An Italian Engagement

‘Was your stepfather pleased with the result?’

‘Unfortunately, he died before it was finished. I miss him.’ Max’s face shadowed for an instant. ‘Next time you come I’ll show you the rest of it. I’ve converted the old threshing ground into a long, narrow pool, and the covered terrace outside the master bedroom looks out on the best view in the house.’

‘Which is saying something,’ said Abby, liking the sound of ‘next time’.

Visited by a sudden, vivid picture of Abigail Green in the master bedroom, sharing it with him, Max slanted a glance at her. ‘How did your sister come to marry an Italian?’

‘Laura went to Venice on holiday. Domenico was asked to meet her at the airport and they are now living happily ever after.’

‘Will that last?’

Abby nodded firmly. ‘In spite of gloomy statistics, I’m certain it will.’

‘Would you like something similar yourself?’

‘Maybe. One day.’

‘So there’s no man in your life right now?’

‘No.’ Abby shrugged. ‘Relationships tend to fall by the wayside because of my job. The most recent came to an end partly because the man wanted a woman he could see on Saturday nights without the drag of sitting through an easy-listening type of concert beforehand. Silas thought there was no other god but Mozart.’

Fool, thought Max with scorn. ‘My tastes are a shade wider than that. I never tire of listening to Gianni, but I own up to a taste for the odd spot of jazz—even a burst of heavy metal on wilder days.’

‘Do you have those often?’

He shot a glance at her. ‘You’d be surprised.’

She laughed. ‘I pictured you as another Mozart man.’

‘Only when Gianni’s performing it.’

They reached the colonnaded portico of Fontivegge station with an hour to spare before the train was due. Max went inside with Abby to confirm the change en route to Pisa, punched the ticket Domenico had bought for her into one of the yellow machines near the entrance to validate it, and then took her to the café to eat ham paninis with their espressos.

‘Right,’ said Max briskly, when it was time to make a move. ‘At this point we exchange phone numbers, addresses, and any other pertinent information, Abigail Green.’ He entered her number into his phone, then waited while she did the same with his, handed her a card with his address and home number, scrawled hers on the back of another and tucked it into his wallet.

‘You’ve been such an enormous help,’ said Abby, smiling at him gratefully. ‘I’ve run out of ways to thank you.’

Max could think of several that would suit him down to the ground. ‘Here’s one. I’ll be back in the UK at the weekend, so have lunch with me on Sunday. Say yes. Your train leaves soon.’

‘Then, yes. I’d like that very much. Thank you—’ She broke off with a laugh. ‘There I go again!’

He smiled. ‘Thank me again by reporting in tonight.’

‘I will,’ she promised, and looked at her watch. ‘I’d better be on my way.’

‘And I’d better get into my jacket and put this blasted tie on, ready to meet with my lady mother’s approval.’

Max hefted her bag, his tall, lean body looking good to Abby in the kind of suit Italian tailors cut to such perfection. He took her hand in his as they walked along the concourse, and she liked the touch of it on her skin. She’d liked it the night before on their stroll round Todi, and suddenly wished quite violently that she wasn’t about to say goodbye to Max Wingate. When her train was ready to board he reminded her to change in Florence, then took her in his arms.

‘This is another way you can thank me.’ He kissed her very thoroughly, holding her so tightly she was hot and breathless when he let her go. ‘Arrivederci,’ he said huskily, and trailed a finger down her flushed cheek. ‘Safe journey, Abby. Talk to me tonight.’

CHAPTER THREE

ABBY had armed herself with two paperbacks for the journey, but Max Wingate’s kisses put paid to her concentration. She gazed at his photograph on her phone for a while, then pulled herself together and tried to read until the change in Florence. But the hard masculine face superimposed itself on the page, refusing to go away, and in the end she gave up and just stared through the train window as she went back over every detail of the magical evening in Todi.

On the flight from Pisa she ate some of the meal she was served to save bothering with supper when she got home, and at Heathrow took the taxi Simon would pay for. Once she arrived back in Bayswater, her basement flat seemed very quiet without Sadie. Abby missed her friend badly, not least her share of the rent. She sighed as she dumped her bags down. She had to find another job soon, or move to a cheaper flat.

Abby filled the kettle to make tea, then rang her mother to give her all the news about Marco Guido Chiesa, the most beautiful baby boy in the known world, and Isabella Anna Chiesa, his equally ravishing sister. Afterwards, as an exercise in self-control, she drank the entire mug of tea before allowing herself to ring Max.

‘Hi. It’s Abby. I’m back.’

‘You’re late. I’ve been waiting. Any problems on the way?’

‘Other than tedium, none at all. How was your mother?’

‘Startled to see me instead of Gianni, but we managed the entire trip from Perugia without crossing swords. Are you impressed?’

‘Immensely. Was Gianni grateful?’

‘Oh, yes. Luisa went all dewy-eyed when he embraced me so fervently. He begged me to stay on for a meal, so to please Rosa as much as anyone I did.’

‘Will you see more of your mother while she’s with Gianni?’

‘No. I told her I had to get back to London.’ He chuckled. ‘She’s very interested in you, by the way.’

‘Me?’

‘Gianni went on at great length about the beautiful young English lady who’d travelled all the way to Todi to finalise arrangements for his London concert. Luisa obviously considers such personal attention his rightful due, so I didn’t spoil it by mentioning that the visit was just a detour from your trip to Venice.’

She laughed. ‘So all went well at the family reunion?’

‘Better than usual, certainly. I haven’t seen Luisa for a while, so I suppose the session had novelty value.’

‘Doesn’t she mind seeing so little of you?’

‘If she does she never says so,’ he said, so brusquely Abby changed the subject.

‘Did you find out anything about Gianni’s mystery lady?’

‘Not a damn thing. I wish to God I had. If she’s someone’s wife there’ll be all kinds of hell to pay.’

‘Do you think that’s likely?’

‘On one hand I doubt it. Gianni’s a good Catholic boy, remember, also very wary of bad publicity. But he’s also young, Italian, and madly in love. So who knows?’

‘Do you think he’ll tell you eventually?’

‘Not with my mother around. Besides, I’m leaving shortly. I have this important appointment to keep next Sunday, remember. I’ll come for you at twelve.’ He paused. ‘It’s going to be a long week until then, Abby. Goodnight, sleep well.’

The moment she disconnected, her phone rang again.

‘Abby, at last! You’ve been engaged for ages. I know it’s late but your mother said you were back tonight, and I couldn’t wait.’

‘Rachel? You sound a bit wired. Is something wrong?’

‘No. Something’s beautifully, wonderfully right! I’m engaged—third time lucky, and this time it really is the real thing.’

Abby’s heart sank. Rachel Kent had been her friend since nursery school in Stavely, but she was also the one who most often needed Abby’s shoulder to cry on when the latest ‘real thing’ went wrong. ‘Tell me all about it, then. Who is he this time?’

Rachel gave a bubbling little laugh. ‘It’s Sam.’

Abby frowned. ‘Sam who?’

‘Sam Talbot, of course—now, be nice. Don’t laugh, Abby.’

‘I’m not laughing, just surprised.’ Rachel had been engaged to Sam first time round. ‘So when did this happen?’

‘Today. The proposal, I mean. We met again at that wedding last month and I’ve been seeing him quite a lot since, but I didn’t tell you—or anyone else—in case nothing came of it.’ Rachel heaved an ecstatic sigh. ‘Sam kept my ring all this time, Abby, isn’t that romantic?’

‘Absolutely. Mind you hang on to it this time.’

‘I certainly will! Look, Abby, we’re having a family lunch party at home to celebrate next Sunday, which is why I had to catch you the minute you got back. I know you’re busy this time of year, but we arranged it especially for Sunday so you could be there.’

Abby winced. ‘Rachel, I’m so sorry. I can’t. I’m already booked that day.’

‘Oh, Abby! Anyway, no problem. Bring this Silas of yours with you. Promise you’ll come. You didn’t make it to the other engagement parties, and this one is really important. Please, please say yes, Abby.’

‘Oh, all right, Rachel, I’ll be there,’ said Abby, resigned. ‘But no Silas. He’s history.’

‘Really? When did that happen?’

‘When Sadie left to live with Tom. Silas took it for granted he could move in with me instead. I turned him down flat and he got quite nasty.’

‘He didn’t hit you or anything?’ demanded Rachel fiercely.

‘No. He just tried to rush me off to bed to show what I’d be missing.’

‘Pig! You threw him out?’

‘After a ludicrous little scuffle, yes. He keeps ringing me to grovel, and he’s called round twice since, but I told him to get lost.’

‘Good for you. Anyway, forget about Silas, love. I’ll line up someone exciting for you instead.’

Rachel brushed away Abby’s urgent protests, eager to know all about the new baby and the trip to Italy, until Abby stemmed the flow at last by congratulating her friend again before she rang off.

Abby looked at the kitchen clock, wondering if she should ring Max now. No. Better to leave it until tomorrow. Right now her disappointment was so intense she might even get tearful if she tried to tell him Sunday lunch was cancelled. And she didn’t want him to know quite how much she’d been looking forward to seeing him again.

* * *

Next day was hectic as Abby caught up on correspondence and lent a hand with the summer brochures for the following year. Simon Hadley was delighted with the success of Abby’s trip to the Villa Falcone, and asked, not for the first time, if she’d changed her mind about deserting him. Since he already had someone lined up for her job, Abby just laughed, and soon became knee-deep in arrangements for the concert on the following Saturday. It was so late by the time she got home she rang her mother the moment she was through the door.

‘You must be shattered, darling,’ said Isabel.

‘It was hard going today,’ admitted Abby. ‘Anyway, are you all set for your trip tomorrow? Be warned, that sofa of Domenico’s isn’t too comfortable.’

‘He wanted me to use his private apartment at the Forli Palace Hotel. His parents did that, but I don’t fancy it on my own. I’m not going to be there long so I suggested sharing Isabella’s room if he could put up some kind of folding bed in it.’

‘Brilliant idea. She’ll love that.’

‘By the way, I heard all about Bella’s special outing to Florian’s with Mamma and Papa. Well done, Auntie—did Marco behave for you?’

‘He was rather rowdy at one stage,’ Abby admitted, laughing. ‘But after I changed his nappy—I hope you’re impressed—I walked him around for a bit, and he settled down in the end. My rendition of “Mull of Kintyre” put him out cold.’

Isabel chuckled. ‘Thanks for the tip. You sound tired, darling, so have an early night. I’ll ring when I get there, of course. And come down for a weekend the minute you leave your job. I’ve hardly seen anything of you for months.’

Abby promised, wished her mother bon voyage, and ate her supper before making the call to Max. To her intense frustration his mobile number was unobtainable and the only response from his house was a recorded message in two languages. He was probably playing chess with Aldo the builder, or happy families with Gianni and his mother. Or whoever. Max Wingate’s social life was none of her business.

* * *

Next day was equally hectic, with overtime necessary to make up for a couple of hours off in the afternoon for a job interview. Abby got home late again, to find a message from Isabel, reporting safe arrival. After a long, hot bath Abby felt too weary to bother to dress again, and got into the camisole and briefs she slept in. She poached an egg for her supper and curled up on the sofa in her dressing gown to watch television, tired and yawning, but still too restless to go to bed. It was surprisingly hard to come back to earth after the Italian adventure. When the doorbell rang she leapt up irritably, in no mood for visitors. If it was Silas Wood he could just go away again. She snatched up the entry phone receiver to tell him that, and almost dropped it when she heard Max Wingate’s voice.

‘Abby? I should have rung first, but I took a chance on finding you in.’

‘Max? What on earth are you doing here?’ she said blankly.

‘Standing outside the street door. Are you alone?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Let me in, then. I’ve come a long way to see you.’

Casting a despairing look at her outfit, Abby pressed the release button, and fled to her bedroom to use a lipstick before she opened the door to a very different Max from the one who’d kissed her goodbye in Perugia. He seemed bigger than she remembered, his sleek hair was tousled, he needed a shave, and he looked altogether tougher and more formidable in jeans, boots and a leather jacket. In the face of such overpowering testosterone, Abby stared at him speechlessly.

Max smiled down into her startled eyes, fighting the urge to sweep her into his arms and kiss her senseless. ‘Hello, Abby. Sorry it’s so late.’

‘Hi,’ she responded huskily. ‘This is a surprise.’

‘Did I get you out of bed?’

‘No.’ Her mind raced over the contents of the fridge and her cupboards. ‘Can I get you a glass of wine?’

‘Dry white?’ he asked, smiling.

‘What else? I usually have a glass while I’m making supper, but I had a very busy day and I was so tired tonight I thought it might knock me flat…’ Stop gabbling, she told herself, and took a mental inventory of her food supplies. ‘I could throw some supper together for you.’

‘No, thanks, I’ve eaten. And I’m driving so I’ll pass on the wine.’ Max looked down at her, an indulgent smile at the corners of his mouth. ‘Relax. You’re like a cat on hot bricks.’

‘Of course I’m not,’ she said brightly. ‘Take off your jacket. I’ll make coffee.’

The living room in the basement flat had always seemed perfectly adequate for two tall females to share, but it seemed crowded with the addition of Max Wingate. Abby filled the kettle and put out mugs, very conscious that he was watching her every move. She took biscuits from a tin and put them on a plate, her mind working overtime. It was late and he was a long way from Gloucestershire. Was he expecting to stay the night? Delighted though she was to see him, she wasn’t up for that. She put the dish on the end of the low table nearest the scuffed leather club chair, handed Max his coffee and curled up on the sofa with her own.

‘Thank you. I’m on my way to Kew to stay with my father for a night or two, but I thought I’d make a surprise visit here first.’ He smiled crookedly. ‘Not such a good idea from your point of view?’

So he had no intention of staying the night. Abby gave him a radiant smile. ‘Actually it’s a brilliant idea, because I need to talk to you urgently. I tried ringing you, but no luck.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘I can’t make Sunday lunch after all.’

He masked a fierce stab of disappointment with a wry smile. ‘Ah. You’ve got a better offer?’

She shook her head ruefully and told him about Rachel’s engagement party. ‘She’s arranged it specifically for Sunday because I can’t manage any other day at this time of year. So I have to go.’

Max’s slanting eyebrows rose. ‘If the lady is an old friend surely you want to go?’

‘Of course.’ Abby shrugged. ‘But we haven’t caught up with each other for a while, so she thought I’d be bringing Silas with me. The Mozart fan,’ she added.

‘Is the party here in London?’

‘No, at Rachel’s home in Stavely. I didn’t make it to her other engagement parties, so I really must turn up at this one.’

He looked amused. ‘How many has she had?’

‘This is the third—well, sort of.’ Abby grinned. ‘Sam, the latest contender, is the one she was engaged to first time round.’

Max shook his head in mock respect. ‘And he’s willing to risk it a second time? Brave man.’

‘Actually he’s perfect for Rachel. She should have hung on to him in the first place. You’d like him.’

‘Then take me to meet him—or was the invitation only for the Mozart-lover?’

Abby looked at him with dawning hope. ‘You’re willing to go to the party with me?’

He was willing to do anything in the world to make her happy, he realised, startled. ‘Why not? I could drive you down, and we’d still achieve lunch together.’

‘I’d like that.’ She pulled a face. ‘I admit I’d rather not go alone. If my mother had been home she would have gone with me, but—’

‘But she’s in Venice. So I’ll go with you as protection.’

‘From what?’

Max eyed her levelly. ‘I don’t know. You tell me.’

Abby hunched a shoulder. ‘It’s just that Rachel’s such a matchmaker. She always insists on inviting some man she swears is perfect for me—and the result is disaster every time.’

Max ate a biscuit, frowning. ‘Enlighten me. Why does your friend feel obliged to hunt up men for someone as attractive as you?’

Thanking him for the compliment, Abby explained that, although she and Rachel were close, they were very different personalities. ‘She can’t function without a male presence in her life. I can and do, perfectly happily, but Rachel just can’t accept a concept so alien to her. She keeps trying to pair me up with someone. ‘

‘Is that why you steered clear of the other engagement celebrations?’

‘No. I was in the middle of exams for the first one and in Venice the last time.’ Abby smiled ruefully. ‘Don’t get me wrong—I love Rachel to bits, but her matchmaking drives me crazy.’

‘Solution,’ said Max, seizing the opportunity with relish. ‘On Sunday, tell her I’m the replacement for the Mozart man.’

Abby eyed him dubiously. ‘You won’t laugh when she demands your intentions.’

‘As you virtually did when I turned up just now?’ He wagged an admonishing finger. ‘You thought I’d come for a sleepover, Abigail Green.’

‘Of course I didn’t,’ she lied. ‘I was just surprised to see you. Why did you cut your holiday short?’

Max settled comfortably in the chair, his long legs outstretched. ‘Two reasons. One, I saw no point in waiting until Sunday to see you again. Two, I’m a coward.’

She eyed him in scorn. ‘Oh, come on! I haven’t known you long, but the last bit’s hard to swallow.’

‘Thank you kindly.’ Max’s mouth turned down. ‘However, I’ve had Gianni begging me not to say a word about his innamorata, and Luisa firing questions at me because she harbours suspicions about his love-life. I insisted, with almost perfect truth, that I knew nothing about it, so she eventually gave up. But she won’t rest until she finds out from some other source. I’d never thought of myself as a coward before, but to make sure I’m elsewhere when the balloon goes up I altered the train reservation for my car and got out of the way.’

Abby chuckled. ‘Leaving Gianni all alone and defenceless.’

‘Anything but! Rosa’s the perfect bodyguard. Luisa knows better than to try to winkle it out of her.’

‘You really think the love of his life is married, then?’

‘Gianni’s so desperate to keep her identity secret I’m beginning to think she must be—or at least spoken for.’ Max grimaced. ‘I suppose I should have stayed to pick up the pieces, but where Luisa’s concerned my presence usually makes things worse.’

‘Maybe she still feels guilty.’

His eyebrows shot together. ‘Guilty?’

‘For deserting you all those years ago.’

He gave a cynical laugh. ‘I doubt that.’

‘She’s a Catholic?’

‘Yes.’

‘And she deserted her son and her husband and married someone else. Of course she feels guilty. If not all the time, certainly every time she sees you, Max—’ She stopped, flushing a little. ‘Sorry. It’s none of my business.’

He shook his head. ‘I’ve made it your business. I’ve never confided so much in a woman in my entire life.’

A statement which pleased Abby enormously. ‘You must have known a few in your time, surely!’

‘Of course. In fact,’ added Max casually, ‘some of the relationships lasted quite a while. The last fell by the wayside because I was too wrapped up in work to pay the necessary attention to it.’ He looked round at the small room. ‘Has anyone shared this place with you, Abby?’

She nodded. ‘Sadie Morris, who was up at Trinity College with me, but she moved in with her boyfriend a couple of weeks ago. I’m keeping it up on my own until I know what I’m doing next.’

Max gave a sudden yawn and, apologising, took out his phone. ‘I’d better ring Dad and say I’m on my way.’ He got to his feet. ‘What time do you get home in the evening?’

‘Whenever I finish for the day—usually fairly late.’

‘Have you anything planned for tomorrow night?’

‘No.’

‘Will you be home by eight?’

‘I could be,’ she said with caution.

‘Then I’ll be here at eight-fifteen to take you out somewhere. What do you say?’ he added, smiling at her.

Abby didn’t hesitate. ‘I say, yes please. Only I’ll probably be too tired to go out. Would you mind eating here instead?’

‘Not if that’s what you prefer,’ he assured her. ‘Tell me which type of cuisine you like and I’ll bring dinner with me.’

‘No need. I’ll visit my favourite deli in my lunch-hour.’

‘Not a chance. You’re working. If that’s your choice I’ll find a deli myself somewhere.’ Max put a finger under her chin. ‘Go to bed and get some sleep.’

‘Yes, sir!’

He grinned and kissed her briefly, then released her to pick up his jacket. ‘Goodnight, Abby. Sweet dreams.’

* * *

In her bedroom later, Abby chuckled as she looked in the mirror. No make-up, hair left to its own devices to dry, and a towelling dressing gown long past its prime. And she’d been worried that Max intended to stay the night! It was a wonder he’d even stayed for coffee. But he wanted to see her again tomorrow, she thought with satisfaction, so maybe it was the beauty of her mind that attracted him.

* * *

Abby spent next day in a hectic round of checking up on hotel bookings and the dressing rooms at the concert venue, but when she got back to base she told Simon she needed to get home a bit earlier for once.

‘Hot date?’ he asked indulgently. ‘Dash off, then. Have fun.’

Abby smiled to herself as she travelled home. The kind of evening she was looking forward to would probably sound nothing like fun to friends who led a more hectic social life than hers. She’d enjoyed the parties and rowdy pub evenings of her student days with a crowd of both sexes, including the summer balls. Since living in London she’d been out now and again with men she’d met in the course of her job, but she enjoyed evenings out with girlfriends just as much, sometimes more. With Max Wingate it was the prospect of a peaceful night in that sent her running along the street of tall old houses in Bayswater. She unlocked the outer door in the pillared portico and raced down the stairs to her flat, fumbling with her key in her eagerness to get in.

She shed her clothes in a tearing hurry to get in the shower, laughing at herself as she turned on the spray. Rachel went wild with excitement in these situations, not Abigail Green. But for once Abby knew how she felt. And it felt good. By eight she was ready, in slouchy gold velvet trousers and a thin black sweater, humming as she did a last-minute tidy-up in the flat. She grabbed the receiver when the doorbell rang at exactly eight-fifteen, breathless as she answered it.