An Engagement Of Convenience

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER THREE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Are you?’

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

Harriet suppressed a shiver at the thought of it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silvia looked doubtful. ‘But the signora—’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Modern technology, Nonna,’ said Harriet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘And this is the famous Dante.’

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

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

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

‘Many thanks,’ said Harriet dryly.

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

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

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