A Rumoured Engagement Read online

  ‘But everything always has gone smoothly for you, Luke.’

  ‘Not entirely.’ He paused. ‘I wasn’t very happy when my parents divorced, believe me.’

  Saskia bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think. How old were you when they parted? Thirteen, fourteen?’

  ‘Fifteen. Not quite grown up. In fact still young enough to bawl like a baby the night my mother told me she was going to live in America with Joe Harley. I could spend my holidays in California with them, she assured me, and we could talk on the phone all the time, and write to each other regularly. None of which was much comfort to me at the time.’

  Saskia sat very still, listening intently. Luke had never said a word on this particular subject before.

  ‘In the end,’ Luke went on, ‘I even gained in some ways. I owe my interest in wine to Joe. He was always very good to me. I spent a lot of holidays helping out in his vineyards in Napa Valley, learning about New World viticulture almost by osmosis.’

  ‘But you lived with your father.’

  ‘Until I could afford a place of my own, yes. Dad had some idea about selling the house in Oxford at first, but I think he kept it on so I wouldn’t have too many changes to cope with at once. And now he’s glad he did, of course.’ He chuckled. ‘Funny, really. My mother couldn’t cope with the academic life. Marriage to an Oxford don wasn’t her scene at all. Yet Marina seems to thrive on it. But I’ve often wondered if she minded moving into what was virtually another woman’s home.’

  ‘Mother and I lived in a cramped little flat over her dress shop, Luke, so she adored the house from the first. Besides, she made some changes once we moved in. Even more when the boys were born.’ She paused. ‘How did you feel when the twins arrived?’

  Luke laughed. ‘Astonished, at first. But who could resist that pair of charmers? My father was as pleased as Punch. I was happy for him. He spent ten lonely years on his own before he met your mother, remember. She gave him a new lease of life.’ He turned to look at her. ‘Your father died before you were born, I know. While we’re on the subject, how did you shape up to the thought of a stepfather?’

  Saskia was quiet for a moment. ‘At first,’ she said slowly, ‘I was afraid and miserable, sure Sam would come between Mother and me. But I soon got over that once I knew him better. He’s always been kindness itself to me.’

  ‘The only fly in the ointment, then, was me.’

  Saskia had been fifteen, and Luke ten years older when Samuel Armytage had married Marina Ford. Saskia had been prickly and full of illogical resentment for the good-looking, energetic young man, who had already opened the first of his shops and owned a smart car and a flat in Parsons Green.

  ‘You were so perfect, Lucius Armytage, and so superior and horribly pleased with yourself. You always had some gorgeous, slender sexpot in tow, while I was a seething mass of teenage angst with puppy fat, spots on my face and braces on my teeth. How I loathed you!’

  ‘Don’t I know it?’ he said with feeling. ‘I used to time my visits home for when you weren’t around.’

  ‘Don’t think I didn’t notice!’

  He laughed. ‘I hope I’ve changed a bit since then. You certainly have. Our paths haven’t crossed for a while lately, but I hear the news from Dad and Marina. They seemed rather relieved that you’d stopped changing the boyfriend every five minutes and settled on one, at last’

  ‘Wrong one, as it happens,’ she said lightly.

  ‘Want to talk about it?’

  ‘No, thanks. You don’t want a tearful woman on your hands at this time of night.’

  ‘Hurt badly, Sassy?’

  His tone was so unexpectedly tender her throat thickened.

  ‘Hopping mad, rather than hurt,’ she said gruffly. ‘With myself, for being such a fool. Mortifying. I honestly thought I had better judgement.’

  ‘I meant what I said about having a word with Lawford,’ he said casually, getting to his feet. ‘Or whatever you prefer in the way of chastisement. I object to my relatives getting hurt.’

  ‘But we’re not really relatives, Luke.’

  ‘How would you describe us, then?’

  ‘Connections?’

  ‘Too remote. As far as Lawford’s concerned you’re my stepsister.’ His smile was even more crooked than usual. ‘I reserve the right to come the heavy brother if he’s caused you lasting damage, Saskia.’

  ‘The damage is to my pride only-and very temporary. But thank you for the thought. It’s very-sweet of you.’

  Luke chuckled. ‘That’s a first. No one’s ever called me sweet before.’

  ‘Not even Zoë?’

  ‘Definitely not Zoë. You’re out of touch. That’s been over some time.’

  Something Saskia knew perfectly well. ‘Really? Who’s the current lady, then?’

  ‘There isn’t one. I’ve been too busy.’ Luke took the tray from her. ‘I’ll see to these if you’re tired.’

  ‘How domesticated,’ she mocked, and followed him through the living room and out into the kitchen.

  ‘We single chaps have to be these days.’

  ‘Doesn’t some kind lady wait on you hand and foot in your new house?’

  Under the bright overhead light Luke gave her a sardonic look as he put the cups in the sink. ‘I have a cleaner, yes, whom I cherish because she’s large, cheerful, efficient and a doting grandma. As long as I exclaim over photographs of her brood she’s willing to “do” for me a couple of hours twice a week. Otherwise I cope unaided.’

  ‘And cope brilliantly, of course.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Saskia shook her head, smiling, then yawned suddenly. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. Perhaps you’ll sleep better tonight.’

  ‘I hope so. Goodnight, Luke.’

  ‘Goodnight, little sister. I’ll just sit on the terrace a while longer.’

  Which was rather tactful of him, thought Saskia as she made preparations for the night. It saved bumping into him again tonight in awkward circumstances. She brushed her teeth vigorously, her cheeks burning. All evening she’d done her best to forget the earlier confrontation here in the bathroom. And Luke, somewhat to her surprise, had behaved as though their first meeting had been on the terrace. Which was unusual. His dealings with her normally held more than a tinge of mockery. Perhaps he’d been just as embarrassed as she was, of course. Or was being tactful because he was sorry for her-not a thought which pleased. She hated the thought of pity from Luke, or from anyone else.

  Saskia stared at her flushed reflection, furious with herself now for spending so much money on her hair to please Francis. The hairdresser had added fine threads of gold here and there to highlight the tawny brown, and it looked good. But somehow it also emphasised the fact that she was alone here in Italy, instead of in London with Francis. Not that she was alone tonight. Despite their past lack of rapport she had been surprisingly glad of Luke’s company after the initial fright. She had begun to be tired of her own company. She would even miss him when he went on his way in the morning.

  CHAPTER TWO

  IN the morning, however, Saskia got up to find Luke sitting at the breakfast table with a pot of coffee in front of him, obviously in no hurry to go anywhere.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said, yawning.

  ‘Good morning, Sassy. Sleep well?’

  She nodded. ‘Actually, I did. My sleepless nights finally caught up with me.’

  Luke raised an eyebrow. ‘Or maybe you were more relaxed with company in the house.’

  Saskia helped herself to coffee from the pot and sat down. ‘I’m not nervous on my own, Luke.’ She looked at him squarely. ‘What exactly are your plans? Is my presence here a problem?’

  He returned the look in silence for a moment, then shrugged. ‘I admit I’d intended staying here for a few days. I should have checked with Marina. But not to worry; I’ll find a hotel.’

  She drank some of her coffee. ‘You don’t have to do that,’ she said, after a while.
‘I’m sure we can manage to occupy the same house for a few days without coming to blows. Especially if you intend to be out every day.’

  ‘I can arrange to be out every evening as well,’ he said dryly, ‘if you’d prefer.’

  Saskia could well imagine it. Luke was the sort of man who had friends everywhere. And not all of them female, she allowed, with justice.

  ‘It makes no difference to me either way,’ she said, deliberately indifferent. ‘Want some breakfast? No bacon and egg, though-just fruit, yoghurt and a couple of yesterday’s rolls I could heat up. I need to do some shopping.’

  ‘I could run you somewhere, if you like,’ he offered.

  She shook her head. ‘No, thanks. I’ll walk to the village later.’

  Luke jumped to his feet. ‘As you like. If you’ll excuse me I’ll take a shower. I skipped one earlier, in case I woke you.’

  ‘I’ll have breakfast ready by the time you are, then.’ He shook his head. ‘Don’t bother, Saskia. I’ll get something on my travels.’ He strode from the room without looking at her, and she stared after him, biting her lip.

  She had offended him again. Which was by no means the first time. But this time, for once, she hadn’t intended to. On the rare occasions they spent time in each other’s company these days they were usually in Oxford, with Sam and Marina, and made an effort to remain civil. Not, conceded Saskia with sudden honesty, that Luke was ever uncivil. She was the culprit. Due to an in-house gym at the bank and a determinedly healthy diet her skin was good these days, and while she would never be thin she was no longer overweight. Nevertheless, the moment she was in Luke’s company some secret part of her instantly reverted to the plump, hostile teenager of their first meeting.

  Saskia switched the oven on, set out butter, fruit and some cartons of yoghurt, made a fresh pot of coffee, then went out to sit on the terrace to lie in wait for Luke, in case he intended taking off without saying goodbye. She heard him leave the bathroom, then a minute or two later he came out on the terrace, wearing well-cut jeans and a white shirt, a lightweight jacket over his arm. But there was no suitcase in evidence, she noted, brightening.

  ‘I’m off, then, Saskia,’ he said briskly.

  ‘If you’ve got time, please stay and have breakfast first,’ she said. ‘I obviously put my foot in it again just now. I really didn’t mean to.’

  Luke looked down at her, eyes narrowed, then he shrugged and laid his jacket down on one of the wicker chairs. ‘All right’

  They ate yoghurt and peaches in silence, then Saskia poured coffee and got up to take the rolls from the oven.

  ‘Pax?’ she said lightly as she set them on the table.

  Luke eyed her expressionlessly. ‘I don’t know. You tell me.’

  She gave him a reluctant, apologetic smile. ‘I’m not at my best right now.’

  ‘And even at your best you’re not over-affectionate where I’m concerned.’ He took a roll and buttered it. ‘I’ve often wondered why, exactly, Saskia. Is there something about my person that offends you?’

  ‘No, of course not. It’s just-’ She shrugged. ‘I’m off men at the moment’

  ‘That explains this particular moment, maybe, but you’ve been hostile towards me for the best part of ten years.’ Luke stirred his coffee slowly, staring down into the cup. ‘I always assumed it was because Marina and I hit it off so well from the first’

  ‘Good heavens, no,’ Saskia said in genuine surprise. ‘I was pleased for Mother because you obviously liked her so much. She was very nervous about you before she met you.’

  Luke’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Was she really? I never knew that’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Was that the problem, then? Because I made her nervous?’

  Saskia sighed. ‘No. I told you why before. I resented you, Lucius Armytage, because I was such an ugly duckling.’

  He let out a crack of laughter. ‘But that wasn’t my fault, Sassy.’

  ‘Of course it wasn’t-but I still hated you.’

  ‘Do you hate me still?’ he asked, surprising her.

  ‘No.’ She smiled a little. ‘At least, not so much.’

  ‘Good.’ He leaned back in his chair, scrutinising her lazily. ‘And you must know, if only from the odd look in the mirror, that Saskia grown up is no ugly duckling. Though,’ he added warily, ‘I’m not sure about the hair.’

  ‘You don’t like my gold threads?’

  ‘I meant the cut. I preferred that long mane of yours, Sassy.’

  ‘It’ll grow,’ she said prosaically. ‘Though I hope it doesn’t quite yet This particular visit to the hairdresser cost an arm and a leg, not to mention ages on a waiting list for the man who actually cut my hair.’

  Luke raised an eyebrow. ‘Was this for some special occasion?’

  ‘Of course-in honour of moving in with Francis Lawford.’ Saskia refilled their cups, avoiding Luke’s eyes.

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘I changed my mind.’

  There was silence for a moment while he waited for her to say more. When she didn’t Luke finished his coffee and got up. ‘I must go.’

  Saskia had also changed her mind about wanting to go with him. But Luke didn’t ask again. He collected his jacket and she went outside with him, unsurprised when she saw the shield-shaped radiator and distinctive crimson of an Alfa-Romeo roadster. Luke, even when hiring cars, veered towards the aesthetically pleasing.

  ‘Very nice,’ she said admiringly, and gave him a head-to-toe look. ‘All in keeping with your restrained elegance, stepbrother.’

  ‘You know the motto in Italy,’ he said, shrugging. ‘Look your best at all times and at all costs. Image is important in this neck of the woods.’ He got in the car and looked up at her.

  ‘So, apart from a hike to the village, what are you going to do today?’

  ‘As little as possible.’ She hesitated. ‘Will you be back for dinner?’

  For a moment she was sure Luke meant to say no, but he nodded slowly. ‘Don’t go to any trouble. Something cold will be fine.’

  Saskia watched the red car wind its way down the serpentine bends of the track which led from the Villa Rosa to the main road. After it had accelerated out of her view she stayed where she was for some time, her eyes on the undulating landscape with its colours of umber and ochre punctuated at intervals by dark fingers of cypress pointing up into the cobalt sky. These surroundings were no help in the present circumstances, she thought morosely. The beauty of it all was meant to be shared with a lover, not help one forget him.

  She sighed impatiently and went back into the house to clear away the breakfast things, her mouth twisting a little at the hint of domesticity. Then as she was putting the dishes away she heard a car, and her eyes lit up. Luke was coming back. He must have forgotten something. And this time she would swallow her pride and ask to go with him.

  But when Saskia hurried outside she found an elderly green Fiat instead of the smart Alfa-Romeo, and she masked her disappointment with a welcoming smile for Serafina Marenghi—the plump, bustling woman employed to look after the villa.

  Teenaged Carlo, who smiled shyly from behind the wheel, was taking his mother shopping, and Serafina would be happy to make any purchases required. A list was made, a bundle of lire handed over, and Saskia advised to make the most of the sunshine—since, warned Serafina, glancing skywards, it would not last much longer. Cold weather was on its way.

  Left with nothing to do, and all day to do it in, Saskia took Serafina’s advice. She changed her jeans and sweatshirt for a brief two-piece swimsuit, anointed herself with suncream, collected a novel and pulled one of the steamer chairs out into the sun. If nothing else she could at least augment her tan.

  But the day passed very slowly. Odd, she thought, that yesterday had been spent in exactly the same way, but surely the minutes hadn’t crawled by like this. A little after midday she heard the Fiat chugging its way up to the house again, and pulled on her sweatshirt and jeans to take the groceries from Carlo, who sh
yly handed over a paper-wrapped bundle of herbs from his mother’s garden.

  Saskia thanked him warmly, insisted he keep the change he proffered, and went inside with her haul. Serafina had kept to the list and added a few ideas of her own, as requested, so that the tall refrigerator now housed a salami, wafer-thin ham, slices of roast turkey breast, sausages flavoured with fennel, some buffalo mozzarella and a hunk of Parmesan. There were also several loaves of bread, some fresh rolls, a huge bag of tomatoes, some spinach, a melon, a few figs, and a dozen eggs supplied by Serafina from her own hens.

  After putting away the surplus bread in the freezer, Saskia washed the spinach and steamed it lightly while she mixed eggs into extra-fine flour to make the pasta for the ravioli she intended giving Luke as a first course. Tonight, she vowed as she worked, she would be as pleasant and friendly a sister as any man could wish for. And for once it was good to have time for the kind of cooking learnt from her mother.

  Marina had been born to an Italian mother and English father. Her brief marriage to a young pilot in the Royal Air Force had ended when he’d crashed during a training flight, leaving Marina widowed and six months pregnant at the age of twenty.

  When the first wild agonies of grief were over Marina concentrated on making a future for herself and her child with the modest sum of money Richard Ford had left her, and set herself up in a shop which sold elegant, well-designed clothes at affordable prices. The premises she found had a small upstairs flat, and, with her mother’s help with the baby, the business acumen of her accountant father and her own flair for fashion, the dress shop with the simple name ‘Marina’ eventually became a success.

  By the time Saskia was in her teens her grandparents had sold their house in England and retired to the Villa Rosa, which her grandfather John Harding had bought for his Anna Maria so that she could live out her remaining days in the sun of her native Tuscany.

  It was around this time that Marina was asked to an Oxford dinner party where Samuel Armytage was a fellow guest. They were married a year later. Several years afterwards, to their combined shock and joy, Marina gave birth to twin boys, Jonathan and Matthew, who, unlike Luke, were the spitting image of their father.