of coffee, then went out to sit on the terrace to lie in wait for Luke, in case he intended taking off without saying goodbye. She heard him leave the bathroom, then a minute or two later he came out on the terrace, wearing well-cut jeans and a white shirt, a lightweight jacket over his arm. But there was no suitcase in evidence, she noted, brightening.

‘I’m off, then, Saskia,’ he said briskly.

‘If you’ve got time, please stay and have breakfast first,’ she said. ‘I obviously put my foot in it again just now. I really didn’t mean to.’

Luke looked down at her, eyes narrowed, then he shrugged and laid his jacket down on one of the wicker chairs. ‘All right’

They ate yoghurt and peaches in silence, then Saskia poured coffee and got up to take the rolls from the oven.

‘Pax?’ she said lightly as she set them on the table.

Luke eyed her expressionlessly. ‘I don’t know. You tell me.’

She gave him a reluctant, apologetic smile. ‘I’m not at my best right now.’

‘And even at your best you’re not over-affectionate where I’m concerned.’ He took a roll and buttered it. ‘I’ve often wondered why, exactly, Saskia. Is there something about my person that offends you?’

‘No, of course not. It’s just-’ She shrugged. ‘I’m off men at the moment’

‘That explains this particular moment, maybe, but you’ve been hostile towards me for the best part of ten years.’ Luke stirred his coffee slowly, staring down into the cup. ‘I always assumed it was because Marina and I hit it off so well from the first’

‘Good heavens, no,’ Saskia said in genuine surprise. ‘I was pleased for Mother because you obviously liked her so much. She was very nervous about you before she met you.’

Luke’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Was she really? I never knew that’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Was that the problem, then? Because I made her nervous?’

Saskia sighed. ‘No. I told you why before. I resented you, Lucius Armytage, because I was such an ugly duckling.’

He let out a crack of laughter. ‘But that wasn’t my fault, Sassy.’

‘Of course it wasn’t-but I still hated you.’

‘Do you hate me still?’ he asked, surprising her.

‘No.’ She smiled a little. ‘At least, not so much.’

‘Good.’ He leaned back in his chair, scrutinising her lazily. ‘And you must know, if only from the odd look in the mirror, that Saskia grown up is no ugly duckling. Though,’ he added warily, ‘I’m not sure about the hair.’

‘You don’t like my gold threads?’

‘I meant the cut. I preferred that long mane of yours, Sassy.’

‘It’ll grow,’ she said prosaically. ‘Though I hope it doesn’t quite yet This particular visit to the hairdresser cost an arm and a leg, not to mention ages on a waiting list for the man who actually cut my hair.’

Luke raised an eyebrow. ‘Was this for some special occasion?’

‘Of course-in honour of moving in with Francis Lawford.’ Saskia refilled their cups, avoiding Luke’s eyes.

‘So what happened?’

‘I changed my mind.’

There was silence for a moment while he waited for her to say more. When she didn’t Luke finished his coffee and got up. ‘I must go.’

Saskia had also changed her mind about wanting to go with him. But Luke didn’t ask again. He collected his jacket and she went outside with him, unsurprised when she saw the shield-shaped radiator and distinctive crimson of an Alfa-Romeo roadster. Luke, even when hiring cars, veered towards the aesthetically pleasing.

‘Very nice,’ she said admiringly, and gave him a head-to-toe look. ‘All in keeping with your restrained elegance, stepbrother.’

‘You know the motto in Italy,’ he said, shrugging. ‘Look your best at all times and at all costs. Image is important in this neck of the woods.’ He got in the car and looked up at her.

‘So, apart from a hike to the village, what are you going to do today?’

‘As little as possible.’ She hesitated. ‘Will you be back for dinner?’

For a moment she was sure Luke meant to say no, but he nodded slowly. ‘Don’t go to any trouble. Something cold will be fine.’

Saskia watched the red car wind its way down the serpentine bends of the track which led from the Villa Rosa to the main road. After it had accelerated out of her view she stayed where she was for some time, her eyes on the undulating landscape with its colours of umber and ochre punctuated at intervals by dark fingers of cypress pointing up into the cobalt sky. These surroundings were no help in the present circumstances, she thought morosely. The beauty of it all was meant to be shared with a lover, not help one forget him.

She sighed impatiently and went back into the house to clear away the breakfast things, her mouth twisting a little at the hint of domesticity. Then as she was putting the dishes away she heard a car, and her eyes lit up. Luke was coming back. He must have forgotten something. And this time she would swallow her pride and ask to go with him.

But when Saskia hurried outside she found an elderly green Fiat instead of the smart Alfa-Romeo, and she masked her disappointment with a welcoming smile for Serafina Marenghi—the plump, bustling woman employed to look after the villa.

Teenaged Carlo, who smiled shyly from behind the wheel, was taking his mother shopping, and Serafina would be happy to make any purchases required. A list was made, a bundle of lire handed over, and Saskia advised to make the most of the sunshine—since, warned Serafina, glancing skywards, it would not last much longer. Cold weather was on its way.

Left with nothing to do, and all day to do it in, Saskia took Serafina’s advice. She changed her jeans and sweatshirt for a brief two-piece swimsuit, anointed herself with suncream, collected a novel and pulled one of the steamer chairs out into the sun. If nothing else she could at least augment her tan.

But the day passed very slowly. Odd, she thought, that yesterday had been spent in exactly the same way, but surely the minutes hadn’t crawled by like this. A little after midday she heard the Fiat chugging its way up to the house again, and pulled on her sweatshirt and jeans to take the groceries from Carlo, who shyly handed over a paper-wrapped bundle of herbs from his mother’s garden.

Saskia thanked him warmly, insisted he keep the change he proffered, and went inside with her haul. Serafina had kept to the list and added a few ideas of her own, as requested, so that the tall refrigerator now housed a salami, wafer-thin ham, slices of roast turkey breast, sausages flavoured with fennel, some buffalo mozzarella and a hunk of Parmesan. There were also several loaves of bread, some fresh rolls, a huge bag of tomatoes, some spinach, a melon, a few figs, and a dozen eggs supplied by Serafina from her own hens.

After putting away the surplus bread in the freezer, Saskia washed the spinach and steamed it lightly while she mixed eggs into extra-fine flour to make the pasta for the ravioli she intended giving Luke as a first course. Tonight, she vowed as she worked, she would be as pleasant and friendly a sister as any man could wish for. And for once it was good to have time for the kind of cooking learnt from her mother.

Marina had been born to an Italian mother and English father. Her brief marriage to a young pilot in the Royal Air Force had ended when he’d crashed during a training flight, leaving Marina widowed and six months pregnant at the age of twenty.

When the first wild agonies of grief were over Marina concentrated on making a future for herself and her child with the modest sum of money Richard Ford had left her, and set herself up in a shop which sold elegant, well-designed clothes at affordable prices. The premises she found had a small upstairs flat, and, with her mother’s help with the baby, the business acumen of her accountant father and her own flair for fashion, the dress shop with the simple name ‘Marina’ eventually became a success.

By the time Saskia was in her teens her grandparents had sold their house in England and retired to the Villa Rosa, which her grandfather John Harding had bought for his Anna Maria so that she could live out her remaining days in the sun of her native Tuscany.

It was around this time that Marina was asked to an Oxford dinner party where Samuel Armytage was a fellow guest. They were married a year later. Several years afterwards, to their combined shock and joy, Marina gave birth to twin boys, Jonathan and Matthew, who, unlike Luke, were the spitting image of their father.

Saskia rolled her pasta dough thinly, then pressed a rectangle of it over the raviolatrice, a tray with square, jagged-edged moulds which made light work of creating ravioli. Luke, she thought as she filled the hollows with spinach and ricotta cheese, followed his mother for looks, while she, according to her mother, was very much like the father she’d never known. But by complete coincidence physically Luke could well have been her brother. They were both tall, with long, narrow faces, tawny brown hair and green eyes. But her own were an opalescent almost-green, whereas Luke’s were darker, the colour of moss. The resemblance, which amused Marina and Sam, had always been a source of irritation for Saskia. But if Luke harboured any views on the subject he kept them to himself.

When the ravioli were stowed away in the refrigerator, ready to cook, Saskia returned to the sun with a book and lay there until late afternoon, when a sudden drop in temperature sent her indoors for a bath-this time with the bolt firmly home on the door. By the time six o’clock was pealing in some bell-tower in the distance Saskia was dressed in white Levi’s and a jade cotton shirt, her face burnished by her protracted session in the sun.

When the Alfa-Romeo came to a halt alongside the house half an hour later, Saskia was sitting amongst the pots of geraniums under the pergola. She looked up with a smile as Luke joined her.

‘Hi. You look hot. Had a busy day?’

‘Very. But productive. Good evening, Saskia.’ He looked at her with envy, the lopsided smile lifting one corner of his mouth. ‘I’m weary, travel-stained, and in much need of a shower. No need, I see, to ask how you are. You glow.’

‘I’ve spent most of the day in the sun.’

‘How was your walk to the village?’

‘It didn’t happen. Serafina and son went off in the car with my shopping list and saved me a trip.’ She stretched a little. ‘So I’ve done nothing all day.’

Luke sighed theatrically. ‘While I’ve spent my time chasing round a large part of Tuscany winkling out unusual top quality beverages I can sell at reasonable prices and still make a profit’

She grinned up at him. ‘But you succeeded. You’ve got that satisfied look about you—the hunter home from the hill with the best catch.’

‘I acquired some pretty impressive merchandise today. One so-called table wine is a real world-beater. I’ve got several customers waiting for it—’ He stopped, laughing. ‘Sorry. My hobby-horse tends to run away with me. By the way,’ he added, making for the door, ‘if you don’t feel like cooking we can always eat out somewhere. There’s a trattoria the other side of—’

‘Certainly not,’ said Saskia indignantly. ‘I’ve been slaving away most of the day over our meal, I’d have you know.’

‘I thought you said you’d been out in the sun.’

‘Not all day,’ she said demurely.

Luke leaned against one of the arches. ‘So what should I be opening in the way of wine?’

‘I’ve been reading your book on the subject,’ she said smugly. ‘I had a rummage down in the cellar, and some of your Dolcetto from Piedmont would be just the ticket. So I brought a bottle up. I’ll open it while you’re in the bath.’

‘What are we having?’

‘Wait and see!’

Luke gave her an amused, considering look, then excused himself and went off whistling into the house. When he returned, half an hour later, in khaki trousers and another of his thin white shirts, Saskia was sitting at the table on the terrace with an opened bottle and two glasses on the table beside her.

‘I could get used to this very easily,’ he remarked, and poured wine into the glasses before letting himself down beside her with a sigh. ‘An evening with stars and a rising moon, with just that hint of cold to warn us to enjoy it while we may—and a beautiful woman for company. One, moreover, who is also providing dinner. I usually eat out when I’m here on my own.’

‘I suppose you know a lot of people in the area.’ She revolved the wine in her glass and sniffed deeply before tasting it, secretly much gratified by the compliment.

‘I do. What do you think of the wine?’

‘Lovely. Soft and very fruity.’

‘And fairly alcoholic,’ he warned.

‘Don’t worry. I never drink more than two glasses of anything.’ Her smile was sardonic. ‘Even after my experience with Francis I consoled myself with chocolate, not alcohol.’

Luke was silent for a while. ‘As must be perfectly obvious, Saskia, I burn with curiosity on this particular subject. And not just because I brought you and Lawford together, either.’

‘All right,’ said Saskia briskly. ‘After dinner I’ll tell you my story if you tell me yours.’

Luke turned his head to look at her in the dusk. ‘What story?’

‘You and Zoë. I thought you two were headed for the altar.’ She smiled at his raised eyebrows. ‘She’s the only one you ever brought to Christmas in Oxford. Mother was planning her wedding outfit.’

‘It’s a very short story,’ he said dismissively. ‘Not even very interesting. But, if you want to hear it, why not? Though you’ve never shown much interest in my private life before.’

‘Nor you in mine,’ she retorted, then bit her lip. Be nice, she told herself.

‘Then perhaps it’s time we started. Who knows?’ he said lightly. ‘We might be able to steer each other away from future trouble.’

Later, in the kitchen, Luke sat at the table Saskia had laid ready for dinner, watching as she slid the ravioli into boiling water and set a small pan of butter to heat.

‘You can cut some bread if you like,’ she remarked, while she stood, eyes glued to her watch. ‘I need to time these exactly.’

‘I never realised you were so skilled in the kitchen,’ said Luke, slicing the loaf thickly.

‘I loved helping Mother as soon as I was big enough to stand up without falling over.’ Saskia smiled at him over her shoulder. ‘Nonna—my grandmother—too. I had some steps I used to drag round the kitchen so I could reach the table. They both used to let me play with the left-over pasta dough, and my grandfather would eat the horrible little grey bits when it was cooked. It was a very useful skill later, when Mother was delayed in the shop in my schooldays. I often started the dinner once my homework was done. Especially when my grandparents came here to live at Villa Rosa.’

‘It’s a pity your grandmother didn’t have longer to enjoy it,’ said Luke quietly.

Saskia nodded, threw a handful of sage leaves into the butter, then drained the ravioli in a colander in the sink. ‘But she loved it while she was alive. Then Grandad came home to England to live with his sister, and made this place over to Mother.’

‘How is he?’

‘Fine. He enjoys a game of golf still, and likes pottering about in Aunt Cora’s garden, and they belong to a bridge club. And quarrel a lot—and enjoy it.’ Saskia set two plates on the table, then the ravioli garnished with the butter sauce. ‘Right. Let’s eat. I thought something filling would go down well for the first course.’

Luke needed no second bidding. He ate in silent concentration for a while, then looked at her with deep respect. ‘This is wonderful. What’s in the sauce?’

‘Nothing much. Butter, sage and so on. Serafina sent me some fresh herbs from her garden. But the next course, I warn you, is cold. I took you at your word.’ Saskia took their plates, then brought out a platter of thinly sliced turkey, ham and salami, along with a salad of ripe red tomatoes and mozzarella cheese dressed with the local olive oil and Serafina’s basil.

Luke professed himself just as happy with the second course as the first, and chatted easily during the meal about his recent visit to Bordeaux at harvest time, followed by his trip to the Rassegna del Chianti Classico—the biggest celebration of local wines in Tuscany. Before that, he told her, there had been a visit to New Zealand in the spring, and he went on to describe the prodigious tasting sessions he’d enjoyed at the various wineries there. Saskia listened enviously—something he remarked on after a while.

‘You’re an amazingly good audience, Saskia.’ He smiled. ‘You and I have never spent very long in conversation together before. Without Marina and Dad and the twins, I mean.’

‘No.’ She returned the smile ruefully. ‘But I’m consumed with envy. I never realised what an interesting life you lead. A lot more interesting than mine.’

‘Then make a change.’

‘I may, at that. I’ll start looking when I get back.’

They finished the meal with figs and cheese, then cleared away together. When the big, uncluttered kitchen was tidy, Saskia made coffee and they took it outside to drink on the terrace. The moon was high in the sky now, but the air was chilly, and Saskia went to her room for a sweater before joining Luke, who was leaning in one of the archways, his eyes on the scene before him. Up here on the hill they could have been suspended in moonlit space. The village below was hidden in a veil of mist which warned that summer was almost over.

‘Other-worldly, isn’t it?’ she said softly as she stood beside him, looking up into his absorbed face. ‘What are you thinking?’

‘That I smell change in the air.’

Saskia nodded. ‘Serafina says the cold weather’s about to arrive.’

‘Does she, now? That settles it. Excuse me a minute, Sassy. I have to ring someone.’

‘Right.’ She sat down and poured herself a coffee, while Luke went off to get his cell-phone. He left his bedroom door open, and she could hear him talking to someone, the words indistinguishable but the urgency unmistakable. Then after a few minutes’ conversation he laughed uproariously, and she relaxed. Nothing, it seemed, was wrong. Whoever he was talking to.

When Luke rejoined her, also wearing a sweater, he let himself down onto the wicker sofa beside her and accepted a cup of coffee with thanks. ‘That’s a relief. I was talking to Tom Harley, Joe’s nephew.’

‘In California?’ she said in surprise.

‘No. Right here in Tuscany. Tom’s one of these flying wine makers, who alternates his trade between California and Italy. He always comes over here at this time of year for the grape harvest, but sometimes he chances his arm by leaving it too long, to make ultimate use of the sun. A few seasons ago he misjudged it badly, and lost all his grapes to unforecast bad weather. This year all is safely gathered in already, much to his wife’s relief.’ Luke chuckled. ‘I gather he was not easy to live with for months after the disaster.’

‘I can well imagine it!’

‘This time he’s jubilant, certain it’s going to be a fabulous year. And,’ Luke added, grinning, ‘he’s throwing a party at his place on Saturday. We’re invited.’

‘Really? But he doesn’t know me.’

‘I told him my little sister was staying here with me, so he insists I take you along.’

‘Little sister!’ snorted Saskia.

‘Tom told me to emphasise that he and Lauren would be thrilled to meet you.’

‘That’s very nice of them,’ she said, mollified. ‘What sort of party?’

‘Local gentry, fellow wine makers, expats of various nationality, that kind of thing.’

‘Smart?’

‘Probably.’

“Then I can’t go. The dress I wore last night is as smart as my wardrobe here gets.’

‘Then wear that’

‘No way.’

There was silence for a moment. ‘I’d like you to come,’ said Luke without emphasis.

‘I’d like to go, too,’ she admitted. ‘But, trivial though it may sound, not in a dress I bought in a high street chain store. We’re in Italy, remember?’

‘Then let’s nip into Florence tomorrow—plenty of frocks there.’

‘You mean like Versace, Armani and so on?’ Saskia chuckled. ‘Sorry. The budget won’t run to that.’

‘I’ll treat you to a dress. Call it your Christmas present, if you like.’

‘I couldn’t let you do that—’

‘Why not? I am a relative—connection—whatever, If some other guy buys you a dress, Sassy, ten to one he means to be on hand when you take it off. But I’m your stepbrother, so there’s no ulterior motive involved other than wanting you to have a good time.’

Saskia turned her eyes on him doubtfully. ‘I suppose I could always pay you back later, when I get home.’

‘Do I detect a hint of surrender?’ he said in triumph.

She chuckled involuntarily. ‘More than a hint. I give in. What woman would turn down the offer of shopping in Florence?’

He laughed, and touched her fingers lightly. ‘Your tiny hand is frozen, Miss Ford. Would you like to go inside? I could light a fire.’

‘No fear. This moonlight’s too beautiful to waste. Besides—’ she turned to look at him ‘—you promised to tell me about Zoë.’

CHAPTER THREE

LUKE shrugged. ‘There’s no great tale of tragedy to relate. Zoë and I parted over a very basic difference of opinion. You’ve heard I bought a house?’

‘Of course. Marina said it’s charming; Sam said it needed a lot of work.’

‘They’re both right. Zoë took one look at it and thought I was barking mad.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s about two hundred years old, and the minute I set eyes on it I had to have it. At time of purchase the kitchen and bathrooms had been renovated, but otherwise it needed a lot of loving care. Not Zoë’s cup of tea.’ Luke paused, his eyes on the view. ‘She wanted a modern flat with a view of the Thames. Not my scene at all. Neither of us would budge an inch. So in the end we called it a day.’

‘Were you thinking of getting married?’ asked Saskia curiously.

‘If we had been I assume one of us would have given in,’ he said elliptically. ‘The important thing would have been the fact of being together, not the location. But I made the fatal mistake of saying what fun we’d have, doing the place up bit by bit.’

Saskia tried to keep a straight face as she pictured Zoë helping Luke in overalls with a paintbrush. Zoë worked for a fashion magazine and wore elegant little suits with minuscule skirts, never a silver-blonde hair out of place.

‘I told you it was boring,’ he reminded her, and tapped her hand. ‘Right. Your turn. What happened with Lawford?’

Saskia was quiet for a moment, reliving the day, just a week before, when her life had taken a new turn. She deliberately called up the scene, testing it as a tongue probes an aching tooth.

‘I just took two suitcases to start with, and Mother drove me to the station,’ she said calmly. ‘It felt so-so momentous, as though one half of my life was behind me and I was setting out on a new, glamorous phase, completely different from what had gone before. I’d sublet my flat in Chiswick, had a couple of days at home in Oxford, and suddenly I got impatient, decided to surprise Francis by starting this new life of mine a day earlier than planned.’

She had gone up in the lift in the smart building where Francis lived, clutching her suitcases and a bag of extravagant titbits collected from the nearby delicatessen. His key, handed to her over a romantic dinner days before, had been clutched in her hand like a talisman. Fizzing with anticipation, she’d let herself into the quiet, tidy flat, put down her suitcases and taken the bag of groceries into the immaculate kitchen.

‘I was so thrilled with the idea of a daily cleaner,’ she said derisively. ‘No more chores for me after a hectic day at the bank. Sometimes since,’ she said honestly, ‘I’ve wondered if Francis’s domestic arrangements weren’t a major part of the attraction of moving in with him.’

‘So what happened?’

‘The flat was very quiet. Where I live it’s a pretty busy area, with traffic noise and so on. But Francis’s place seemed insulated from all that. Zoë would love it—a doorman, views of the river from vast windows, modern furniture and rag-rolled walls. A lot different from my homely little attic.’

She had taken her cases along the narrow hall and opened the door to the master bedroom, then stopped dead, her feet rooted to the floor. The curtains were drawn, but the light filtering through them was quite sufficient to see the two people in the bed. Deeply asleep, they were clutched close in each other’s arms in a tangle of naked limbs, the woman’s long blonde mane mingled with the man’s sweat-darkened hair, their bodies only partially covered by a rumpled sheet. A quilt and a couple of pillows were in a heap on the floor, and discarded clothes led in an explicit trail to the bed.

‘Have you ever had the kind of dream,’ asked Saskia conversationally, ‘where however much you want to run you can’t move?’

‘Yes,’ said Luke, looking grim.

‘I don’t suppose it was more than a second or two, but at last I managed to back out without waking them. I tiptoed back along the hall with my suitcases, collected my pathetic little bag of goodies and got myself out of there as fast as I could.’ She smiled bitterly. ‘The doorman looked rather surprised as I shot past him, but I didn’t slow down until I found a taxi, and made for Paddington Station and a train back to Oxford.’

‘Did you know the woman?’ asked Luke, after a pause.

‘Oh, yes. It was his ex-wife.’ Saskia thrust her hair back with an irritable gesture. ‘Not quite as “ex” as I thought, unfortunately. I knew he still saw Amanda from time to time. On business, he told me—things to sign, and all that. But that day it was flagrantly obvious their dealings were pleasure, not business.’ She let out a deep breath. ‘You know what really got to me, Luke?’

‘Tell me.’

‘The flat was so immaculate, so tidy. Not a newspaper or a dirty coffee cup or a used wineglass. Nothing. Yet the bedroom looked as though a bomb had hit it.’ She breathed in deeply. ‘The contrast was horribly vivid. They’d obviously rushed straight from the front door to the bedroom, too intent on having sex to stop for anything other than to draw the curtains.’

‘I think I’ll see to him whether you want me to or not,’ said Luke harshly. ‘What the hell was the idiot up to? Did he think he could have you and still indulge in the odd spot of auld lang syne with the ex-wife whenever the fancy took him?’

‘To be fair, the fancy obviously took them both simultaneously. I could tell from the way the clothes were discarded—’ Saskia swallowed hard, suddenly sorry she’d eaten so much at dinner.

Luke reached out and grasped her hand tightly in silent comfort.

She let out a deep breath. ‘What a fool I was. I really thought he cared for me. It was a big step on my part, actually moving in with Francis. But I think he’s still in love with Amanda. Otherwise.’

‘Otherwise?’

Saskia’s face flushed with heat in the darkness. ‘Well—people usually separate after making love. Disentangle themselves and so on.’

‘Not necessarily.’

She shrugged. ‘Anyway, even fast asleep Francis was still holding Amanda tightly, and she him. As though they couldn’t bear to let go of each other. It was that I couldn’t get out of my mind.’

‘Are you still in love with him?’ asked Luke neutrally.

She shook her head. ‘No. Which is mortifying, in a way. I must be a very shallow sort of female. Or a very mistaken one. Whatever feelings I had for Francis didn’t survive that Friday afternoon in Romney Court. It’s odd. If I had seen them lunching somewhere, or even if Francis had come to me and told me what had happened—that for some reason his wife had needed comforting and one thing led to another, and so on, and it would never happen again—I would probably have been able to handle it. Because I hadn’t seen for myself.’ She shivered. ‘But I can’t forget the scene I walked in on. I’d never thought what “in flagrante” meant before, but that day it was brought home to me with a vengeance. I’m just grateful I didn’t arrive any earlier.’

‘Amen to that,’ Luke said dryly, and got up. ‘Come on, Sassy, let’s go inside. It’s cold out here.’

Saskia shivered slightly as she got to her feet. ‘A good thing your Tom Harley picked his grapes, then.’

‘A very good thing.’ Luke followed her along the hall with the tray, his eyes searching her face when they reached the brightly lit kitchen. ‘No tears?’

She shook her head, smiling. ‘No. I’m not much one for tears, Luke. When I ran away from Francis that day I was swearing like a trooper, not crying.’

‘How did Marina react when you turned up in Oxford again?’

‘When I gave her an edited version of the scene in Francis’s bedroom she lost her temper in true Latin style, and wanted to storm up to London and inflict physical injury on him. My mother’s Italian half tends to dominate under certain circumstances.’

Luke grinned. ‘I know.’

‘But that was just gut reaction.’ Saskia shrugged. ‘When she calmed down she became intensely practical, as always, and suggested I come here to lick my wounds, since I’d already arranged to be away from my job for a fortnight. Francis was going to take time off, too, you see, so we could enjoy playing house for a while.’ She breathed in deeply. ‘Sam was wonderful. He arranged a plane flight, bless him, and drove me to the airport. So here I am. Mending my broken heart at the Villa Rosa.’

‘Is it really broken?’

‘No.’ She managed a creditable little laugh. ‘Dented a bit, maybe, but not broken. And I’ve learned a very valuable lesson—no more falling in love.’

Luke smiled a little. ‘Not until the next time, anyway.’

‘Something like that.’

‘Right then, Saskia,’ he said briskly. ‘No more moping alone here. Come with me tomorrow.’

‘Where?’

‘I’ll drive you to San Gimignano, then you can browse round the town while I chase up some of the local wine. It shouldn’t take long. I’ll buy you lunch afterwards.’

Saskia smiled. ‘Sounds good. Thanks; I’d like that.’

Luke raised an eyebrow, as though he’d expected opposition. ‘Good. I’ll say goodnight, then, Sassy.’ He paused, looking down at her steadily. ‘I’m glad you told me.’

‘So am I.’ She hesitated. ‘And I’m sorry it didn’t work out with Zoë.’

‘Thank you. Though I feel it only fair to mention that my heart isn’t broken either.’

‘I didn’t think it was.’ She grinned. ‘It’s you who does the heartbreaking, from all I hear.’

‘Certainly not,’ he said virtuously. ‘I’m really a very nice, kind sort of chap.’

‘Oh, yeah?’ Laughing, Saskia went off to bed, feeling a great deal better than at any time since her flight from Romney Court.

Next morning Saskia woke early, with a feeling of anticipation she realised came from the proposed outing with Luke. Her mother would be surprised, she thought, smiling as she dressed. Marina was always defending Luke to her daughter, never able to understand why Saskia wasn’t as charmed by him as she was.

‘You were up early,’ said Luke accusingly as he came into the kitchen later. ‘I crept around like a mouse not to disturb you, and here you are, up with the lark.’

‘If this sunshine’s likely to end soon I want to make the most of it. Want some tea? Proper British tea? I brought it with me.’

‘Right, then,’ said Luke, after breakfast ‘Let’s be on our way.’

They were both dressed in jeans and white shirts, Saskia with a pale green sweater knotted round her shoulders, Luke carrying a jacket over his arm.

‘Will I do?’ she asked mockingly. ‘Do I come up to scratch?’

‘You certainly do.’ He held the car door for her, his eyes making a leisurely survey from her expensive haircut to her gleaming leather shoes. ‘I take it you’ve decided to stop wasting time on regrets over Lawford?’

‘Of course I have,’ she said irritably, and slid into the passenger seat of the Alfa-Romeo. ‘Let’s not mention him again. I want to enjoy the day.’

‘Amen to that.’ Luke drove down the hairpin bends from the house to the main road, his skill at the wheel coming as no surprise to Saskia.

‘Other than in a taxi, I’ve never been in a car with you before,’ she remarked as he turned on to the road which would take them to the hilltop town of San Gimignano.

‘Not surprising. At times in the past I had the impression you hated being in the same room, let alone the same car.’

‘I’ve grown up a bit now. And if it’s any consolation I think you drive very well. But then,’ she added tartly, ‘one of the reasons I used to resent you was the fact that you do everything well.’

Luke laughed. ‘The secret of my success is simple—I make it a rule only to do things well within my capacity. I knew I could never be an academic, like Dad, but I had a feeling for wine from my first trip to the Napa Valley. So, I’m a success at what I do because it interests me, I work damned hard, and I’ve got a reasonable head for business.’

‘And a knack of knowing what people want so you can supply it.’

‘True.’ He gave her a sidelong glance. ‘Do you realise, Saskia Ford, that you said something very important just now?’

‘Did I? What, exactly?’

‘You said you used to resent me.’

Saskia said nothing for a moment, her eyes on the ageless beauty of the scenery unfolding before her. ‘So I did,’ she said slowly. ‘Since you arrived at the Villa Rosa you’ve been very kind. Different, somehow. Especially last night. I feel better since I got all that stuff off my chest.’

‘Good.’ He glanced at her again. ‘Do you want me to put the hood up? Your haircut is suffering a bit.’

‘No fear!’ She laughed, thrusting her hands through her streaming hair. ‘All my cobwebs are blowing away.’

Luke drove her to one of the car parks below the town, and Saskia went off on foot to explore, promising to meet him in the Piazza della Cisterna at midday.

San Gimignano, the ‘city of beautiful towers’, had retained only fourteen of the original seventy-six, but otherwise looked much the same in the morning sunshine as it had done since the thirteenth century. Saskia’s previous visit here had been a brief one with her grandparents several years before, and she was glad to find the hilltop town unchanged. The two main streets still retained their medieval feel, with shops displaying boars’ heads and the local wine, others selling hand-woven fabrics and locally made ceramics. There were galleries selling jewellery and paintings, and here and there was an artist seated at an easel, painting watercolour views of the town.

She strolled through the streets, stopping to browse in the tempting shops every so often, wondering if Luke would fancy a visit to the duomo after lunch. There was a wealth of frescoed paintings to be seen in there, she knew, but exploration was better done in company in the awe-inspiring cathedrals of Italy.

Saskia lingered to watch one of the artists at work, and bought a watercolour for her mother and Sam. She chose a view of the many-towered skyline of San Gimignano, with a cleverly executed backdrop of the countryside beyond, exchanged a few words with the artist, then wandered on again and bought wild boar pâté in a dark cavern of a shop, postcards for the twins in another.

The entire town was a living museum, and it was pleasure enough just to wander through the streets in the cool sunshine, looking at the beauty of the ancient buildings, none of which dated from later than the fourteenth century.

When she reached the Piazza della Cisterna, Saskia ordered mineral water at one of the restaurants, and sat down to write her postcards at a table outside so she could keep an eye out for Luke. She scribbled away busily, and prompt to the minute, as midday began to toll, a shadow fell across her table, and she looked up to see him smiling down at her.

‘Hello, Sassy. Have you been waiting long?’

‘I was early, and who could mind hanging about in a place like this?’

‘What have you been doing?’

‘Just browsing in the shops, mainly. But I got this for Mother and Sam from the artist working near the duomo.’ She took out the watercolour to show him. ‘And I bought a present for you, too.’

Luke eyed her for a moment, surprised. ‘A present?’ he said guardedly.

Saskia chuckled, and handed him the pâté. ‘I hope you like it.’

His lips twitched as he thanked her gravely. ‘My favourite,’ he assured her. ‘Come on, I’m hungry. A gentle little stroll will take us to a place where we can eat under a pergola of vines.’

Because it was early they were given the best table in the restaurant, with a panoramic view of central Tuscany to add to the pleasure of the food.

‘But no wine at this time of day for me,’ said Saskia as she studied the menu.

‘We shall both keep to virtuous mineral water,’ he agreed. ‘The driver will content himself with thoughts of wild boar pâté for supper.’

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