A Rumoured Engagement

CHAPTER THREE

LUKE shrugged. ‘There’s no great tale of tragedy to relate. Zoë and I parted over a very basic difference of opinion. You’ve heard I bought a house?’

‘Of course. Marina said it’s charming; Sam said it needed a lot of work.’

‘They’re both right. Zoë took one look at it and thought I was barking mad.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s about two hundred years old, and the minute I set eyes on it I had to have it. At time of purchase the kitchen and bathrooms had been renovated, but otherwise it needed a lot of loving care. Not Zoë’s cup of tea.’ Luke paused, his eyes on the view. ‘She wanted a modern flat with a view of the Thames. Not my scene at all. Neither of us would budge an inch. So in the end we called it a day.’

‘Were you thinking of getting married?’ asked Saskia curiously.

‘If we had been I assume one of us would have given in,’ he said elliptically. ‘The important thing would have been the fact of being together, not the location. But I made the fatal mistake of saying what fun we’d have, doing the place up bit by bit.’

Saskia tried to keep a straight face as she pictured Zoë helping Luke in overalls with a paintbrush. Zoë worked for a fashion magazine and wore elegant little suits with minuscule skirts, never a silver-blonde hair out of place.

‘I told you it was boring,’ he reminded her, and tapped her hand. ‘Right. Your turn. What happened with Lawford?’

Saskia was quiet for a moment, reliving the day, just a week before, when her life had taken a new turn. She deliberately called up the scene, testing it as a tongue probes an aching tooth.

‘I just took two suitcases to start with, and Mother drove me to the station,’ she said calmly. ‘It felt so-so momentous, as though one half of my life was behind me and I was setting out on a new, glamorous phase, completely different from what had gone before. I’d sublet my flat in Chiswick, had a couple of days at home in Oxford, and suddenly I got impatient, decided to surprise Francis by starting this new life of mine a day earlier than planned.’

She had gone up in the lift in the smart building where Francis lived, clutching her suitcases and a bag of extravagant titbits collected from the nearby delicatessen. His key, handed to her over a romantic dinner days before, had been clutched in her hand like a talisman. Fizzing with anticipation, she’d let herself into the quiet, tidy flat, put down her suitcases and taken the bag of groceries into the immaculate kitchen.

‘I was so thrilled with the idea of a daily cleaner,’ she said derisively. ‘No more chores for me after a hectic day at the bank. Sometimes since,’ she said honestly, ‘I’ve wondered if Francis’s domestic arrangements weren’t a major part of the attraction of moving in with him.’

‘So what happened?’

‘The flat was very quiet. Where I live it’s a pretty busy area, with traffic noise and so on. But Francis’s place seemed insulated from all that. Zoë would love it—a doorman, views of the river from vast windows, modern furniture and rag-rolled walls. A lot different from my homely little attic.’

She had taken her cases along the narrow hall and opened the door to the master bedroom, then stopped dead, her feet rooted to the floor. The curtains were drawn, but the light filtering through them was quite sufficient to see the two people in the bed. Deeply asleep, they were clutched close in each other’s arms in a tangle of naked limbs, the woman’s long blonde mane mingled with the man’s sweat-darkened hair, their bodies only partially covered by a rumpled sheet. A quilt and a couple of pillows were in a heap on the floor, and discarded clothes led in an explicit trail to the bed.

‘Have you ever had the kind of dream,’ asked Saskia conversationally, ‘where however much you want to run you can’t move?’

‘Yes,’ said Luke, looking grim.

‘I don’t suppose it was more than a second or two, but at last I managed to back out without waking them. I tiptoed back along the hall with my suitcases, collected my pathetic little bag of goodies and got myself out of there as fast as I could.’ She smiled bitterly. ‘The doorman looked rather surprised as I shot past him, but I didn’t slow down until I found a taxi, and made for Paddington Station and a train back to Oxford.’

‘Did you know the woman?’ asked Luke, after a pause.

‘Oh, yes. It was his ex-wife.’ Saskia thrust her hair back with an irritable gesture. ‘Not quite as “ex” as I thought, unfortunately. I knew he still saw Amanda from time to time. On business, he told me—things to sign, and all that. But that day it was flagrantly obvious their dealings were pleasure, not business.’ She let out a deep breath. ‘You know what really got to me, Luke?’

‘Tell me.’

‘The flat was so immaculate, so tidy. Not a newspaper or a dirty coffee cup or a used wineglass. Nothing. Yet the bedroom looked as though a bomb had hit it.’ She breathed in deeply. ‘The contrast was horribly vivid. They’d obviously rushed straight from the front door to the bedroom, too intent on having sex to stop for anything other than to draw the curtains.’

‘I think I’ll see to him whether you want me to or not,’ said Luke harshly. ‘What the hell was the idiot up to? Did he think he could have you and still indulge in the odd spot of auld lang syne with the ex-wife whenever the fancy took him?’

‘To be fair, the fancy obviously took them both simultaneously. I could tell from the way the clothes were discarded—’ Saskia swallowed hard, suddenly sorry she’d eaten so much at dinner.

Luke reached out and grasped her hand tightly in silent comfort.

She let out a deep breath. ‘What a fool I was. I really thought he cared for me. It was a big step on my part, actually moving in with Francis. But I think he’s still in love with Amanda. Otherwise.’

‘Otherwise?’

Saskia’s face flushed with heat in the darkness. ‘Well—people usually separate after making love. Disentangle themselves and so on.’

‘Not necessarily.’

She shrugged. ‘Anyway, even fast asleep Francis was still holding Amanda tightly, and she him. As though they couldn’t bear to let go of each other. It was that I couldn’t get out of my mind.’

‘Are you still in love with him?’ asked Luke neutrally.

She shook her head. ‘No. Which is mortifying, in a way. I must be a very shallow sort of female. Or a very mistaken one. Whatever feelings I had for Francis didn’t survive that Friday afternoon in Romney Court. It’s odd. If I had seen them lunching somewhere, or even if Francis had come to me and told me what had happened—that for some reason his wife had needed comforting and one thing led to another, and so on, and it would never happen again—I would probably have been able to handle it. Because I hadn’t seen for myself.’ She shivered. ‘But I can’t forget the scene I walked in on. I’d never thought what “in flagrante” meant before, but that day it was brought home to me with a vengeance. I’m just grateful I didn’t arrive any earlier.’

‘Amen to that,’ Luke said dryly, and got up. ‘Come on, Sassy, let’s go inside. It’s cold out here.’

Saskia shivered slightly as she got to her feet. ‘A good thing your Tom Harley picked his grapes, then.’

‘A very good thing.’ Luke followed her along the hall with the tray, his eyes searching her face when they reached the brightly lit kitchen. ‘No tears?’

She shook her head, smiling. ‘No. I’m not much one for tears, Luke. When I ran away from Francis that day I was swearing like a trooper, not crying.’

‘How did Marina react when you turned up in Oxford again?’

‘When I gave her an edited version of the scene in Francis’s bedroom she lost her temper in true Latin style, and wanted to storm up to London and inflict physical injury on him. My mother’s Italian half tends to dominate under certain circumstances.’

Luke grinned. ‘I know.’

‘But that was just gut reaction.’ Saskia shrugged. ‘When she calmed down she became intensely practical, as always, and suggested I come here to lick my wounds, since I’d already arranged to be away from my job for a fortnight. Francis was going to take time off, too, you see, so we could enjoy playing house for a while.’ She breathed in deeply. ‘Sam was wonderful. He arranged a plane flight, bless him, and drove me to the airport. So here I am. Mending my broken heart at the Villa Rosa.’

‘Is it really broken?’

‘No.’ She managed a creditable little laugh. ‘Dented a bit, maybe, but not broken. And I’ve learned a very valuable lesson—no more falling in love.’

Luke smiled a little. ‘Not until the next time, anyway.’

‘Something like that.’

‘Right then, Saskia,’ he said briskly. ‘No more moping alone here. Come with me tomorrow.’

‘Where?’

‘I’ll drive you to San Gimignano, then you can browse round the town while I chase up some of the local wine. It shouldn’t take long. I’ll buy you lunch afterwards.’

Saskia smiled. ‘Sounds good. Thanks; I’d like that.’

Luke raised an eyebrow, as though he’d expected opposition. ‘Good. I’ll say goodnight, then, Sassy.’ He paused, looking down at her steadily. ‘I’m glad you told me.’

‘So am I.’ She hesitated. ‘And I’m sorry it didn’t work out with Zoë.’

‘Thank you. Though I feel it only fair to mention that my heart isn’t broken either.’

‘I didn’t think it was.’ She grinned. ‘It’s you who does the heartbreaking, from all I hear.’

‘Certainly not,’ he said virtuously. ‘I’m really a very nice, kind sort of chap.’

‘Oh, yeah?’ Laughing, Saskia went off to bed, feeling a great deal better than at any time since her flight from Romney Court.

Next morning Saskia woke early, with a feeling of anticipation she realised came from the proposed outing with Luke. Her mother would be surprised, she thought, smiling as she dressed. Marina was always defending Luke to her daughter, never able to understand why Saskia wasn’t as charmed by him as she was.

‘You were up early,’ said Luke accusingly as he came into the kitchen later. ‘I crept around like a mouse not to disturb you, and here you are, up with the lark.’

‘If this sunshine’s likely to end soon I want to make the most of it. Want some tea? Proper British tea? I brought it with me.’

‘Right, then,’ said Luke, after breakfast ‘Let’s be on our way.’

They were both dressed in jeans and white shirts, Saskia with a pale green sweater knotted round her shoulders, Luke carrying a jacket over his arm.

‘Will I do?’ she asked mockingly. ‘Do I come up to scratch?’

‘You certainly do.’ He held the car door for her, his eyes making a leisurely survey from her expensive haircut to her gleaming leather shoes. ‘I take it you’ve decided to stop wasting time on regrets over Lawford?’

‘Of course I have,’ she said irritably, and slid into the passenger seat of the Alfa-Romeo. ‘Let’s not mention him again. I want to enjoy the day.’

‘Amen to that.’ Luke drove down the hairpin bends from the house to the main road, his skill at the wheel coming as no surprise to Saskia.

‘Other than in a taxi, I’ve never been in a car with you before,’ she remarked as he turned on to the road which would take them to the hilltop town of San Gimignano.

‘Not surprising. At times in the past I had the impression you hated being in the same room, let alone the same car.’

‘I’ve grown up a bit now. And if it’s any consolation I think you drive very well. But then,’ she added tartly, ‘one of the reasons I used to resent you was the fact that you do everything well.’

Luke laughed. ‘The secret of my success is simple—I make it a rule only to do things well within my capacity. I knew I could never be an academic, like Dad, but I had a feeling for wine from my first trip to the Napa Valley. So, I’m a success at what I do because it interests me, I work damned hard, and I’ve got a reasonable head for business.’

‘And a knack of knowing what people want so you can supply it.’

‘True.’ He gave her a sidelong glance. ‘Do you realise, Saskia Ford, that you said something very important just now?’

‘Did I? What, exactly?’

‘You said you used to resent me.’

Saskia said nothing for a moment, her eyes on the ageless beauty of the scenery unfolding before her. ‘So I did,’ she said slowly. ‘Since you arrived at the Villa Rosa you’ve been very kind. Different, somehow. Especially last night. I feel better since I got all that stuff off my chest.’

‘Good.’ He glanced at her again. ‘Do you want me to put the hood up? Your haircut is suffering a bit.’

‘No fear!’ She laughed, thrusting her hands through her streaming hair. ‘All my cobwebs are blowing away.’

Luke drove her to one of the car parks below the town, and Saskia went off on foot to explore, promising to meet him in the Piazza della Cisterna at midday.

San Gimignano, the ‘city of beautiful towers’, had retained only fourteen of the original seventy-six, but otherwise looked much the same in the morning sunshine as it had done since the thirteenth century. Saskia’s previous visit here had been a brief one with her grandparents several years before, and she was glad to find the hilltop town unchanged. The two main streets still retained their medieval feel, with shops displaying boars’ heads and the local wine, others selling hand-woven fabrics and locally made ceramics. There were galleries selling jewellery and paintings, and here and there was an artist seated at an easel, painting watercolour views of the town.

She strolled through the streets, stopping to browse in the tempting shops every so often, wondering if Luke would fancy a visit to the duomo after lunch. There was a wealth of frescoed paintings to be seen in there, she knew, but exploration was better done in company in the awe-inspiring cathedrals of Italy.

Saskia lingered to watch one of the artists at work, and bought a watercolour for her mother and Sam. She chose a view of the many-towered skyline of San Gimignano, with a cleverly executed backdrop of the countryside beyond, exchanged a few words with the artist, then wandered on again and bought wild boar pâté in a dark cavern of a shop, postcards for the twins in another.

The entire town was a living museum, and it was pleasure enough just to wander through the streets in the cool sunshine, looking at the beauty of the ancient buildings, none of which dated from later than the fourteenth century.

When she reached the Piazza della Cisterna, Saskia ordered mineral water at one of the restaurants, and sat down to write her postcards at a table outside so she could keep an eye out for Luke. She scribbled away busily, and prompt to the minute, as midday began to toll, a shadow fell across her table, and she looked up to see him smiling down at her.

‘Hello, Sassy. Have you been waiting long?’

‘I was early, and who could mind hanging about in a place like this?’

‘What have you been doing?’

‘Just browsing in the shops, mainly. But I got this for Mother and Sam from the artist working near the duomo.’ She took out the watercolour to show him. ‘And I bought a present for you, too.’

Luke eyed her for a moment, surprised. ‘A present?’ he said guardedly.

Saskia chuckled, and handed him the pâté. ‘I hope you like it.’

His lips twitched as he thanked her gravely. ‘My favourite,’ he assured her. ‘Come on, I’m hungry. A gentle little stroll will take us to a place where we can eat under a pergola of vines.’

Because it was early they were given the best table in the restaurant, with a panoramic view of central Tuscany to add to the pleasure of the food.

‘But no wine at this time of day for me,’ said Saskia as she studied the menu.

‘We shall both keep to virtuous mineral water,’ he agreed. ‘The driver will content himself with thoughts of wild boar pâté for supper.’

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