An Engagement Of Convenience

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER TWO

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

‘Courage, Rosa.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘You mean you were afraid to come?’

She shrugged. ‘If you like.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I’d be delighted,’ Harriet lied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harriet nodded soberly, thinking of Rosa’s parents.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Rosa, how elegant!’ she exclaimed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Good evening.’

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

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

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

‘Thank you,’ she returned with composure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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