A Rumoured Engagement

by Catherine George

  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 remark
ed 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’

  ‘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.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  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.’

  ‘Did you know the woman?’ asked Luke, after a pause.

  ‘Oh, yes. It was his ex-wife.’ Saskia thrust her hair back with an irritable gesture. ‘Not quite as “ex” as I thought, unfortunately. I knew he still saw Amanda from time to time. On business, he told me—things to sign, and all that. But that day it was flagrantly obvious their dealings were pleasure, not business.’ She let out a deep breath. ‘You know what really got to me, Luke?’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘The flat was so immaculate, so tidy. Not a newspaper or a dirty coffee cup or a used wineglass. Nothing. Yet the bedroom looked as though a bomb had hit it.’ She breathed in deeply. ‘The contrast was horribly vivid. They’d obviously rushed straight from the front door to the bedroom, too intent on having sex to stop for anything other than to draw the curtains.’

  ‘I think I’ll see to him whether you want me to or not,’ said Luke harshly. ‘What the hell was the idiot up to? Did he think he could have you and still indulge in the odd spot of auld lang syne with the ex-wife whenever the fancy took him?’