A Rumoured Engagement

‘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’