A Rumoured Engagement

by Catherine George

  ‘Don’t say that, Sassy. You’re too attractive to give up on men altogether.’

  ‘I don’t intend to.’ Saskia smiled at him sweetly. ‘In future the man can do the falling in love. I’ll just bask in the glow and keep my heart to myself.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  WHEN Saskia used Luke’s phone to ring her mother next morning, Marina Armytage was aghast at the news that her stepson had arrived at the Villa Rosa.

  ‘Oh darling. What a thing. I was so worried about you when you left I forgot Luke might need to stay, too. But just for once be good, Saskia,’ she added with emphasis. ‘Try to exist under the same roof for a night without coming to blows. Please?’

  When her daughter said casually that not only had Luke already been in residence for two days, but he was staying for several more, Marina was rendered speechless.

  ‘Are you still there, Mother?’ demanded Saskia.

  ‘Yes,’ said Marina faintly. She cleared her throat. ‘I suppose Luke won’t be in your way much. He must be out a lot on business.’

  ‘Actually he’s not,’ said Saskia, enjoying herself. ‘He’s finished that part of the trip. He’s taking a few days’ holiday. Sightseeing with me today and tomorrow. Then on Saturday we’re going to a party at Tom Harley’s to celebrate their grape harvest. Tom is Joe Harley’s nephew.’

  After several more protestations of amazement, followed by solicitous enquiries about her daughter’s health, both physical and mental, Marina, who had not been involved in the fashion business for nothing, suddenly remembered that Saskia’s luggage contained nothing remotely suitable for a party. ‘The brown dress won’t do,’ she warned.

  ‘I know.’ Saskia felt a great bubble of mirth rise up inside her. ‘Don’t worry. Luke’s promised to buy me a dress in Florence. I really must go, Mother. This is his phone.’

  After saying her goodbyes to her astonished parent, and sending love to Sam and the twins, Saskia went outside on the terrace to give the phone back to Luke, and collapsed into a chair, laughing.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ he demanded.

  ‘My mother,’ gurgled Saskia. ‘You should have heard her! Not that you could for a while. The news that we were here at the villa together struck her dumb. Then I mentioned the party, and the joint sightseeing, and topped it off with your offer to buy me a dress. I bet she’s ringing Sam at this moment, incoherent with astonishment.’

  Luke leaned in one of the archways, his eyes gleaming with amusement. ‘But was she pleased or otherwise?’

  ‘Oh, pleased. Definitely.’ Saskia gave him a glinting little smile. ‘She’s very fond of you. As you well know.’

  ‘I do know. And I reciprocate.’ He gave her a very straight look. ‘At least she knows perfectly well that I’ll take care of you.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Come on, Sassy, jump to it—time we were off. So which do you fancy? Arezzo or Urbino?’

  Saskia discovered that a trip to the famously beautiful town of Urbino, in the province of the Marches, meant a drive over the Alpe della Luna. Despite the allure of a route named ‘mountains of the moon’, Saskia opted for Arezzo, which was neither as far nor as demanding as the dizzying climb and descent involved in reaching the stronghold of the Duke of Urbino, who had been the patron of Piero della Francesca.

  ‘Not,’ she said, smiling, ‘that I’m casting aspersions on your driving, Luke, but at this time of the year there’s bound to be mist up on those mountains, even on a sunny day like this. I’m not ecstatic about hairpin bends even when they’re visible.’

  ‘Then Arezzo it is. It’s a shorter journey, so we can get back fairly early and go out to dinner somewhere this evening,’ said Luke.

  ‘Could we just have a big lunch and not go out tonight?’ said Saskia. ‘Not that I mind if you want to, of course,’ she added hastily. ‘I know you’ve got friends here. I’ll be perfectly happy on my own with a book.’

  Luke eyed her challengingly. ‘Would you prefer that?’

  ‘No!’ she said, so vehemently she flushed a little. ‘Of course not. I just thought you might have had enough of my undiluted company by then, that’s all.’

  ‘The novelty hasn’t worn off yet,’ he said lightly.

  Arezzo, on the other side of the autostrada from Florence and Siena, was less overrun by tourists than the more popular Tuscan attractions—and Saskia, who had never been there before, was disappointed at first glance by the modern development on the approach to the city. But once inside the walls they were transported back in time as they reached the heart of what had once been a medieval and Renaissance stronghold.

  After Luke had found a parking place he considered worthy of the car, they made their way up the main shopping street, the Corso Italia, to the Piazza Grande.

  The main square sloped down towards them from an impressive arcaded portico, with medieval houses on one side facing the exquisite church of Santa Maria della Pieve on the other.

  ‘The fabulous portico was designed by local hero Giorgio Vasari. His house is here somewhere, too,’ said Saskia, consulting her guide book. ‘Could we go to the church of San Francesco first? Piero’s most important frescos are in there—the Legend of the True Cross.’

  ‘Lead on,’ said Luke. ‘I hope you’ve got plenty of coins.’

  ‘Oh, of course,’ said Saskia, searching in her handbag. ‘We need them for the lights.’

  The interior of the thirteenth-century church was dark behind the austere facade it showed to the world, and regular injections of money into the slot lighting were necessary in the chapel where Piero della Francesca had painted the frescoes just over five hundred years earlier. Dimmer and more time-ravaged than they appeared in glossy art books, with patches of bare wall in places, the frescos were nevertheless miracles to marvel at. One panel, more visible than the rest, showed the Dream of Constantine, with the emperor and his guards bathed in heavenly light.

  ‘This,’ said Luke, studying it with respect, ‘is supposed to be one of the first night paintings.’

  ‘My favourite, I think,’ whispered Saskia. ‘Oh, look, that’s the Queen of Sheba, recognising the cross. And there she is again, shaking hands with—who?’

  ‘Whom,’ corrected Luke severely, peering at the guide book. ‘Solomon—who else? Didn’t they do rather more than just shake hands?’

  ‘This,’ she hissed, poking him in the ribs, ‘is a church, Lucius Armytage. Which bit of fresco do you like best?’

  ‘The battle scene,’ he decided after a while. ‘Renaissance warfare was a chaotic business. Not,’ he added, sobering, ‘that I suppose it’s ever anything else. There’s just more technology along with the mayhem these days.’

  When their supply of coins ran out they went in search of a late lunch, which they found nearby in a basement restaurant with low, vaulted ceilings, candles on tables laid with starched white cloths, and more frescos on the walls. When Saskia found it hard to choose from the dishes on offer, the waiter suggested they both try an assaggio—a taste of several of the house specialities—accompanied by wine from the restaurant cellar.

  The suggestion found favour with both of them, and they fell to with gusto on panzanella—a delicious salad with tomatoes and slices of oil-soaked break—followed by croutons of toast topped with finocchiona, the local Tuscan sausage. Next they ate farro, traditional cereal soup, and then a dish which Saskia took to be chicken with herbs and artichokes, but was actually a traditional local recipe for rabbit, the waiter informed her with a smile when he took the empty dishes away.

  ‘Goodness,’ she said, wide-eyed. “That’s a first. I’ve never eaten rabbit before.’

  Luke chuckled. ‘You seemed to enjoy it.’

  ‘I thought it was chicken!’ She blew out her cheeks. ‘Whatever it was, I can’t eat another thing. I’m not sure I can even move for a while.’

  “Then don’t.’ Luke leaned back on the settle beside her, stretching out his long legs. ‘Arezzo will be sleeping for a while, anyway, so let’s linger over some
good Italian coffee while our lunch goes down.’ He yawned a little. ‘I didn’t realise sightseeing was so exhausting.’

  Saskia chuckled. ‘Are you sure you can manage Florence tomorrow?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he said comfortably, eyes closed. ‘As long as you don’t expect me to stand in line to look at paintings in the Uffizi, or David in the Accademia. You must have done all that before.’

  ‘More than once. I used to spend part of every school holiday here with the grandparents, remember, after Mother married Sam.’

  ‘Is that why you were rebellious? Because you were pushed from the nest, so to speak?’

  ‘No. My friends envied my Italian holidays madly. But I was at the age when it’s the done thing to be difficult, I suppose. Hopefully I’ve grown more amenable since.’

  ‘Until recently I would have disagreed with that,’ he said frankly, and turned half-closed eyes on her profile.

  She stirred her coffee intently. ‘And now?’

  ‘At this particular moment in time, Saskia, I couldn’t ask for better company. Whether this idyllic state survives the entire time we’re together—or even the rest of the day—remains to be seen.’

  ‘True.’ She turned her head to smile at him. ‘But I promised Mother I’d try not to come to blows with you. So you’re quite safe.’

  He grinned. ‘Then I needn’t quake in my bed at night.’

  She pulled a face. ‘Very definitely not. In future I’ll never set foot in any bedroom other than my own, believe me.’

  Luke put a hand on hers. ‘Forget him, Sassy.’

  ‘I will, soon enough.’ She shrugged. ‘The wound didn’t go very deep. I was embarrassed and angry more than hurt. Which served me right for being in the right place at the wrong time.’

  Luke was silent for a while. The last of the other diners had left, and they were alone in their vaulted alcove. ‘Talking of which,’ he said slowly, staring straight ahead, ‘it’s time I apologised for doing much the same when I first arrived at the villa.’

  Saskia bit her lip. ‘Ah. You mean our first encounter in the bathroom? I almost expired with fright on the spot.’

  He let out a snort of laughter. ‘I can’t say fright was my own reaction. I didn’t recognise you for a moment.’

  ‘It’s only months since you saw me last,’ she retorted. ‘I haven’t changed that much.’

  ‘I wasn’t looking at your face, Sassy!’

  The face in question went crimson, but the appearance of the waiter with another pot of coffee spared Luke assault with a heavy candlestick.

  ‘Count yourself lucky,’ Saskia muttered ominously, once they were alone. ‘You nearly had a black eye to sport at the party.’

  ‘I was merely being truthful,’ he said, unrepentant ‘It was only when I was legging it back down the hall that it dawned on me who you were.’

  ‘Who else could it have been?’

  ‘The villa could have been let out to someone for a holiday.’

  ‘Mother can’t be bothered these days. Says it’s too much trouble. Anyway,’ she added, refilling their coffee cups, ‘it doesn’t matter. But if you had known I was in residence I imagine you’d have given the Villa Rosa a wide berth.’

  ‘Probably,’ he admitted honestly. ‘But not because I objected to your company, Sassy. You were the one who always made it clear you objected to mine.’

  Saskia knew this was true. ‘Silly, really,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I adore the twins, of course, but now I begin to see advantages in having a big brother, too.’

  Luke stared at the frescoed wall in silence for a while, then gave her the crooked smile which was so much part of his attraction. Something, she realised, she could now acknowledge without a trace of the resentment she’d once felt towards him.

  ‘So is that the role you want to play at Tom’s bash on Saturday? My little sister?’

  ‘Since I am neither little, nor your actual sister, prob ably not.’ She shrugged. ‘But I don’t mind if that’s what you’d prefer. Would my presence as the more normal female companion restrict your activities, perhaps?’

  Luke chuckled. ‘It might well do. No one seeing me arrive with you would think I’d have any interest in anyone else.’

  Saskia stared at him, arrested.

  He returned the look very steadily, an eyebrow raised in query. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘You sound as though you mean that.’

  ‘I do. I’d never really thought about it before, but I assure you that the ugly duckling has turned into the best-looking swan in town.’ He grinned, and Saskia returned the smile, more pleased than she cared to show.

  ‘Thank you, kind sir. Coming from you, that’s praise indeed.’

  ‘What do you mean, coming from me?’

  ‘Merely that all your girlfriends have been very decorative. Offhand I can’t remember one who had more brains than looks.’

  He shook his head at her reprovingly. ‘You didn’t meet them all, Saskia! Not,’ he added with sudden sincerity, ‘that there were ever that many. I like women. But that’s as far as it goes. Cleaving unto one for life is not, at time of going to press, an idea that appeals. The thought of marriage scares the hell out of me.’

  ‘Amen to that!’ she agreed with feeling, and gave him a coaxing smile. ‘Luke, would you mind if we deserted art for a while and had a look round the shops? My guide book says a lot of gold jewellery is produced round here.’

  ‘What are we waiting for?’ he said promptly, and called the waiter over.

  After a pleasurable browse through tempting shops they made their way towards the duomo for the obligatory look at Piero’s fresco of Mary Magdalene. The sun had disappeared, and without a car in sight the mist-wreathed Renaissance buildings in the piazza presented a scene which would have been much the same five hundred years earlier. Inside the cathedral, it was hard at first to find the fresco, which was sandwiched between a fourteenth-century tomb and the sacristy door. The figure of the Magdalene gazed at them from under downcast lids, a lantern in one hand, the other holding the folds of her red mantle. Saskia shivered suddenly, and Luke took her hand.

  ‘Cold?’

  ‘Not really. I was just wondering how many people have stood here over the centuries, gazing up at her on the wall.’

  ‘Too many to count. Though she’s smaller than I expected.’ Luke looked down into Saskia’s face. ‘I think I’ve had my quota of culture for one day.’

  ‘Me too,’ she agreed, suddenly eager to be out of the vast Gothic interior and rejoin the secular world outside.

  ‘So what would you like to do now?’ asked Luke, when they were out in the piazza again.

  ‘Go home.’

  ‘Home as in Oxford, or back to the villa?’

  ‘The villa, of course,’ she retorted. ‘Are you trying to renege on your offer of a dress, by any chance?’

  ‘Now, would I do that?’ he demanded, injured. ‘Come on, let’s find the car.’

  ‘Luke,’ she said, once they were out of the town and heading back to the Villa Rosa, ‘I was teasing about the dress. I’m not that mercenary. I can pay for it myself.’

  ‘I’m sure you can.’ He gave her a brief, sideways glance, his tawny hair streaming in the wind. ‘But just this once let me do it.’

  ‘Tell you what, Luke, we’ll go halves.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ he said noncommittally, and Saskia, in deference to her vow to be nicer to him, offered no more argument.

  ‘We forgot to buy any food,’ she said resignedly. ‘It’ll have to be omelettes tonight. Much later tonight,’ she added. ‘I still haven’t recovered from that amazing lunch.’

  ‘Neither have I.’ He reached out a hand and patted hers. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll see to supper.’

  ‘Oh, goody.’ Saskia wriggled a little, contentedly, perfectly happy to assign kitchen duties to him. ‘What do you have in mind?’

  He grinned. ‘A quick trip down to the village for a couple of pizzas.’

>   ‘What a cheat!’ Saskia tapped him on the knee reprovingly. ‘I thought you meant to slave over a hot stove for me.’

  ‘Such ingratitude! I’ve driven you to Arezzo, bought you a vast, expensive lunch and spent a lot of time shivering among tombs which remind me rather too much of my own mortality. Life’s too short to spend over a hot stove, Sassy. Tonight it’s pizza or nothing.’

  ‘OK,’ she said philosophically. ‘Make mine something with artichokes—I’m getting a taste for them.’

  When Saskia got into bed that night, pleasantly tired at the end of one of the most agreeable days she’d ever spent, she realised she’d hardly given a thought to Francis Lawford all day. Which was a surprise. So was the knowledge that the pleasure of the day had been largely due to the company of Lucius Armytage. She stretched out in the large bed, reflecting on the strangeness of life. Not so long ago she would never have believed it possible to enjoy an hour, let alone an entire day, in Luke’s company—even less to be looking forward to more of the same. But it was oddly relaxing to be in company with someone who didn’t look on her as a sexual challenge.

  Francis had made no bones about the fact that he desired her from the very first. But he was newly divorced, and instinct had prompted Saskia to be cautious, to make sure that both of them were ready for commitment before she burned her boats by sharing his bed. And in the end fate had saved her from a bad mistake by sending her to Romney Court a day early. Saskia sighed ruefully. Making love with Francis might well have been wonderful. But not if he’d intended dividing his favours between herself and the not-so-ex-wife Amanda.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  NEXT morning Saskia slept late. Persistent tapping on the door woke her at last.

  ‘Sassy,’ called Luke, ‘are you all right?’

  ‘Yes,’ she answered, yawning, and looked at her watch. ‘I’ve just woken up; sorry it’s so late. Give me a minute to come to and I’ll be with you.’

  ‘Are you decent?’

  ‘Reasonably. Why?’