A Rumoured Engagement

by Catherine George

  ‘Grab a glass and go circulate, Luke Armytage. We’ll see that Saskia meets everybody.’

  ‘I don’t know that I ought to do that. The family expects me to take great care of her,’ said Luke, the smile more crooked than usual as Saskia gave him a glittering look.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said lightly. ‘Go and enjoy yourself. I’ll be fine.’

  He gave her a slight, formal bow, his eyes glittering in response. ‘As you wish, Sassy.’

  ‘Sassy?’ said Tom, chuckling. ‘Is that what people call you?’

  ‘No. Only me,’ said Luke deliberately. ‘See you later.’

  The moment he turned away he was embraced by a beautiful brunette in a white dress which hung precariously from two narrow straps back and front, leaving her ribs bare at the sides, before a diamanté buckle held everything together at the hips.

  ‘Luca!’ she said in a husky voice, eyes alight with pleasure, and poured a flood of liquid Italian into his ear as she kissed him on both cheeks.

  ‘I guess that’s Luke taken care of for a while,’ said Lauren, and took Saskia by the hand. ‘Everybody’s here now, so come and meet people.’

  With the Harleys either side of her, Saskia was introduced to a bewildering array of people of several nationalities—the men, in most cases, wearing suits with labels as famous as those on the feminine creations Saskia recognised from glossy magazines, as well as the trip to Florence. All the guests, in some way or other, seemed to be involved with wine, either growing grapes, making wine, selling it or writing about it. Smiling incessantly, shaking hands, trying to memorise names, Saskia circulated with the Harleys until at last a servant called Lauren away, and Tom left her with one of the younger groups of people, all of them local.

  Her Italian—both taught at her grandmother’s knee and studied in college—was fluent, so she was able to hold her own with the privileged young of the local wine gentry. They were all very friendly—one of them, a very good-looking young man, particularly attentive.

  ‘I am Dante Fortinari,’ he said in English after a while as he secured another glass of champagne for her. ‘You must find it hard to remember so many names given to you all at once.’

  She smiled, rather taken by the young man who, if he had been wearing late-fifteenth-century costume, would have blended with ease into a painting by Raphael.

  Dante returned the smile, blue eyes gleaming. ‘So you are Luke Armytage’s sister. You are very like him. Except that you are much, much more beautiful, of course.’

  Saskia thanked him for the compliment, searching for the right word. ‘Actually I’m Luke’s sorellastra—his stepsister.’

  ‘Ah, I see.’ He smiled, edging her away from the rest of the group. ‘Tell me about yourself, Saskia. Do you live in London? What do you do there?’ He lifted her left hand. ‘No ring. No fidanzato?’

  ‘Which question shall I answer first?’ she retorted, smiling.

  ‘The last one,’ he said promptly.

  Saskia disengaged her hand gently. ‘No fiancé. I work in a merchant bank, where my Italian—and French—comes in handy, and I live alone in a flat in Chiswick.’ But she didn’t have a flat in Chiswick for the time being, she reminded herself. She shivered suddenly, aware of a cool breeze on her bare shoulders.

  ‘Come,’ said Dante instantly. ‘You are cold, and our hostess beckons. We must go inside for supper. May I have the pleasure of your company for the meal, Miss Saskia Ford?’

  ‘Of course.’

  When she mounted the steps to the terrace, careful in her new shoes, she found Luke standing still at the top, waiting for them.

  ‘Your big brother is looking for you,’ said Dante, smiling. ‘Come stai, Luke? Do not worry for Saskia; I am taking her into supper.’

  ‘Hello, Dante.’ Luke slid an arm round Saskia’s waist as she reached him. ‘Is that all right with you, Sassy?’

  ‘Of course.’ She detached herself, smiling. ‘You run along and enjoy yourself, brother, dear. Dante here has promised to look out for me.’

  ‘Right’ Luke gave the dark, elegant young man a straight look. ‘Take good care of her, Dante.’

  The young Italian bowed gracefully. ‘It will be my privilege.’

  The dining room was full of small tables, with a large buffet supper laid out at one end for guests to help themselves from the wonderful array of food. Once their plates were filled Dante led Saskia to a table where some of the group from the garden were saving seats for them. They were a convivial, friendly crowd, with faultless manners to the stranger in their midst, as they questioned Saskia about her life in London, and about Luke.

  ‘He is so charming,’ sighed one of the girls. ‘Does he have a special lady in London, Saskia?’

  ‘Not at the moment But that won’t last long, I’m sure.’

  ‘I am sure, too,’ said Dante quickly. ‘All women adore Luke. But take no notice of Mirella; she has always had a crush on him, ever since he came first to do business with our father. It is a pity he did not bring you here, last month, to the Rassegna del Chianti Classico, the big festival of local wines. You would have enjoyed that.’

  ‘I’m sure I would.’

  Of course, thought Saskia, enlightened. Fortinari—one of the oldest names in wine-making, and the most respected. Dante and Mirella must be sprigs on the formidable family tree.

  When the meal was over Tom gave a graceful speech, half in English, half in creditable Italian, thanking the guests for coming to mark another safe harvest of what looked like being a very good year for his wine. He was given a cheer by people who obviously liked him, even though in some ways he was a fair way to beating them at their own game with the introduction of new blends of grape to mix with the traditional Sangiovese vine, grown in this part of the world for centuries.

  Tom was a good raconteur and everyone enjoyed his speech, including Luke, who was at the same table as his hosts, accompanied by the brunette in the precarious white dress.

  Afterwards coffee was served on the terrace, accompanied by brandy or Vin Santo, according to taste. When Dante ushered Saskia outside Luke came to join them.

  ‘Enjoy your supper?’ he asked as they sipped the strong black coffee no Italian could exist without for long.

  ‘Delicious.’ She waved an arm, beckoning to Mirella, whose eyes lit up like lamps at the sight of Luke. ‘I believe you know Mirella Fortinari?’

  Luke took the girl’s hand, smiling warmly. ‘Of course; how are you? When I came last you were in college.’

  ‘I know,’ she said, returning the smile with interest. ‘I missed you.’

  As Saskia watched Mirella’s big dark eyes trained worshipfully on Luke’s she was conscious of a strange sensation deep inside her, similar to the pang she’d felt when the siren in the Gucci dress had appropriated Luke earlier on.

  She came back to earth as Dante asked if she would like to dance, only now noticing that music had started in the quickly cleared dining room.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, pulling herself together to give him a radiant smile. ‘If you’ll give me five minutes to tidy up, I’d love to dance.’

  After a moment to collect comb and lipstick from Luke’s inside pocket, Saskia was shown to a bathroom straight out of the Arabian Nights’, and took time to coax her hair into place and renew her lipstick, secure in the knowledge that tonight she’d never looked better in her life. Amazing what fine feathers can do, she told her reflection. As she was leaving the bathroom she met her hostess, who was anxious to confirm that Saskia was enjoying herself.

  ‘It’s a wonderful party, Lauren. I’m having the time of my life,’ she assured her, and went down to join the others. Luke’s tawny head stood out from the rest in the crowded room as he danced with Mirella Fortinari, who looked quite dazed with pleasure at the experience.

  Dante Fortinari, who was waiting for Saskia at the door, was a reasonably tall man, but Saskia measured five feet eight inches in her bare feet, so that in the new shoes she’d bought in
Florence she was on eye level with her partner as they danced to the old Cole Porter standards which were Tom Harley’s favourites.

  ‘You dance well,’ said Dante in the husky, deep voice characteristic of so many Italian men.

  ‘I learnt in school,’ she said, smiling. ‘But I don’t have much practice these days. We just sort of jig about to pop music at parties at home.’

  ‘We do here, also,’ he assured her, and smiled, his oval, heavy-lidded eyes gleaming. ‘But it is good to hold a beautiful woman in one’s arms. I like Tom’s music.’

  Saskia liked it, too. But something was missing. Dante was a charming, likeable man, but somehow she felt that the dress, the occasion, required more—the touch of enchantment that came from dancing with someone special. Francis, perhaps?

  ‘Why do you shake your head?’ asked Dante softly.

  Saskia smiled at him in apology. ‘I didn’t know I was doing it.’

  A break in the music sent them from the floor to join Mirella and Luke and the group Saskia and Dante had joined for supper.

  ‘Where’s the lady in the white dress?’ Saskia said to Luke in an undertone, giving him the lipstick and comb to stow away.

  ‘Her husband arrived during supper,’ he said out of the corner of his mouth. ‘Didn’t you notice?’

  ‘No.’ Which was the truth. Saskia had purposefully kept her eyes from Luke during the meal.

  ‘Hello, Armytage,’ said a new voice, and Luke turned to greet a man with wiry black hair and sharp features, introducing him as Joel Gilbert, wine writer and journalist.

  Dante, who already knew him, made punctilious introductions all round, after which Joel turned to Saskia with an appraising look.

  ‘Luke’s kept you a dark secret, Saskia. I never knew he had a sister.’

  ‘Stepsister,’ she corrected.

  ‘You’re very alike.’

  ‘The resemblance is pure coincidence,’ said Luke rather coolly, winning a surprised look from Saskia.

  ‘The music’s started up,’ said the newcomer. ‘Will you dance with me, Saskia?’

  Neither Dante nor Luke looked very pleased as the journalist led Saskia onto the floor to the strains of a smoochy Peggy Lee record.

  ‘I keep thinking I’ve met you before,’ said Joel as he held her rather more tightly than she cared for.

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘I never forget a face. It will come to me. Where are you staying? In Florence?’

  ‘No. My family have a house not too far away from here.’

  ‘Whereabouts?’

  ‘A few kilometres from San Gimignano.’

  ‘Are you here on holiday?’ he asked, and when she replied in the affirmative went on to fire questions about her life in London. Suddenly he snapped his fingers. ‘Got it! I saw you at Ascot with the heir apparent to the Lawford restaurant group. Aren’t you the lady helping Francis recover from his divorce?’

  ‘No. Just a friend.’ Saskia cut the catechism short. ‘That’s enough about me. Tell me about your life, Joel; it sounds a lot more interesting than mine.’

  It was a ploy which rarely failed to work. Most men were only too eager to give Saskia every last detail, whether she was interested or not. By the time the music stopped she’d learned that Joel had been in journalism since he was a boy, enjoyed visiting the various major vineyards as part of his job, that he’d appeared on television in a programme about wine, and supported Chelsea football team.

  ‘Goodness,’ said Saskia with mock sympathy. ‘Ah, well, someone has to.’

  ‘That’s fighting talk,’ he chuckled as they rejoined the others. ‘Thank you for the dance. Give me your number in London later.’

  Saskia smiled noncommittally, glad when the Harleys joined them and the band took a rest to give way to some old Bill Haley records.

  ‘Are you too young to remember this one, Saskia?’ said Tom, seizing her hand. ‘Let’s rock and roll, baby!’

  Laughing, Saskia followed him to the centre of the floor where he began to throw her around in perfect rhythm to the music, their feet combining in time to the irresistible beat Her hair was flying as Tom spun her away from him then back again, her face glowing as the rest of the guests formed a circle round the room, urging them on. She caught sight of Luke’s astonished face as he watched her, then forgot him in her concentration on keeping up with her partner, who twirled her round him like a matador with a cape. As the music came to a climax Tom tossed her up into the air, caught her exactly on the beat, and set her down, holding her hand as he bowed to the audience, who were applauding wildly.

  ‘Your baby sister is one hell of a dancer,’ panted Tom as he took Saskia back to the others.

  ‘So I see,’ said Luke, eyeing Saskia blankly.

  ‘Do you mean you’ve never danced with her?’ demanded Lauren, laughing.

  ‘Er-no.’ Luke looked oddly embarrassed.

  ‘We don’t see each other that much,’ said Saskia, still out of breath.

  ‘Why not?’ asked Dante Fortinari, deeply interested.

  Luke shrugged. ‘Until recently Saskia was very much involved with someone. She had no time to spare for mere stepbrothers.’

  Dante nodded. ‘It is only natural that a lover would wish to monopolise her. Are there more of you?’ he added with interest.

  ‘If you mean do I have another stepsister like Saskia, no,’ Luke said, grinning. ‘The others are three-year-old twin boys.’ He looked up as slower music began. ‘Right, then, Saskia, never let it be said that Tom Harley beat me at anything. Let’s dance.’

  It was strange, she thought as he took her in his arms, that each of her partners had a very different style. Dante had held her respectfully, but with unconcealed pleasure, Joel Gilbert had gripped her much too tightly for comfort, and Tom had involved her in something not far short of a cabaret act. But Luke was different. He held her in an oddly impersonal way. He wasn’t even all that wonderful a dancer. But she found she was enjoying herself with him far more than the others.

  ‘You’re leading,’ he said dryly at one point.

  ‘Sorry. I always had to be the man in school because I’m tall.’ Saskia smiled up at him, surprising an odd look in his eyes.

  ‘Anything less like a man than you tonight would be hard to imagine,’ he said gruffly, and held her closer.

  They finished the dance in silence, then returned to the teasing of the others.

  ‘Looked pretty painless to me,’ commented Tom. ‘Did he tread on your toes, Saskia?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ said Luke promptly. ‘If anything the boot was on the other foot.’

  ‘I did not step on your toes,’ Saskia retorted, secretly rather grateful that Luke had played up the brother/sister angle by insulting her. Because something in the way Joel Gilbert had been watching them as they left the dance floor bothered her. She didn’t like him, she decided, which was silly. Apart from a tendency to hold her too close, he had been pleasant enough.

  During the following hour both Saskia and Luke danced with a succession of partners, but not again with each other. She partnered Joel Gilbert again, with concealed reluctance, and had a more conventional dance with Tom, but Dante Fortinari danced with her most. It was late and she was tired when Luke intercepted her as she came off the dance floor.

  ‘Just tell me when you want to go home,’ he said as Dante went off to look for his sister.

  ‘Whenever you like.’ She smiled at Luke, stifling a yawn. ‘At one time I could dance all night then get up and work a full day. Am I getting past it at twenty-five, Lucius Armytage?’

  ‘Of course not. It’s nearly three in the morning, Sassy. You’re entitled to feel tired.’

  ‘How about you?’ she said, frowning. ‘You still have to drive home.’

  ‘I’ve just had some coffee with Lauren, while you were dancing with Dante, and I’ve had very little to drink. I promise to get you home safely.’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking of that,’ she protested. ‘I me
ant you must be tired.’

  His eyes softened. ‘I keep forgetting this is the new you. But don’t worry; it’s not far. I know the road well, and it’s a beautiful night.’

  Saskia went with him to thank Lauren and Tom for one of the best evenings she’d ever had.

  ‘Bring her again to celebrate next years’ vendemmia,’ said Lauren promptly.

  ‘Just make sure Tom gets his grapes in on time, then,’ begged Luke. ‘Every year I’m a nervous wreck about this time, until I hear he’s pulled it off again.’

  Tom tapped his nose, winking. ‘This tells me when.’

  ‘What happened a few years back, then?’ retorted Luke.

  ‘I had a cold,’ said Tom, with dignity, and kissed Saskia on both cheeks. ‘Nice to meet you, baby sister. And don’t wait until next year to visit. Get Luke to bring you to Napa Valley.’

  ‘Come any time,’ urged Lauren. She looked up at her husband with a questioning smile he answered by putting an arm round her and drawing her close. She smiled at the others radiantly. ‘We haven’t told anyone else—but by then, God willing, we’ll have another Harley to meet you.’

  Tom grinned widely as Luke wrung his hand and kissed Lauren, while Saskia, taken aback by a sharp pang of envy, added her congratulations.

  ‘So that’s why you chose Saskia to throw round the floor tonight,’ said Luke, laughing.

  Tom nodded. ‘That’s right. You shake a mean leg, Miss Saskia.’

  The leavetaking was prolonged as Luke made the rounds with Saskia in tow. When they came to Mirella and Dante Fortinari, the girl looked up at Luke wistfully.

  ‘Promise to visit us when I am at home next time?’ she said.

  He smiled and bent to kiss her on both cheeks. ‘I promise,’ he said, then shook Dante’s hand. ‘I look forward to receiving the next shipment.’

  ‘It was good to see you again, Luca.’ The young man turned to Saskia and took the hand she offered, kissing it gracefully. ‘It was an even greater pleasure to meet his sister.’

  ‘Stepsister,’ she said automatically, and he smiled, giving her a formal little bow, as Luke took Saskia by the arm and led her from the room.