CATHERINE GEORGE - A Rumoured Engagement

‘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.’

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.’