CATHERINE GEORGE - An Engagement Of Convenience

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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