Harriet had been invited to accompany Tim there often enough, but this was the first time she’d said yes to a visit to La Fattoria. When she landed in Pisa she was full of anticipation as she boarded the train for Florence, happy to sit gazing, delighted, at the passing scenery until the train drew into Santa Maria Novella station, where she had to wait for a while until another train drew in and Tim, suntanned, his hair bleached to ash fairness by the Tuscan sun, alighted from it and raced towards her along the striped marble concourse. After hugs and kisses and apologies for being late, he took charge of the heavier bags and hurried her out of the station.
‘We have to walk a bit to get your hire car,’ he informed Harriet, ‘but it’s not too far.’
He was right. But the sun was hot, the picturesque streets of Florence thronged with slow-moving crowds, and by the time they’d taken possession of the car Harriet was only too glad to let Tim take the wheel. Once out of the city he took the scenic route, which wound past the famous wine estates of Chianti. But eventually Tim turned off on a narrower road which, he said, with pride in his increasingly fluent Italian, was one of the strade vicinali, the local roads that meandered, sometimes aimlessly, all over the Italian countryside.
‘But this one leads straight to La Fattoria because the place was a working farm back in the mists of time—not that you can call this straight, exactly,’ he added as the car ascended in swooping curves lined with pointing fingers of cypress. Harriet already knew the house by sight from the countless photographs Tim had taken to show her, but when he drove through an archway in the restored outer wall her first actual sight of La Fattoria took her breath away. Green creeper wreathed part of the lower walls, but the square stone tower looking down on the courtyard glowed cinnamon and gold in the afternoon sun.
Tim leapt out to open Harriet’s door, grinning in delight at her expression. ‘Cool, isn’t it?’
‘Cool!’ She gave him a scornful look as she got out. ‘It’s like something out of a fairy tale.’
‘And you’re in the tower room, princess, for the best view. We’ll stow your gear, then have a swim.’
Unlike James Devereux’s London flat, the interior of La Fattoria matched the outside, with a high-beamed ceiling, glowing rugs on the cool tiled floor, and supremely comfortable, dateless furniture.
‘Jed’s got great taste,’ said Tim with pride.
‘It’s lovely,’ said Harriet, so quietly he shot her a searching glance.
‘You’re disappointed?’
‘Of course not. How could I be? It’s perfect.’ She smiled at him. ‘But I need a shower and a drink of some kind, and then that swim.’
A winding stone staircase led up to the room in the tower. The bed was wide, with crisp white covers and a headboard carved from the dark wood of the settle beneath the window, and an armoire not unlike the one at End House. Filmy curtains stirred languidly at windows that looked down on the courtyard, and beyond to a blue swimming pool set in a terrace with breathtaking views of olive groves and vineyards against a backdrop of rolling, wooded hills. Harriet gazed out in rapturous silence for a moment before smiling at Tim.
‘For once, Tim Devereux,’ she said, kissing him, ‘you were not exaggerating. But, to make my day complete, does that door lead to a bathroom?’
After a good night’s sleep to get over her flight, Harriet was happy to fall in with Tim’s plan of as much exploration of local Tuscany as possible. With his encouragement she climbed all five hundred and five steps to the top of the bell tower alongside the Palazzo Pubblico in Siena to look down on the great fan-shaped square, and the view of what appeared to be all of Tuscany beyond. But in Florence next day, after hours of standing in line to see the paintings in the Uffizi and the Pitti Palace, she rebelled.
‘That’s it. I saw Michelangelo’s David years ago when I came here with my school, thank God, so if you can’t leave here without looking at him again for the umpteenth time I’m going shopping. I’ve overdosed on culture, Timothy Devereux. No more pictures, no more duomos. From now on I just want to chill.’
The caretakers James employed were away on their annual holiday, but their married daughter came in from the village for an hour or two each morning to tidy up, and bring fresh bread and vegetables. Lunch each day consisted of melon with Parma ham, or a simple salad of tomatoes with basil and mozzarella. Afterwards there were short, leisurely explorations of the countryside in the car, and in the evenings a simple pasta dinner in the courtyard. It was a relaxing, unwinding routine Harriet enjoyed to the full until a little after midnight halfway through her holiday.
Surprisingly tired after a day of doing very little at all, Harriet had been deeply asleep until something disturbed her. She stirred, surfaced slowly and opened her eyes to see James standing in a shaft of moonlight at the end of the bed. She smiled at him drowsily for a moment, and then shot upright in shock. It was no dream. He was here, in the flesh.
‘I frightened you,’ said James tersely. ‘I’m sorry, Harriet. I didn’t expect to find you here.’
She pulled the sheet up over the heart banging against her ribs. ‘But you knew I was coming to La Fattoria.’
‘I meant here in my room.’
‘Oh.’ She heaved in a shaky breath. ‘I didn’t know it was your room. Tim didn’t tell me.’
He cast a glance at the bathroom door. ‘Where is Tim?’
Too tired and dazed to think up some story, Harriet told him the truth. ‘He’s in Florence.’
‘What the hell is he doing there?’ demanded James, in a tone that made her want to duck under the covers and hide.
‘He’s meeting an artist he thinks Jeremy might exhibit at the gallery.’
‘Why didn’t he take you with him?’
‘I preferred to stay here.’
‘When did he go?’
‘A few days ago,’ she said reluctantly.
‘A few days ago!’ James stared at her in furious disbelief. ‘And when, exactly, is Tim coming back?’
‘I’m not sure. He’ll ring me tomorrow.’
His eyes glittered angrily. ‘Are you telling me that he left you alone here, miles from anywhere in a strange country, and you have no idea when he’ll be back?’
She stared at him mutinously. ‘I’ve got the hire car and my phone, and this place is so idyllic I’m perfectly happy on my own.’
James took in a deep breath, very obviously fighting to control his temper. ‘Go back to sleep,’ he said brusquely. ‘We’ll talk in the morning.’
Harriet slumped back on the pillows when the door closed behind him, her heart still thumping from the shock of finding a man in her room. Only it wasn’t just a man, it was James. And it wasn’t her room, either. It was the master bedroom, and the master had not been at all pleased to find it occupied.
She slid out of bed, and then snatched at her dressing gown as the door flew open and James strode in again.
‘Some of Tim’s belongings are in his room. And not from the last time he stayed, either. Have you two fallen out?’
‘No.’
‘Then why are you in separate rooms?’
‘I refuse to answer such a personal question,’ she snapped, taking the war into the enemy’s camp. ‘I insist that you do, Harriet,’ he rapped at her.
‘I won’t.’ She shook back her hair defiantly. ‘If you want answers, ask Tim.’
‘I want them from you. If Tim’s done something to upset you, I want to know.’
‘He’s done nothing at all to upset me!’
James eyed her grimly. ‘He invites you here for a holiday, then takes off and leaves you alone in a place as remote as this, and you call it nothing?’
‘I’ve been fine,’ she snapped. ‘At least I was until I woke up to find a man in my room.’
‘I’ve explained the reason for that,’ he said curtly.
‘But not why you’re here at La Fattoria,’ Harriet reminded him. ‘Tim didn’t say you were coming.’
‘He d
idn’t know.’ He paused, as though choosing his words. ‘I spent the weekend in Umbria at the Mayhews’ villa, but this evening I decided to leave a day early and call in here before my flight back tomorrow.’
‘Quite a surprise!’
‘Obviously not a pleasant one,’ he said, moving nearer.
Harriet backed away. ‘Men don’t normally appear in my room in the middle of the night.’
‘So you keep telling me.’ He took her hands. ‘I want the truth, Harriet. Has Tim hurt you in any way?’
‘That’s a change,’ she said scornfully. ‘Normally I’m the one accused of hurting Tim.’
His eyes locked on hers. ‘I keep thinking of something you said at End House, that Tim always goes his own sweet way. Does that mean regardless of your feelings in this instance, Harriet?’
She shook her head. ‘Tim would never deliberately hurt me, James.’
‘That doesn’t answer my question.’ His grasp tightened. ‘Did you know about the stay in Florence before you arrived here?’
‘No more questions, James.’
His face was expressionless in the moonlight. ‘Just one. Who was he?’
She frowned. ‘Who do you mean?’
His grasp tightened painfully. ‘You know damn well! The man I saw you with last week.’
She glared at him, and wrenched her hands away. ‘It was Giles Kemble, the man I work for.’
‘And do you enjoy regular cosy dinners with your boss?’
‘Not that it’s any business of yours, but that was the first. I’d worked overtime the entire week, and it was his way of showing appreciation.’
‘A damn sight too much appreciation from where I was standing.’ James recaptured her hands, a glitter in his eyes that rang alarm bells in her head. ‘For a split second when you first woke up tonight you looked utterly delighted to see me. Were you?’
Harriet bit her lip. ‘That’s not fair.’
‘Were you?’ he persisted, drawing her closer.
‘Yes,’ she said gruffly. ‘But I thought I was dreaming.’
‘This is no dream. We’re both flesh and blood, and God help me, I want you so much I’m going insane,’ he said, in a tone that made her tremble.
The moonlight cast such a dreamlike quality over the shadowy tower room Harriet’s will to resist was almost non-existent even before James drew her close. When she breathed in the scent of warm, aroused male Harriet’s last defences crumbled, and sensing it he held her close against him, pressing kisses all over her face. By the time his mouth settled on hers they were on fire for each other and he kissed her until her head reeled, his lips and tongue so demanding that hot, unadulterated need short-circuited something in Harriet’s brain. She helped instead of hindering when he ripped her nightgown away, and surrendered to the rapture of his skilled, unerring hands as they sought secret places that reacted with such wanton delight her knees gave way when his mouth streaked down her throat to graze on erect, quivering nipples. She gave a husky little moan, and James pushed her down on the bed and plunged his fingers into tight wet heat, rendering her mindless before he surged between her thighs, his mouth on her throat as they came together in such perfect rhythm it rushed them all too quickly to a climax that overpowered them and left them staring, dazed and breathless, into each other’s eyes.
Harriet was first to recover as she scrambled away to hunt out her dressing gown. No point in looking for the nightgown he’d torn from her. A great shiver ran through her as she yanked the sash of her robe round her and tied it viciously tight. She made for the bathroom and stood under the shower, holding her face up blindly to the beat of the water as long as she could bear it, then wrapped a towel round her wet hair, shrugged into her dressing gown, and ventured a look at herself in the mirror. Face flushed, mouth a little swollen, a few tell-tale red marks on her throat, but otherwise she looked much the same as usual. Harriet collected a hairbrush, and went into the bedroom to find James standing motionless at the open window. He’d pulled on his jeans but his chest was bare. He was staring down at the moon’s reflection in the pool, so still he could have been one of the marble statues Tim had taken her to see at the Bargello in Florence.
He turned to her, his face in shadow as he stood with his back to the moonlight. ‘I don’t know what the deal is with you two, but I wish to God Tim had been here.’
Oh, right. Not, Thank you, Harriet, for some terrific sex, then. She said nothing, switched on the lamp beside the bed, sat down on the edge and removed the towel to rub at her hair.
James sat down beside her, staring at his bare feet. They were good feet, thought Harriet, long and slim with straight toes. Not a male feature she’d ever thought of as attractive before—or thought of at all.
‘What are you thinking?’ he asked.
‘That you have rather nice feet.’
He gave a choked sound that was almost a laugh. ‘No one’s ever told me that before.’
‘I thought someone with your looks would be used to compliments.’ She took up the hairbrush, looking at him searchingly as she drew it through her hair. ‘You obviously regret what happened just now.’
‘How could I? That was the nearest thing to perfection two people can achieve together.’ He cleared his throat, sounding more like an awkward teenager than the supremely self-confident man she was used to. ‘After I saw you with that man the other day I couldn’t get you out of my head. I was jealous, for God’s sake. I know I don’t have a right to be. I accepted the invitation to the Mayhews’ just to have an excuse for coming here. It was no impulse visit on the way back. I needed to see you. Though God knows this wasn’t my intention. I had no idea Tim was missing. But when I found you were alone here I lost it so completely I never even gave a thought to protection.’
‘I take the pill,’ she said wearily, ‘so you don’t need to beat yourself up about that, at least. For the rest we just add this to the list of things we keep from Tim.’
‘You don’t intend telling him, then?’
‘No. My relationship with Tim is a pretty hardy plant. It would survive if it were any other man. But because it’s you I won’t take the chance.’
‘Thank you. Tim would forgive you anything, but if he knew about this he’d never forgive me.’ James got up, stood looking down at her for a moment, then said goodnight and left her alone.
Not even a goodnight kiss, she thought bitterly.
When Harriet woke next morning full recall of the night swamped her for a moment. She shivered, and went to the window to see James powering along the pool as if he had demons after him. She washed and dressed hurriedly, thrust her feet into flip-flops and raced down the winding stairs at breakneck speed to arrive in the kitchen just before Anna came in with her laden basket. With the usual mixture of phrase-book Italian and hand-waving Harriet managed to inform her that there were two for breakfast.
Anna beamed, assuming Tim had come back, but visibly sprang to attention when Harriet informed her that it was Signor Devereux this time. In minutes coffee was scenting the air, rolls were heating in the oven, and the table ready with several kinds of preserves and a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice. When James came in, damp about the head, Anna smiled in shy delight as he thanked her in fluent Italian.
‘So you’re a linguist, too,’ said Harriet as the girl went off to do the household chores.
‘I had to learn Italian fast when I first bought this place,’ he said, taking the chair opposite. He looked at her closely. ‘How are you this morning, Harriet?’
‘Tired,’ she said, and poured juice for him. ‘I didn’t sleep much. I wasn’t looking forward to facing you this morning.’
‘Why?’ James buttered a roll and passed it to her, a small service she found oddly touching.
Hormones out of kilter, she told herself, which was no surprise after the events of the night. ‘You know exactly why, James Devereux. Last night—’
‘We need to do some very serious talking about last night,’ h
e interrupted, and frowned as her phone rang. ‘If that’s Tim don’t tell him I’m here.’
She checked the caller ID, nodding at James in confirmation. ‘Hi, Tim.’
‘Hi, gorgeous. Are you all right?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s my girl. I’ll be with you sometime this evening. So what have you been doing?’
‘Swimming, sunbathing, nothing much,’ said Harriet, colouring as she met the eyes fixed on her face. ‘See you later, then.’
‘If you blush like that when Tim arrives,’ remarked James as he poured coffee, ‘he can’t fail to know something’s wrong.’
‘No more than he’d expect. Tim will take it for granted I’m not happy about having a visitor.’
‘You mean this particular visitor.’
‘Exactly.’ Harriet frowned. ‘But if Tim’s not coming until tonight you won’t see him before you leave.’
‘I’ve postponed my flight. I need a serious talk with my little brother,’ said James grimly. ‘You’ll have to put up with my company for another night.’
‘There’s a whole day to get through before then.’
‘You don’t have to spend it with me. I can take myself off somewhere and come back later. But first we talk. Come out and sit by the pool.’
For the past few days Harriet had enjoyed reclining under a canopy on one of the cushioned steamer chairs, with a cold drink, a radio-cassette player, a pile of books on the table beside her and the occasional swim in the pool to cool her down. Determined not to let James spoil her routine, she stripped down to the bikini under her halter and shorts, smoothed on sunblock, put on dark glasses and stretched out on one of the chairs.
‘So what shall we talk about?’ she asked.
James tore his eyes away from the expanse of sun-gilded skin and took the other chair. ‘I want some answers, Harriet. I’ve done a lot of thinking since we met in Upcote.’
‘About what?’
‘Tim.’
Harriet controlled herself with difficulty. ‘Don’t you ever think about anything, or anyone, else?’
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