An Engagement of Convenience Read online

  ‘And then there was me,’ said Harriet. ‘Black hair and eyes, olive skin, and a head shorter than anyone else in the family. And at the mercy of teenage hormones. Kitty used to tease so much that I was a changeling, I began to believe it.’

  ‘But you weren’t adopted, surely!’

  ‘No, of course I wasn’t.’ Harriet grinned sheepishly. ‘Quite apart from the gruesome birth details Mother gave me when I was older, I’ve got a perfectly valid birth certificate confirming my pedigree. My looks are just some peculiar freak of genetics.’

  Rosa was quiet for a moment. ‘Talking of Kitty,’ she said slowly, ‘I know it’s none of my business, but couldn’t she help a bit, financially?’

  ‘Not a chance. Kit’s husband started up his own business recently, they’ve got a hefty bank loan, and she’s pregnant, which means giving up her own job.’ Harriet changed the subject swiftly. ‘Anyway, enough of that. Tell me about Pascal. Still no news of him?’

  Which was the question which had landed her where she was right now, thought Harriet despairingly, as her destination loomed nearer. Pascal Tavernier, it became plain as the weeks went by with no word, had left Rosa flat, without even the grace to tell her to her face.

  ‘Since that last phone call, saying he was off to the Middle East, I haven’t heard a word,’ said Rosa unsteadily. ‘And this morning, to cap it all, I got a letter from my grandmother, asking me to Tuscany for her eightieth birthday. I used to spend my summer holidays there at one time, but I haven’t been back for years.’

  ‘Why not?’ asked Harriet curiously.

  Rosa sighed. ‘I was in my “rebel without a cause” stage, and Nonna’s an autocrat of the first water. I behaved badly, did something she couldn’t forgive. So I was expelled from Eden. Told to go home and stay there until I’d repented of my sins.’

  ‘What did you do, for heaven’s sake?’

  Rosa was silent for a moment. ‘I fibbed a bit,’ she said at last, ‘about Pascal being my first real love. At one time I had a terrific crush on my cousin, Leo. You know I’m half Welsh, half Italian. Leo’s the Italian connection, a Fortinari, like my mother. He runs the family vineyards.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I cringe to think of it, now, but I used to follow Leo round like a puppy. I was a much bigger nuisance than you ever were, Harriet, believe me.’

  ‘But no response from Leo, I take it.’

  ‘Not a flicker. So I decided to make him jealous by flirting with someone else. Leo was ten years older than me, and seriously unimpressed. Things got a bit out of hand at that point, so Nonna sent me home in disgrace.’ Rosa shuddered involuntarily. ‘When my parents died she was too ill with grief to come to the funeral, but she’s been writing to me regularly since, and now, just when the timing’s all wrong for me, she wants me in Fortino at last, to celebrate her birthday.’ She sighed, and thrust a hand through her heavy hair. ‘Harriet, I can’t tell you how much I long to make my peace with Nonna. But I can’t go.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Not until I’ve heard from Pascal.’ Rosa swallowed, suddenly deathly pale. ‘Sorry—need a cloakroom.’ She bolted, leaving Harriet staring after her in consternation.

  Rosa was a long time in returning. When she slid into her seat at last her face was ashen and desperate, a look of such intense misery in her eyes Harriet put out a hand to cover hers.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she said gently. ‘Is it Pascal?’

  Rosa took in a deep, shaky breath. ‘Serves me right, I suppose. Since Leo I’ve always called the tunes where men are concerned. But not this time. Pascal’s obviously forgotten all about me.’

  Harriet squeezed her hand. ‘In which case, Rosa Mostyn, cross him off the list. Forget him.’

  ‘Easier said than done,’ said Rosa, with an unsteady smile. ‘Pascal’s left me something to remember him by.’

  Harriet stared in dismay. ‘You mean—?’

  Rosa nodded desolately. ‘I’m expecting Pascal’s baby. I’ve tried to pretend it wasn’t happening. But I can’t ignore it anymore. And because I left the Villa Castiglione under a bit of a cloud, no way am I going back showing signs of being pregnant. If I had Pascal in tow as the prospective father, of course, it would be different But not alone. Not like this,’ she added hopelessly.

  ‘Does your brother know?’ asked Harriet, frowning.

  ‘No way. Tony would go up like a rocket. In any case his wife Allegra’s about to produce their first any minute, and she’s not well. My little problem is the last thing either of them needs right now.’

  Harriet’s grasp tightened. ‘Rosa, I’m so sorry. What can I do to help?’

  Rosa’s imploring black eyes locked with Harriet’s. ‘Will you go to Italy in my place? Pretend to be me for a weekend?’

  ‘What?’ Harriet pulled her hand away, staring at Rosa incredulously. ‘You’re joking!’

  ‘You’re the only one who could do it,’ said Rosa rapidly. ‘You look like me, you speak Italian fluently. And no one there has seen me for years, except at the funeral earlier this year. And that day my face was so blotched and swollen with crying I was unrecognizable anyway.’ She leaned forward urgently. ‘If you’ll do this for me, Harriet, I’ll pay for Claire’s operation, get the repairs done on your house, and get someone in on a permanent daily basis to help with your grandmother.’

  ‘Not on your life!’ Harriet jumped up, her face rigid with offence. ‘Some things you just can’t buy, Rosa.’

  Outside in the street Rosa caught Harriet by the arm. ‘Please don’t be angry. I can’t bear it.’ She sighed heavily ‘Look, for weeks I’ve been trying to find a way to help you and Claire, but I knew you wouldn’t accept money from me. I hate to see your mother so unwell and exhausted. You, too, working by day, and helping with your grandmother at night. So look on this as a simple equation. You need money. I’ve got a lot of it. All I ask from you is two or three days spent at the Villa Castiglione as Rosa Mostyn. I’ll provide the clothes and everything else you’ll need. In return I’ll ask my brother to send the Chesterton Hotel maintenance people over to your place, and I’ll get your mother into hospital right away.’

  Harriet, incensed, had refused point-blank. But later on Rosa found an unexpected ally in Claire Foster. After listening to Rosa’s sad little story, instead of supporting her daughter in her indignation, Claire reminded Harriet that it wasn’t so long since she’d complained about the uneventfulness of life back in Pennington.

  ‘Sounds like fun,’ she said wistfully. ‘In your place, darling, I’d do it like a shot. What an adventure!’

  ‘And a profitable one for the Fosters, of course,’ said Harriet tardy.

  Claire winced, and Rosa rushed to put her arms around her, glaring at Harriet. ‘How can you say such a hurtful thing to your mother? But even if it’s true, why not? You’re lucky you’ve still got a mother. You should jump at the chance to do this for her—’ And to Harriet’s dismay Rosa began to sob bitterly, burying her head on Claire’s shoulder.

  Harriet felt like a criminal as her mother comforted Rosa, and let her cry. But after a while Rosa sat up, scrubbed at her eyes, and apologized, sniffing hard.

  ‘Sorry for the drama, folks. Hormones in a twist. Anyway it was a damn fool idea, Harriet. Forget it,’ She turned to Claire. ‘Look, you know I’ve become very fond of you both. So let me pay for the operation and the repairs anyway, Claire. Please. No strings. Except to let me come here now and then.’

  ‘Wouldn’t your brother object to a spot of moonlighting by his maintenance people?’ said Harriet dryly.

  Rosa scrubbed at her mascara stains. ‘Not in the least, as long as I keep on making my Mostyn presence felt at both hotels while his attention’s on Allegra. Tony owes me.’

  On her return home in disgrace from Italy Rosa’s penance had been a job at the Hermitage, the lavish Mostyn hotel in the country. Outraged by his mother-in-law’s letter, which caused a rift never to be healed, Huw Mostyn put Rosa to work as kitch
en help at first, and from there she worked her way upwards through various jobs until her father finally sent her on a management course she took to like a duck to water.

  ‘Rosa,’ said Claire gently, ‘why has it taken so long for your grandmother to want you back?’

  ‘Because I flatly refused to repent and apologize,’ said Rosa, biting her lip. ‘Besides, after being packed off home like that I just couldn’t face going back again. I did repent in time, but by then it was far too late to apologize, stubborn fool that I am.’

  Harriet jumped up as her grandmother’s bell rang. ‘You stay there, Mother.’

  Enid Morris, as usual, wanted Claire, but Harriet explained that her mother was tired, saw to her grandmother’s most intimate needs, settled her back in bed with her book and her spectacles, doled out her pills, placed a drink in exactly the right place, found the right channel on the television, then rearranged the pillows several times until the invalid was grudgingly satisfied. Harriet went downstairs afterwards deep in thought. Her mother, in poor health herself, performed these same tasks dozens of times a day, and not only coped with a querulous invalid, but with the laundry, shopping, and cooking that went with the job. Harriet felt sudden shame. All that was needed, to make life a little easier all round, was a trip to the Italy she adored, pretending to be Rosa Mostyn for a couple of days. As only Harriet Foster was equipped to do.

  Harriet paused at the foot of the stairs, looking into the hall mirror. She stared hard and long at her reflection, which, she couldn’t deny, was a mirror image of Rosa’s. She lingered outside the sitting room door, listening to Rosa talking to Claire, and even to her own hypercritical ear, she could have been listening to herself. Both of them had husky voices, with a distinctive little catch that Guy Warren, in a fit of frustrated rage, had once termed misleading because it was so sexy.

  Harriet waited a minute longer, then thrust open the door, and before she could change her mind, said, ‘All right, Rosa, I’ll do it. I’m probably mad, and I’m sure to regret it, but as Mother said, it’s an adventure. As long as your grandmother isn’t harmed in any way by the switch, I’ll pretend to be her loving granddaughter for a day or two. But this is a one-off, Rosa. Afterward you’ll just have to tell her about the baby.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  HARRIET’S TENSION INCREASED as the purring Maserati turned off on a narrow road which wound up a hill in dizzying curves. Leonardo Fortinari drove his petrified passenger through an entrance flanked by stone pillars into the steep, tiered gardens of the Villa Castiglione, and stopped at the foot of well-worn steps leading to a balustraded terrace adorned with small, time-worn statues and stone urns spilling flowers. After a glance at her taut face he touched a hand fleetingly to her denim-clad knee.

  ‘Courage, Rosa.’

  To her secret consternation his touch seared through the denim like a brand. Harriet sat very still to disguise her reaction, her eyes fixed on the two-story building. The house was as familiar from a photograph as Leo Fortinari, but unlike the man beside her it was smaller than expected, old and very beautiful, built of venerable gold stone, with an arcaded loggia on three sides.

  ‘Before we go in,’ said Leo curtly, ‘do nothing this time, Rosa, to upset Nonna in any way. She is valiant, as always, but she has not been in good health lately. She was insistent you came back to see her again because she believes her time is short. Do nothing to shorten it. Understood?’

  Annoyed by his dictatorial tone Harriet gave him a disdainful look. ‘Nothing’s changed, then. You still believe the worst of me.’ This was Rosa’s firm belief, and so far Leo Fortinari was doing nothing to contradict it.

  He gave a short, mirthless laugh. ‘Do you blame me?’

  Harriet said nothing. If in doubt, say nothing and look mysterious, had been Rosa’s instructions. Sensible ones, probably. If anything about this entire situation could be described as remotely sensible. Harriet got out of the car before Leo could touch her again in assistance, slung the strap of Rosa’s expensive leather bag over her shoulder and followed him inside.

  A small, beaming woman came bustling towards them across the cool, marble-floored hall, greeting Leo in a flood of whispered Italian in a strong local accent Harriet had to concentrate hard to understand.

  ‘Welcome, Miss Rosa,’ she added in an undertone. ‘You must be tired. I shall bring coffee before I take you to your room. The signora is sleeping. You will see her later.’

  ‘You remember Silvia, of course,’ said Leo, as the woman went off.

  ‘No. She’s new since I was last here.’

  And thank heaven for that, thought Harriet, as he ushered her into a room Rosa had described in such painstaking detail that the abundance of pictures, gilt-framed mirrors and carved furniture was reassuringly familiar. Making no attempt to hide her nerves, she sat down on a sofa upholstered in faded ruby velvet, desperate to get the meeting with the signora over with. Though if Leo hadn’t spotted the switch, she comforted herself, perhaps no one else would, either. Like Rosa, she had no telltale distinguishing marks. And to make Harriet word-perfect in her role, Rosa had brought dozens of photographs and letters to the Foster house, recounting every detail of her family she could think of as Harriet took reams of notes which she read over and over in bed every night until she knew them by heart.

  ‘How quiet you are,’ said Leo, giving her a leisurely scrutiny as he pulled up a chair. ‘You have changed with maturity, Rosa. You are thinner, also your hair curls.’

  ‘Clever hairdresser,’ she said, unruffled, prepared for this. ‘Do you approve?’

  Leo’s jaw tightened. ‘You know very well that you are beautiful, Rosa.’

  Harriet’s eyes fell before his cold, assessing gaze, then she looked up with a smile, thanking Silvia as the woman came in to set down a large tray with coffee and tiny sweet biscuits, before rushing off to rejoin the women preparing tomorrow’s feast in the kitchen.

  ‘I had forgotten that faint, charming accent, Rosa,’ he said, watching her as she poured.

  Rosa had told Harriet Leo liked his coffee black, but she looked him in the eye and offered him cream. ‘Since I was banished I haven’t needed Italian much. Though it comes in useful in my job.’ Which, was entirely true.

  ‘So you have forgotten I like my coffee black and sweet,’ commented Leo. A black eyebrow arched. ‘What else have you forgotten, Rosa?’

  ‘As much as I possibly could,’ she said tartly. ‘Will you have a biscuit?’

  Leo shook his head, and leaned back, watching her through the steam from his cup. ‘So. How do you like working at the Hermitage?’

  ‘More than I expected to when I started,’ said Harriet, quoting Rosa.

  His eyes held hers relentlessly. ‘You had different ambitions once.’

  ‘Modelling, you mean.’ Harriet shrugged. ‘Just teenage daydreams. I’ve recovered from those. Every last one of them,’ she added deliberately.

  ‘Have you, indeed?’ The black-lashed eyes narrowed. ‘You were beautiful enough for modelling. Even more so now time has wrought certain changes,’ he added, eyeing her up and down with a look which seemed to register everything from the exact shade of her lipstick to the size of her shoes.

  Harriet turned away to refill her coffee cup, wishing Leo Fortinari would remove his disturbing presence and take himself off to his famous vineyards, which she had learned were several kilometres away from the Villa Castiglione.

  ‘How are Mirella and Dante?’ she asked politely.

  ‘Dante is my right hand since my father’s retirement. Mirella, as you know, is married now. She is already expecting her first child.’ Leo leaned forward to replace his cup on the tray. ‘So is Tony’s wife, I hear.’

  Harriet nodded. ‘Any moment now, which is why they couldn’t come for Nonna’s birthday.’

  ‘I hope everything goes well for her. Mirella, thankfully, is in the best of health.’ His eyes narrowed to a taunting gleam. ‘You did not come to her wedding.’

&
nbsp; He was baiting her, thought Harriet angrily. ‘For obvious reasons,’ she retorted, staring him down.

  ‘You mean you were afraid to come?’

  She shrugged. ‘If you like.’

  ‘Would you have come if Nonna had invited you personally before this?’ he asked, leaning nearer. ‘Or were you afraid of meeting old friends?’

  ‘Stop bullying the child,’ said a voice from the doorway.

  Leo rose to his feet, and Harriet followed suit quickly, her heart in her throat. The woman advancing towards her was dressed in a dark blue linen suit of exquisite cut. Her once dark hair was streaked with white, but faultlessly arranged, her face skilfully made up and she wore her years with grace and panache. Harriet gazed at her mutely, fighting to control her panic, then Vittoria Fortinari held out her arms, her huge eyes glittering with tears, and Harriet moved guiltily into her embrace.

  ‘Rosa,’ said the other woman unsteadily, holding Harriet at arms’ length. ‘How beautiful you are—’ She broke off to dab a handkerchief to her eyes. ‘But I must not cry. The make-up will melt.’ She smiled, looking so mischievous Harriet smiled back involuntarily.

  Signora Fortinari drew Harriet down to sit beside her on the sofa, then smiled up at Leo, who was watching them with the intent, probing look Harriet was rapidly growing to dislike. ‘Thank you for bringing Rosa to me, Leo.’

  In response to such sweet, but definite dismissal Leo Fortinari bowed formally. ‘I see I have served my purpose, Nonna, so I shall go back to Fortino.’

  ‘Now I have offended you,’ observed his grandmother placidly. ‘Come back to dinner later, Leo,’ she added, to Harriet’s dismay.

  Leo, noting it, smiled sardonically. ‘If Rosa does not object, of course.’

  ‘I’d be delighted,’ Harriet lied.

  ‘Good,’ said Vittoria, smiling benignly. ‘Bring Dante with you, Leo. He will be eager to see Rosa again.’