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An Italian Engagement
CATHERINE GEORGE


Max Wingate is darkly, broodingly handsome–a perfect fit for his Italian surroundings. But his romantic charm and the fact that he rescues her still isn't enough to persuade Abigail Green to fall headlong into his arms.There's something held-back and vulnerable about Abby, behind her businesslike exterior, but Max is driven by his desire for her to continue his pursuit. He's determined to have her open up, surrender to him, and he'll use any means at his disposal…







‘You made use of me today,’ Max began, his saturnine cast of feature very pronounced.

‘I had no objection to acting as your minder at the party. I enjoyed that. But I did object to the sexual experiment afterwards. You were obviously proving something to yourself when you asked me to make love to you.’

Abby’s eyes fell. ‘I was with you all the way until—well, until the last bit.’ She smiled wearily. ‘Maybe now you can see why life is so much easier for me without a man in it.’

‘I don’t scare so easily,’ he assured her, and got up to sit beside her. ‘I like a challenge. And you, Abigail Green, are very definitely a challenge.’


Dear Reader

I quite often receive letters from readers asking me to write about characters featured in minor roles in my previous novels. In response to these, and also because her story was just asking to be told, this one features Abby, who first appeared as the teenage sister of Laura Green in A VENETIAN PASSION. I’ve returned to Italy for part of the setting, but whereas Laura found romance among the canals and beautiful buildings of Venice, Abby runs into her hero, almost literally, on a steep hillside road in Umbria.

Abby played a small, but very important part in A VENETIAN PASSION. Now, at twenty-five, she takes the starring role in AN ITALIAN ENGAGEMENT. I hope you enjoy reading about her as much as I enjoyed telling her story.

Best wishes

Catherine




An Italian Engagement

Catherine George





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE (#u04a04705-e0ca-5acb-986e-04516bad2dc5)

CHAPTER TWO (#ubcb0d76c-7934-59c7-af5a-c0dd37121c17)

CHAPTER THREE (#u0fb29ac0-81f2-5664-9898-04ac6ca802e7)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)




CHAPTER ONE


AFTER travelling the first stages by boat and train it was a relief to take to the road for the last lap of her journey. Abby checked the map, took a minute or two to familiarise herself with the hire car, then set off on a route which meandered through a sunlit Umbrian landscape with postcard views on all sides. But after a few kilometres the surface began to deteriorate. The road grew narrow and hair-raisingly steep, winding up in hairpin bends, each one tighter than the last. Abby crouched over the wheel, praying she wouldn’t meet any oncoming traffic, her eyes too firmly glued to the road to notice the warning light on the dashboard. Suddenly a geyser of steam spurted up from the bonnet, a smell of hot metal filled the car, and a despairing look at the temperature gauge confirmed that it was almost off the clock.

Abby pulled over as far as she could against the hillside, yanked hard on the handbrake to secure the car on the steep incline, released the bonnet switch and got out, eyeing the car with hostility. It was obviously too hot to touch, but in the afternoon sunlight it was unlikely to cool down any time soon, either. Using a clump of tissues to protect her fingers, she raked up the bonnet and jumped back to avoid scalding jets of steam. The radiator obviously needed water more than she did. Great. Abby took her phone from her bag to explain why she was late. And ground her teeth in frustration. No signal. No choice, then, either. She had to walk. She reached in the car for her hat, then shot straight out again as she heard the roar of a powerful engine somewhere up ahead. Acting on instinct, she darted in front of her car, waving her hat in frantic warning as a flame-red vehicle came surging round the bend through a cloud of dust. Abby jumped out of the way at the last minute, her heart hammering at her ribs as the car swerved to halt just a yard or so away, its heavy tyres scattering shale and pebbles in all directions. Shaken and breathless, she stood her ground as six feet of furious male jumped out and bombarded her with a spate of Italian so rapid and incensed she could barely understand a word of it.

Knowing she’d only get another flood in response if she uttered a word of her own very basic Italian, Abby held up her hand like a traffic policeman, took off her dark glasses and smiled ruefully. ‘I’m terribly sorry. My car’s broken down. Do you speak English?’

The man’s eyebrows shot up over aviator lenses. ‘Good God. You’re a Brit?’

‘Yes,’ she said, surprised, because so was he.

‘What the devil are you doing here? I could have killed you! This is a private road.’

Her smile faded. ‘I’m aware of that. I’m on my way to an appointment at the Villa Falcone.’

‘Oh, right. Another of Gianni’s fans,’ he said, in a tone which raised her hackles.

She gave him a frosty look. ‘My appointment with Mr Falcone is strictly business.’

‘That’s what they all say.’ He thrust a hand through his hair, scowling at her. ‘That was a damn stupid thing to do. Be grateful my brakes are efficient.’

Abby was used to dealing with people in her job, but she was hot, tired, late for an appointment, and in no mood for a lecture. ‘If this road is Mr Falcone’s private property are you a fan, or just a trespasser?’

‘For your information,’ he drawled, ‘it’s not Gianni’s private road. It’s mine.’

‘Oh.’ Abby’s hot face reddened in embarrassment. ‘Then I apologise. I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere.’

‘Obviously. Let’s take a look at your car.’

Abby raked the bonnet up again and stood back. He hooked his sunglasses in his belt and bent over the engine to investigate. She looked on without much hope, but when he straightened to wipe sweat from his forehead she frowned in surprise. The tanned, saturnine face looked familiar. She could have sworn she’d seen him before—Oh, come on, Abigail. How likely was that? Stress and heat were frying her brain.

‘Your radiator’s sprung a leak,’ he informed her. ‘A stone probably pierced it from underneath. You wouldn’t have noticed on this surface. My apologies.’

Abby smiled graciously. ‘Hardly your fault.’

‘The apology is for my suspicions. I took it for granted the breakdown was staged.’ His smile set her teeth on edge. ‘Gianni’s fans can be amazingly creative in their attempts to get at him.’

She needed this man’s help, she reminded herself. ‘I assure you that Mr Falcone is expecting me.’ She looked at her watch in dismay. ‘In fact I’m due to meet him in twenty minutes, but I can’t get a signal to tell him I’m delayed.’

‘You won’t in this spot. I’ll drive you back to my place to ring Gianni. He can send someone to pick you up.’ A pair of hard, deep-set eyes gave her a look she didn’t care for very much. ‘Were you expecting to stay at his house overnight?’

‘No,’ she said coolly. ‘I’m booked in at a hotel in Todi. After my meeting with Mr Falcone I’ll get back there by taxi.’

For the first time he gave her a genuine, megawatt smile. ‘Right, let’s go, then. My name’s Wingate, by the way.’

‘Abigail Green,’ she said, dazzled by the smile. ‘I appreciate your help, Mr Wingate.’ She collected her belongings from the car and locked it, wiped her hands on a tissue, jammed her panama low on her forehead and got into the passenger seat of what she could now see was a Range Rover sports car. The perforated leather of the passenger seat supported her in pure comfort after the cramped little hire car, but Abby sat rigid, eyes firmly averted from the drops below, while her reluctant Samaritan turned the car in a skilled, terrifying manoeuvre, then took off up bends which grew more hair-raising the higher they climbed. At last, to her infinite relief, they passed through a gap in weathered walls into the courtyard of a house built of pale, sun-washed stone.

‘Oh, how lovely,’ she said involuntarily. The infrequent windows were of different sizes and set in the walls with no apparent eye for symmetry, but the effect was utterly captivating. When she got out she could see that each window had been placed to look down on a different view of wooded hills and vineyards, interspersed with cultivated fields protected by serpentine rows of tall cypresses.

‘What a fantastic panorama,’ she said, impressed. ‘It’s almost worth the drive up here to look down at it.’

‘Not many people agree with you on that—fortunately.’ He ushered her into the house through a porch with greenery twining round its pillars. ‘Come inside out of the sun.’

Abby followed him across a cool hall to a living room with exposed beams and massive stone fireplace.

‘Sit down,’ he invited. ‘I’ll fetch you some fruit juice.’

‘Thank you.’ She smiled a little. ‘But I’ve been sitting all day, one way and another. Would you mind if I just stand at the windows to look at the view?’

The hard eyes softened as he gave her the smile again. ‘Feel free. Where did you hire the car?’

‘The hotel arranged it—the Villaluisa.’

‘Right. I’ll ring them after I get hold of Gianni.’

Alone with the view, Abby could hear him talking in rapid-fire Italian in another room, presumably with Giancarlo Falcone. She fervently hoped so. Otherwise she’d come a long way for nothing. When she’d begged time off to fly to Venice to meet her brand-new nephew, her boss had agreed as long as she made a detour to Todi on the way back to finalise details for the young tenor’s first British concerts.

‘Arrangements made,’ said her host, returning with a tray. He poured fruit juice into a tall, ice-filled glass and handed it over. ‘I’ll drive you to the Villa Falcone myself.’

Surprised, Abby thanked him and drank thirstily. ‘That’s extremely kind of you,’ she said after a moment. ‘But I must be holding you up. You were on your way somewhere earlier.’

‘I cancelled.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Is someone waiting for you at the hotel?’

She shook her head. ‘I’m flying home tomorrow to get back to work on Monday. Thank you,’ she added as he refilled her glass.

‘What do you do?’

Abby gave him a brief description of her job as assistant to an impresario. ‘I help organise various events. In summer it’s mostly open-air picnic concerts in picturesque venues. A major part of my job involves looking after the performers, which is why I’m here right now. Giancarlo Falcone is a big draw, but he’s been hard to pin down to an actual date, and brochure deadlines are looming.’

‘So your boss thought the feminine touch would bring him to heel?’

‘Only because I happened to be travelling to Venice to see my new nephew. My sister’s husband is in the hotel business there.’

‘He’s Italian?’

She smiled a little. ‘I think Domenico looks on himself as Venetian.’

‘Then he must be elated to have a son.’

‘He was, once he was sure that all was well with Laura. But he’s equally besotted with the daughter who arrived first, two years ago.’

‘You like children?’

‘Of course.’ Abby drained her glass. ‘May I tidy up before we go?’

She took her bag into the cool marble interior of her host’s ground-floor bathroom, wishing that her blue chambray shirt dress had survived her adventure rather better. She smoothed it down as best she could, unloosened the plaited leather belt a notch to lie lower on her hips, and went to work on her face with soap and water, followed by some copious moisturiser and her emergency supply of cosmetics. She used a scent spray sparingly, unfastened the denim barrette at the nape of her neck, brushed her hair out to curl loosely on her shoulders, then grinned cheerfully at her reflection. If the singer needed persuasion, it was only common sense to use whatever ammunition she had on hand to get him to sign.

Her rescuer was waiting for her in the cool, high-ceilinged hall, looking dauntingly immaculate now in a handkerchief-thin white shirt, beautifully tailored cotton trousers, and a leather belt and shoes obviously bought somewhere in Italy. And, she noted, he’d taken time to shave.

‘I was right,’ he said, studying her. ‘One look at you and Gianni will be toast.’

‘Good, if that means he’ll sign,’ said Abby serenely.

The hard eyes narrowed. ‘Be careful, Miss Green. Gianni may sing like an angel, but he’s as human as any other man.’

‘I’m always careful,’ she assured him.

‘Not today. You took a wrong turning somewhere.’

‘I won’t do it again on that road,’ she said with feeling.

‘Pity.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘I thought you objected to trespassers.’

He gave her a direct look as he helped her into the passenger seat. ‘In your case I’ll gladly make an exception. And don’t worry about the car. The hotel manager will send someone to collect it.’

‘Thank you, Mr Wingate. You’re very kind,’ she added stiffly as they left the shelter of the walls for the road.

His lips twitched. ‘You just happened to catch me in a good mood today.’

‘It wasn’t so good when we first met.’

He threw her a wry glance. ‘I was bloody terrified! You do realise I could have killed you?’

‘I do now.’ She shrugged. ‘But I just had to stop you somehow.’

‘And stopped my heart while you were at it, when you jumped in front of me, waving that absurd hat! By the way,’ he added casually, ‘when you’ve sorted things with Gianni don’t bother about a taxi. I’ll drive you to Todi myself.’

Abby stared at him in surprise. ‘I can’t possibly trouble you to do that, Mr Wingate.’

‘Of course you can. And the name’s Max,’ he added. ‘Do I call you Abigail?’

‘I prefer Abby.’ She sat, white-knuckled, while he inched the Range Rover past the abandoned hire car. ‘What made you build a house in a location like this?’ she asked when she could breathe again. ‘It needs nerves of steel just to get to it.’

‘There’s an easier road at the back of the property. My cleaner Renata goes up that way on her bicycle.’

‘So why don’t you use it?’

‘I do sometimes, but it leads in the opposite direction from the Villa Falcone and Todi so it was back to the scenic route for this trip.’ He shot her a glance. ‘I didn’t choose the location, by the way. I was given the property as a gift when I was a budding architect.’

Abby began to relax as the road levelled out into the leisurely winding route she’d found so pleasant earlier on. ‘Did you become a full-blown architect?’ she asked politely.

‘Eventually, yes. This must be where you went wrong,’ he added as they turned off on another road. ‘Coming from Todi, you should have taken a right at this point.’

‘A really stupid mistake,’ she said in disgust. ‘This would have been a much easier drive.’

‘But then we might never have met,’ he pointed out.

Not sure how to take that, Abby focussed her attention on the road winding up ahead through a grove of chestnut trees. Max Wingate halted at gates set between high stone walls, spoke into a microphone in one of the pillars, then drove up through formal gardens towards a house much older and bigger than his own hilltop retreat. Venetian windows, rose-coloured walls and an arcaded loggia were exactly how Abby pictured an Italian villa.

A familiar figure came hurrying out to greet them, smiling broadly.

‘Benvenuto; com’ estai, Massimo?’

‘I’m good, Gianni. Speak English. This is Miss Abigail Green, all the way from England just to see you.’

Giancarlo Falcone was familiar to Abby from his publicity stills, but in the handsome flesh his looks had far greater impact. He had so far avoided the excess weight of many of his profession, and in black T-shirt and jeans he looked more like a sexy rock star than an operatic tenor. He bent over Abby’s hand, his eyes bright with open appreciation as he straightened to smile at her. ‘Welcome to my home, Miss Green.’

She returned the smile warmly. ‘Thank you. I’m so sorry I’m late. My car broke down.’

‘Che peccato! It is lucky that Max was on hand to rescue you.’

‘Very lucky,’ she agreed thoughtfully, looking from one man to the other. Max Wingate was several inches taller, and his thick sleek hair and eyes were the dark brown of bitter chocolate. Gianni Falcone’s brilliant eyes and mane of waving hair were true Mediterranean black, but olive skin, aquiline features and slanting eyebrows were a common denominator on both faces. The resemblance was unmistakable.

‘You’ve guessed our dark secret,’ said Max, resigned.

‘Secret?’ queried Gianni.

‘I neglected to mention that we’re related.’

The singer’s smile flashed white, his eyes dancing as he shook his head in mock sorrow. ‘So. I am the skeleton in the cupboard. Max is ashamed of his little brother, Miss Green.’

‘Half-brother,’ corrected Max. ‘Is Luisa here, by the way?’

‘No.’ Gianni gave him a wry look. ‘Mamma is at home in Venezia.’

To Abby’s surprise Max visibly relaxed. ‘Oddly enough your visitor has travelled here from Venice today,’ he told his brother.

‘You were there on holiday, Miss Green?’ asked Gianni.

‘A very brief one,’ she said, smiling. ‘A flying visit to meet my brand-new nephew.’

‘Ah, a joyous event—my felicitations.’ He took Abby by the hand. ‘Come. Let us go to the music room. Do you come too?’ he asked his brother.

Max shook his head. ‘I’ll chat with Rosa in the kitchen while you get down to business, then I’ll drive Miss Green to Todi afterwards.’

Gianni’s eyebrows rose. ‘I could have done that.’

Max snorted. ‘No, you couldn’t. If you set foot anywhere near the place you cause a riot these days. Abby’s been travelling all day. She needs a peaceful evening.’

The emphasis in his voice brought an unholy gleam to his brother’s eyes.

‘Va bene—I understand. Perfectly! We shall be a few moments only while I sign whatever Miss Abby wishes me to sign. Allora,’ he added, taking Abby’s arm to lead her away. ‘You shall have some tea to drink while we do this.’ He glanced over his shoulder. ‘Ask Rosa to bring it, Max, per favore, and for you whatever you wish.’

Gianni Falcone showed his visitor into a vast, high-ceilinged room dominated by a grand piano with an open opera score propped on it.

‘I thought your agent would be here today, Signor Falcone,’ said Abby, taking a contract from her bag.

‘Gianni, please!’ He shrugged. ‘Luigi has already settled the terms with Signor Hadley. We do not need to bring him back from holiday just for the signing. I am happy to sing at two concerts next June as requested.’ He gave her the megawatt smile familiar from his publicity stills. ‘You will be there?’

‘Yes, I’ll be there,’ she assured him, and gave him details of the hotel and travel arrangements she would arrange for him.

‘I trust your choice, Miss Abby. And because it means we shall meet again I look forward to the concerts with much pleasure.’

‘I notice you’re working on Puccini’s Bohème,’ commented Abby. ‘It’s a favourite of mine.’

The black eyes gave her a melting look. ‘Then I shall sing an aria from it just for you.’

While Gianni was reading through the contract, his brother came in with a tray, followed by a small woman carrying a coffee pot.

‘I decided to join you for tea,’ said Max.

Gianni looked up with a smile. ‘Bene. You are just in time to witness my signature—ah, Rosa mia, you have brought coffee just for me.’

The small plump woman smiled at him fondly, and said something rapid in Italian as she left.

‘She’s been with him since he was born,’ Max informed Abby. ‘She knows what he wants before he asks for it.’

‘This is true,’ admitted Gianni. He gave his brother a sly smile. ‘But when I go to sing in London this lovely lady says she will look after me.’

Max shot a look at Abby. ‘Is that part of the service?’

She nodded briskly. ‘It’s my job. I look after all the artists.’

Abby spent a very interesting half-hour with the two men, who, though related by blood, were so different otherwise they might have been from a different species. Gianni Falcone was outgoing and charming and all Latin. In contrast the saturnine good looks of his self-contained brother were very British, but Max Wingate made it so clear he was no more immune to her charms than his brother that Abby was sorry when it was time to leave.

Gianni presented her with a compact disc of operatic arias as he walked with them to the car. ‘It is my latest recording, with my compliments,’ he told her, then kissed her on both cheeks and held the passenger door open as he teased his brother about the brand-new Range Rover.

‘Vesuvius orange—a hot colour but a very cool car, Max. He has a great weakness for cars, you understand,’ he informed Abby.

His brother hooted in derision. ‘How about that flash toy of yours?’

‘My Lamborghini is not flash. It is bellissima!’ Gianni embraced him affectionately and stood back. ‘I shall see you in London, Miss Abby. You I will see sooner, Max. Arrivederci.’

‘I was right,’ said Max with satisfaction as the gates closed behind them. ‘One look at you and Gianni was putty in your pretty little hands.’

Abby’s eyes flashed as she thanked him punctiliously for driving her to the Villa Falcone.

He chuckled. ‘That’s not what you really wanted to say!’

She smiled reluctantly. ‘True. But if I spoke my mind all the time I wouldn’t last long in my job.’

‘You find the artistic temperament tricky to deal with sometimes?’

‘So far there’s been nothing I can’t handle, mainly because I do my research in advance.’ She eyed him questioningly. ‘The glorious voice apart, I don’t know much about your brother.’

Max shrugged. ‘Gianni’s got his feet firmly on the ground. He enjoys the adulation and the fuss women make over him, but he won’t give you any trouble.’

‘You’re obviously fond of him.’

‘It’s hard not to be fond of Gianni.’ He gave her a sidelong glance as Todi rose into view on its hill. ‘We’re almost there. So, Miss Abigail Green, now you’ve got the business part over, let me show you something of the city tonight. I’ll introduce you to some local cuisine afterwards.’

Abby stared at him in surprise. She had expected him to drop her at the hotel and take to his heels in relief, his rescue mission over. But she was utterly delighted by the idea. A meal alone in her room was no competition for dinner in Todi with a man like Max Wingate. ‘Thank you, I’d love to see something of the town.’

He smiled. ‘Good. Afterwards we can eat formally at the Ristorante Umbria, or more casually over pasta at the Cavour. Your choice.’

‘Casual, please,’ said Abby promptly. ‘But I’ll need half an hour to change.’

‘I’ll wait for you in the bar. Give me your car keys. I’ll hand them over to the manager.’

Max watched her hurry away before he sought out the manager. He chatted with him for a while, and then settled at the bar with a glass of beer, prepared to wait a lot longer than half an hour. Not that he minded. Abigail Green was worth waiting for. When a frantic female had materialised in front of him on a road where he normally never saw a soul, he’d played hell with her from pure fright, because he could so easily have killed her. Then he’d taken a good look at her and thanked God his tirade had been in Italian. If she’d understood a word of it he’d have had fat chance of persuading her to spend the evening with him. And just the short time he’d spent in her company so far had whetted his appetite for more.

* * *

The room Domenico had arranged for Abby looked out over the hotel gardens and swimming pool, but for the moment her interest was centred solely on the bathroom. She showered at top speed, and to save time made brief phone calls to her mother and Laura while she dried her hair and did her face. At last, in a sleeveless black dress as simple as a T-shirt, she hung long amber drops in her ears and went downstairs, prepared to enjoy her evening out in Todi with a man who attracted her far more than any man she’d met in a long time. If ever.

Max walked into the foyer just as Abby appeared, and gave a heartfelt vote of thanks to fate as he smiled down at the glowing face framed in a glossy fall of hair almost as dark as his brother’s. ‘A woman of her word,’ he commented, tapping his watch. ‘Dead on time. Are you still up for a stroll before dinner?’

‘I’m looking forward to it,’ Abby assured him. ‘My brother-in-law says it’s a very interesting city.’

‘He’s right.’ Seized by an overpowering need to touch her, he put a hand under her elbow as they walked to the car, wondering if she felt anything like the same jolt of heat as her bare skin came in contact with his fingers. ‘Todi’s big on walls, three concentric rings of them—medieval, Etruscan and Roman, with some magnificent ancient gates. But the Rome jet-set is fast catching up with Todi. Some of its medieval houses have been restored as weekend getaways.’

‘Your brother didn’t fancy one of those?’

He shook his head. ‘Gianni inherited the Villa Falcone from his father, complete with Rosa and her crew to look after him when he’s home from his travels. And when his presence is demanded in Venice he enjoys more pampering there from his mamma.’ He gave an approving glance at her flat gold sandals. ‘The streets are mostly cobbled, but I see you’re prepared for it.’

She nodded with enthusiasm. ‘The only part of Italy I’ve visited before is Venice.’

He smiled down at her as he held the car door open. ‘You’ll enjoy the contrast. We’ll park near the Piazza Oberdan. From there it’s a short climb to the church of San Fortunato and the best view of the city.’

Abby’s day had started early in Venice, with a ride by water taxi followed by several hours by rail before the ill-fated drive from Todi. But all that seemed a long way behind her as she explored the ancient, beautiful city with Max Wingate. The pace of life there seemed so much slower that Abby could literally feel herself unwinding as they came down from San Fortunato to wander through streets which Max told her had changed little in appearance or purpose for centuries. They looked at so much beautiful architecture as they strolled that by the time they reached the basilica in the Piazza del Populo Abby’s action-packed day had caught up with her and she agreed gratefully when Max suggested they walk down the Corso Cavour in search of dinner.

‘For your information, Todi’s medieval piazza is one of the most famous in Italy,’ he told her as they reached the restaurant.

‘I can well believe it. Todi’s a delightful place. I only wish I could stay here longer,’ she said with a sigh.

‘Come back when you have more time.’

‘I’d certainly like to,’ she said to be polite, but knew that it was unlikely. Any trips to Italy meant Venice and a stay with Laura, Domenico and Isabella. Plus the new baby.

‘Your eyes lit up like lamps just then,’ commented Max as they were shown to a table beside a screen of greenery. ‘What—or who—were you thinking about?’ He hoped like hell it wasn’t some man.

‘Marco, my nephew, and his sister Isabella,’ said Abby, smiling. ‘It was hard to tear myself away from them this morning.’

‘The only baby I’ve ever had much to do with was Gianni. But I was ten when he was born, and resented him pretty fiercely at the time. What sort of wine do you like?’ Max added as a waiter handed out menus.

‘Something dry and white, please—and some mineral water on the side.’ Abby smiled crookedly as the waiter hurried off. ‘This afternoon, stranded on your terrifying road, Mr Wingate, I would have sold my soul for water—for me and the car.’

His mouth tightened. ‘In the circumstances it’s lucky I’d arranged to play chess with Aldo Zanini. What the hell would you have done if I hadn’t turned up?’

A chess game, then, not a date with some local signorina. Taken aback by how much that pleased her, Abby shrugged. ‘Not much choice. I would have hiked—or climbed—the rest of the way. I had no idea I was on the wrong road, remember. What would you have done if I’d collapsed at your door, gasping for water?’

‘Counted my blessings,’ he assured her, giving her that smile again. ‘Other than Renata on her bicycle, no woman ever makes it up to my place. But you’re welcome any time, Abigail Green.’

The smile faded to something which made her pulse race as the dark eyes held hers, then the waiter arrived with wine and Max turned back to the menu. ‘What would you like to eat? They do a good tagliatelle al tartufo here—pasta with truffles.’

‘Sounds wonderful,’ she said promptly. ‘Though I’d probably fancy anything they cared to put in front of me—I had to skip lunch.’

‘Truffle pasta for two, then.’

After some olives and a mouthful of cold dry wine Abby felt considerably better, and settled down to enjoy the kind of evening which rarely came her way during the summer season. ‘So, Mr Wingate. When you’re not on retreat in your eagle’s nest where do you live?’

‘In Gloucestershire, in a town called Pennington. I own a house within walking distance of my office building—why the smile?’

She chuckled. ‘Would you believe I went to school in Pennington? I was brought up not far away from there in Stavely.’

Max shook his head in wonder. ‘So you’re a girl from the Shires—small world. But you’re obviously based in London now.’

‘And run home to Stavely every chance I get! You told me you’re an architect, but what kind of work does your firm do?’ asked Abby.

‘We design large-scale buildings, mainly, but we also do individual work for people with specific requirements, like a recent client left partially paralysed after a road accident. I worked with him to modify his house, and now he can cope with everything in it from his wheelchair.’

‘That must be a very satisfying thing to do,’ she said, impressed.

‘It is.’ He smiled wryly. ‘But I also do an increasing amount for clients brave—or mad—enough to invest in romantic ruins. My house out here is a good advertisement,’ he said, topping up her glass. ‘What led you into your kind of work?’

She shrugged. ‘Fate, I suppose—coupled with a love of music. I read English at university, took a further business studies course after that, and while I applied for jobs I worked at the local stately home.’

‘Do they get many graduates on their staff?’

Abby nodded. ‘Quite a few in summer. But I had a foot in the door because I’d worked there before in vacations. The summer I graduated I helped out with a series of open-air concerts at the house, and got on very well with Simon Hadley, the events organiser. His permanent assistant left to have a baby before the end of the season and to my surprise he asked if I’d like the job. But after four seasons I feel it’s time to move on. I finish in a couple of weeks.’

He eyed her narrowly. ‘I thought you promised to see Gianni next summer!’

She flushed. ‘I will see him. I’ll be there at the concerts, but someone else will take care of him.’

Max shook his head in mock reproof. ‘You mean you strung him along to make him sign on the dotted line.’

‘I was acting under instructions from Simon,’ she said firmly. ‘But I wasn’t lying. I’ll definitely be in the audience when he sings.’

‘But you won’t be Gianni’s nursemaid.’ He leaned nearer. ‘How do you know I won’t betray your secret?’

She met his eyes squarely. ‘I don’t. Will you?’

He shook his head. ‘I shall leave my little brother in blissful ignorance.’

‘Thank you.’ Abby sniffed rapturously as her truffle pasta was set before her. ‘Grazie,’ she said to the waiter with a warm smile. ‘Delizioso!’

‘The lad’s gone off in a daze,’ said Max, after the waiter had provided them with everything he could think of. ‘He thinks you’re delizioso too.’

‘Rather sweet, isn’t he?’

‘I didn’t notice. Eat. You can give me the rest of the Abigail Green life story afterwards.’

‘Only if you tell me Max Wingate’s in return,’ she retorted, and smiled very deliberately into his eyes. ‘Or should I call you “Massimo”?’




CHAPTER TWO


‘GIANNI’S little joke,’ Max said, resigned. ‘My mother insists on calling me that because it was her father’s name, but legally, and to everyone else, I’m Max.’

The waiter interrupted them to refill glasses with wine, but after a word from Max he left them in peace.

‘I don’t know what you said, but the poor boy looked really hurt,’ said Abby reproachfully.

Max shrugged, unrepentant. ‘Don’t worry—the “poor boy” will be back the minute you swallow your last mouthful.’

She laughed, and went on with her meal with concentration which amused her companion. She set down her fork at last with a sigh. ‘That was wonderful.’

‘How about dessert?’ said Max, rolling his eyes as the waiter hurried to their table.

‘No room,’ she said, trying not to laugh.

‘Then it’s back to your hotel. Unless you fancy another stroll around town?’

‘It’s certainly a delightful place,’ she said obliquely, wishing now that she’d agreed to dessert if it meant more time with Max Wingate. Did she like him that much, then? Who was she kidding? Of course she did! Once he’d simmered down after the fright she’d given him he’d gone out of his way to help a stranger who’d not only disrupted his day but who had also almost given him a heart attack in the process. Gianni oozed natural charm, but Max’s hard-edged persona appealed to her far more. There was something compelling about the dark, heavy-lidded eyes which gave her a shivery feeling every time they met hers.

‘What are you thinking about?’ he asked, so softly she had to crane to hear him above the noise and bustle of the restaurant.

Abby felt her face grow hot. ‘Just how kind and helpful you’ve been.’

He leaned nearer. ‘Don’t endow me with non-existent virtues! I was kind as a means to an end—to coax you to spend the evening with me.’

She eyed him quizzically. ‘Because you had to cancel your chess game?’

He shook his head. ‘Aldo’s the builder who worked with me on the house. I can play chess with him any time. When fate sent you up my road instead of Gianni’s only a fool would have passed up the chance to take advantage of it. And I may be many things, but I’m no fool, Abigail Green.’

‘I believe you!’

He sat back, studying her. ‘Do you get much hassle from the male celebrities you deal with?’

‘Sometimes it’s a bit tricky with the ones who forget they’re married, but nothing I can’t handle with tact—so far.’ Abby looked up with a smile for the waiter as he brought their espressos. ‘Generally I get on well with men.’

‘So I see!’

‘I meant the men I meet professionally. And the ones in college, too. Before that, in school, all my friends were girls. I was a real turn-off for the boys at that stage—too skinny, too tall and too much of a swot.’ She smiled philosophically. ‘But by the time I went up to Cambridge to university I’d filled out a bit, everyone else was clever—a lot of them much more than me—and my social life took off into the fast lane.’

‘I can well believe that!’ He got up, and held out his hand. ‘So, Miss Green. If you’ve finished your coffee and you can tear yourself away from our attentive waiter, let’s rejoin the evening passeggiata for a while.’

Under a full moon the city looked more romantic than ever. Warning her to beware of uneven cobbles in some of the darker streets, Max took Abby’s hand in his as they made a leisurely tour of some of the restored medieval houses, and after a while suggested they observe local custom and make for the gelateria across the park, to sample the local ice cream. ‘It’s very good—they make it with fresh fruit.’

‘I’m still full of that fabulous meal,’ Abby said with regret. ‘Could we just wander round a bit more instead?’

‘Anything you want,’ he assured her, surprised to find he meant it quite literally. It was a long time since he’d walked anywhere hand in hand with a girl, and never with one who appealed to him as much as Abigail Green. ‘Poor Gianni. This pastime is a simple pleasure he can’t enjoy any more in his home town—one of the downsides to celebrity.’

‘He must have a girlfriend, surely?’

Max nodded. ‘But so far he’s managed to keep her identity secret—even from his mother. Lord knows how. She thinks he tells her everything. Gianni confided in me because he was bursting to tell someone, but he wouldn’t give me a name—probably because she’s someone Luisa wouldn’t approve of.’

‘In what way?’

He shrugged. ‘In his mother’s eyes no woman in the world is good enough for Giancarlo Falcone.’

Abby eyed the aquiline profile curiously. ‘He calls her Mamma. You don’t.’

‘If you met her you wouldn’t believe she’s old enough to be Gianni’s mother, let alone mine.’ He smiled down at her. ‘How about you? What about your parents?’

‘My father died when I was little, so my mother brought us up almost single-handed. She’s due in Venice next week to meet her baby grandson.’ Abby smiled affectionately. ‘Mother thought it only right to let his Italian grandparents get their visit in first. They own a restored farmhouse not far from here. Laura and Domenico spent their honeymoon there.’

‘The ideal place for it.’ Max halted as clocks began chiming. ‘Alas, the witching hour. Time to get back to the car.’

Abby smiled warmly at him as they walked. ‘Thank you so much for dinner and the fascinating tour of Todi. I enjoyed every minute of it.’

His hand tightened on hers. ‘A pity you’re not staying longer so I could persuade you to do it all again.’

‘Perhaps you’ll come to one of the concerts in London before I finish.’

He shook his head. ‘If I do you’ll be too busy to spend time with me. How about dinner with me one night instead?’

Abby saw no point in being coy. ‘I’d like that very much.’

‘In that case—’ Max broke off as his phone rang. With a word of apology he listened for a moment before answering in fluent, irritable Italian. The heated conversation went on at length while he helped Abby into the car. When he finally slid into the driver’s seat Max gave her a wry smile. ‘My apologies. That was Gianni in full flow.’

‘Something wrong?’

‘As far as he’s concerned total disaster. Luisa’s taken it into her head to make a surprise visit to the Villa Falcone. She’s ordered Gianni to meet her off the train in Perugia tomorrow.’

‘He’s not happy with that?’

‘He’s devastated. She’s interrupting his idyll with the mystery lady.’

‘Ah! So was he asking you to fetch your mother instead?’

‘Practically begging. He’s desperate to spend every minute he can with the love of his life, so he implored me to help him out. If I fetch his mother from Perugia tomorrow afternoon he can spend a few extra hours with his innamorata.’ A smile played at the corners of his mouth. ‘I said I’ll ring him back to give my answer.’

‘So will you help him?’

‘I told him I had to sort something out first. You’re travelling by train to Pisa tomorrow for the flight to London?’

‘Yes,’ said Abby cautiously.

‘Then here’s the plan. I drive you to Perugia, and see you off on the train to Pisa before I meet the one from Venice.’ Max paused to gauge her reaction. ‘Afterwards I drive back to the Villa Falcone at a snail’s pace which, for entirely different reasons, will please both Luisa and Gianni. And somewhere along the way I’ll ring him with an ETA so he can pursue love’s young dream to the last possible moment.’ He grinned. ‘His mamma’s coming to make sure he gets enough sleep before the Rome engagement, with no idea that he wants to do his sleeping with Signorina X.’

Abby chuckled. ‘Oh, bad luck, Gianni! Are you willing to do that for him?’

‘Yes. What do you say? It’s one train connection less for you.’

‘Then I’ll say thank you very much indeed.’ She eyed him curiously. ‘Wouldn’t it be quicker for your mother to fly?’

He shrugged. ‘She won’t. She refuses to travel by road, either, if she can help it, which is why Enzo, my stepfather, bought the apartment in Venice. Water taxis and trains are Luisa’s preferred mode of travel. She’ll get a surprise when I turn up as chauffeur,’ he added. ‘She doesn’t even know I’m in the country.’

Abby was silent as they reached the hotel.

‘Penny for them?’ he said, turning to her.

‘I was just thinking that it’s very kind of you to drive me to Perugia tomorrow.’

His eyes locked on hers. ‘If it weren’t for Gianni and his love-life I’d drive you all the way to Pisa.’

Abby felt a lurch somewhere in the region of her midriff. ‘Just to Perugia will be a great help,’ she assured him.

‘In that case I’ll ring Gianni and tell him it’s on.’ Max began another rapid conversation with his brother, grinning broadly when he disconnected. ‘Gianni practically burst into song with gratitude.’

‘Will you take your mother up to your house first, to give him extra time with his lady?’

‘No. According to Luisa the journey there is bad for her heart.’

Abby chuckled. ‘I see her point, and there’s nothing wrong with my heart! I must go in,’ she added regretfully. ‘The train from Perugia leaves at eleven fifty-two, according to my timetable. What time will you pick me up?’

‘Ten sharp.’

‘Perfect. I can have a leisurely breakfast instead of rushing off to catch the local train. Thank you—again,’ she added, and smiled. ‘I seem to have said nothing else to you from the moment we met.’

‘Not quite,’ he said, and took her hand. ‘When I mistook you for one of Gianni’s fans you were ready to punch me.’

‘But I am a fan. I merely objected to the way you said it. Besides,’ she added, eyes kindling, ‘I’d just driven up those terrifying bends—on the wrong side of the road for me, remember—then the car broke down, and as the last straw this ball of flame came bursting out of the dust like something from an action film. I was petrified.’

‘So was I.’ He turned to look at her. ‘But once I could breathe normally again I realised I’d run into the best-looking damsel in distress a man could hope to meet.’

She eyed him narrowly. ‘I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or a sexist remark.’

‘It’s the simple truth.’ Max laughed, squeezed her hand, then went round the car to help her out. ‘I’ll see you safely inside, then get back to my retreat.’

* * *

The hotel bed was comfortable, but Abby lay awake for some time, her mind full of the eventful day which had begun with the surprisingly painful parting from her sister. Still at the mercy of her hormones, Laura had been a little tearful as she begged Abby to return soon and stay a lot longer. By that time, Domenico assured her, they would have moved into the new apartment with more rooms and a proper bed for Abby. After sharing a sofa with her little niece most of the night, Abby was glad to hear it. Isabella had needed much cuddling and reassurance to calm fears that Papa and Mamma wouldn’t love her so much now they had a new boy baby. Abby had relayed the news to Isabella’s shocked parents first thing next morning, and offered to look after baby Marco while they took their daughter out later for some kind of special treat.

‘You’re sure you’re up for this?’ Laura had asked before they left.

‘Of course I am. If he yells, Auntie will sing to him. That should shut him up. Ciao, Bella.’

Isabella held her face up, mouth puckered for a kiss. ‘Ciao, Zietta.’

Domenico grinned. ‘Ciao, Auntie. Do I get a kiss too?’

‘On the cheek,’ warned Laura.

‘Both cheeks,’ said her handsome husband, suiting action to words before turning to kiss his wife full on her smiling mouth.

‘For heaven’s sake, go while Marco’s quiet,’ hissed Abby, laughing. ‘You can do that sort of thing later.’

Abby smiled into the darkness. After providing a shoulder for more than one friend to cry on when a relationship went wrong, it was reassuring to know that everything was so obviously right with Laura’s marriage. Which was more than could be said for Max Wingate’s relationship with his mother. But it could hardly be sibling jealousy in his case, because he was obviously very fond of Gianni. Maybe he just didn’t like his mother, though blessed with Isabel Green as a parent this was hard for Abby to imagine. But perhaps Max had never forgiven his mother for marrying again—which probably had a lot to do with the hardness in his eyes…Abby tried to shut him from her mind. She needed her beauty sleep if she wanted to look good when Max arrived to collect her.

* * *

Abby got up early next morning to pack before her breakfast arrived. Just before ten she went down to the foyer to find Max waiting for her, elegant in linen trousers and a formal shirt with a tie tucked in the pocket.

‘Good morning,’ he said, smiling. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Very well—after two nights on a sofa it was a treat to sleep in a bed. I just need to pay my bill.’

‘No rush, I’m early. I’ll take your gear out to the car.’

When Abby went out to join him, Max was leaning against the Range Rover looking into the distance, the sun gleaming on his sleek dark hair. On impulse she slipped her phone from her bag and took a surreptitious photograph of him. A souvenir of her trip to Todi, she told herself, then put the phone away quickly as he turned to smile at her.

‘You’re more relaxed today,’ he commented later, as the car ate up the kilometres on the road to Perugia.

‘Not so much in the way of hairpin bends on this route,’ she pointed out. ‘Besides, we met in stressful circumstances yesterday.’

‘True.’ He grinned. ‘Right, then, Miss Green, fill me in on some background. You’ve heard a lot about my mother; tell me more about yours.’

Abby smiled affectionately. ‘She’s in her early fifties, but looks ten years younger. She’s head teacher at the local primary school, blonde like my sister Laura, and a very attractive lady.’

‘But she’s never presented you with a stepfather. Would you have minded if she had?’

Abby thought about it. ‘I don’t honestly know. The three of us were a pretty tight unit for years, and the cottage is small. Adding a stepfather to the mix could have caused problems, I suppose. But as far as I know the question never arose. Did you resent your stepfather?’ she added.

He shook his head. ‘I never thought of Enzo in that way because I lived with my own father in London. I just stayed at the Villa Falcone for the obligatory holiday every summer.’

‘Is that the most your father would allow?’

‘It was the most I would agree to at first.’

‘You didn’t like it there?’

‘It wasn’t the house. My feelings towards my mother were the problem.’ He paused, his eyes on the road, then glanced at her briefly and went on. ‘Luisa took a trip home alone to Todi just after my tenth birthday, met up with Enzo, childhood sweetheart transformed into wealthy businessman, and never came back.’

‘And you never forgave her?’

His mouth tightened. ‘I turned against her completely. I kicked up a terrible fuss when I eventually saw her again, because by then she had a new husband and a new baby.’

Abby kept quiet for a while, but curiosity eventually got the better of her. ‘If you don’t get on with your mother why did you build your retreat in Italy?’

‘I didn’t build it, exactly. I just designed the plans to put it back together. It had once been the home of Enzo Falcone’s great-grandparents, and during those long summer holidays he used to take us up there for picnics. I loved the place so much he made me a present of the property when I was eighteen.’ Max smiled crookedly. ‘He liked me. Against all odds I liked him, too. And, stranger still, so did my father. Whenever Enzo came on business to London, as he did quite frequently, he’d take us both out to dinner. And because I was studying architecture Enzo trusted me to transform his old ruin into something beautiful one day.’

‘You certainly did that. It’s a magical place.’

‘I’m glad you see it that way. Aldo the builder was all for knocking it down and starting from scratch, but to retain its character I wanted to incorporate as much of the original building as possible into my plans.’

‘Was your stepfather pleased with the result?’

‘Unfortunately, he died before it was finished. I miss him.’ Max’s face shadowed for an instant. ‘Next time you come I’ll show you the rest of it. I’ve converted the old threshing ground into a long, narrow pool, and the covered terrace outside the master bedroom looks out on the best view in the house.’

‘Which is saying something,’ said Abby, liking the sound of ‘next time’.

Visited by a sudden, vivid picture of Abigail Green in the master bedroom, sharing it with him, Max slanted a glance at her. ‘How did your sister come to marry an Italian?’

‘Laura went to Venice on holiday. Domenico was asked to meet her at the airport and they are now living happily ever after.’

‘Will that last?’

Abby nodded firmly. ‘In spite of gloomy statistics, I’m certain it will.’

‘Would you like something similar yourself?’

‘Maybe. One day.’

‘So there’s no man in your life right now?’

‘No.’ Abby shrugged. ‘Relationships tend to fall by the wayside because of my job. The most recent came to an end partly because the man wanted a woman he could see on Saturday nights without the drag of sitting through an easy-listening type of concert beforehand. Silas thought there was no other god but Mozart.’

Fool, thought Max with scorn. ‘My tastes are a shade wider than that. I never tire of listening to Gianni, but I own up to a taste for the odd spot of jazz—even a burst of heavy metal on wilder days.’

‘Do you have those often?’

He shot a glance at her. ‘You’d be surprised.’

She laughed. ‘I pictured you as another Mozart man.’

‘Only when Gianni’s performing it.’

They reached the colonnaded portico of Fontivegge station with an hour to spare before the train was due. Max went inside with Abby to confirm the change en route to Pisa, punched the ticket Domenico had bought for her into one of the yellow machines near the entrance to validate it, and then took her to the café to eat ham paninis with their espressos.

‘Right,’ said Max briskly, when it was time to make a move. ‘At this point we exchange phone numbers, addresses, and any other pertinent information, Abigail Green.’ He entered her number into his phone, then waited while she did the same with his, handed her a card with his address and home number, scrawled hers on the back of another and tucked it into his wallet.

‘You’ve been such an enormous help,’ said Abby, smiling at him gratefully. ‘I’ve run out of ways to thank you.’

Max could think of several that would suit him down to the ground. ‘Here’s one. I’ll be back in the UK at the weekend, so have lunch with me on Sunday. Say yes. Your train leaves soon.’

‘Then, yes. I’d like that very much. Thank you—’ She broke off with a laugh. ‘There I go again!’

He smiled. ‘Thank me again by reporting in tonight.’

‘I will,’ she promised, and looked at her watch. ‘I’d better be on my way.’

‘And I’d better get into my jacket and put this blasted tie on, ready to meet with my lady mother’s approval.’

Max hefted her bag, his tall, lean body looking good to Abby in the kind of suit Italian tailors cut to such perfection. He took her hand in his as they walked along the concourse, and she liked the touch of it on her skin. She’d liked it the night before on their stroll round Todi, and suddenly wished quite violently that she wasn’t about to say goodbye to Max Wingate. When her train was ready to board he reminded her to change in Florence, then took her in his arms.

‘This is another way you can thank me.’ He kissed her very thoroughly, holding her so tightly she was hot and breathless when he let her go. ‘Arrivederci,’ he said huskily, and trailed a finger down her flushed cheek. ‘Safe journey, Abby. Talk to me tonight.’




CHAPTER THREE


ABBY had armed herself with two paperbacks for the journey, but Max Wingate’s kisses put paid to her concentration. She gazed at his photograph on her phone for a while, then pulled herself together and tried to read until the change in Florence. But the hard masculine face superimposed itself on the page, refusing to go away, and in the end she gave up and just stared through the train window as she went back over every detail of the magical evening in Todi.

On the flight from Pisa she ate some of the meal she was served to save bothering with supper when she got home, and at Heathrow took the taxi Simon would pay for. Once she arrived back in Bayswater, her basement flat seemed very quiet without Sadie. Abby missed her friend badly, not least her share of the rent. She sighed as she dumped her bags down. She had to find another job soon, or move to a cheaper flat.

Abby filled the kettle to make tea, then rang her mother to give her all the news about Marco Guido Chiesa, the most beautiful baby boy in the known world, and Isabella Anna Chiesa, his equally ravishing sister. Afterwards, as an exercise in self-control, she drank the entire mug of tea before allowing herself to ring Max.

‘Hi. It’s Abby. I’m back.’

‘You’re late. I’ve been waiting. Any problems on the way?’

‘Other than tedium, none at all. How was your mother?’

‘Startled to see me instead of Gianni, but we managed the entire trip from Perugia without crossing swords. Are you impressed?’

‘Immensely. Was Gianni grateful?’

‘Oh, yes. Luisa went all dewy-eyed when he embraced me so fervently. He begged me to stay on for a meal, so to please Rosa as much as anyone I did.’

‘Will you see more of your mother while she’s with Gianni?’

‘No. I told her I had to get back to London.’ He chuckled. ‘She’s very interested in you, by the way.’

‘Me?’

‘Gianni went on at great length about the beautiful young English lady who’d travelled all the way to Todi to finalise arrangements for his London concert. Luisa obviously considers such personal attention his rightful due, so I didn’t spoil it by mentioning that the visit was just a detour from your trip to Venice.’

She laughed. ‘So all went well at the family reunion?’

‘Better than usual, certainly. I haven’t seen Luisa for a while, so I suppose the session had novelty value.’

‘Doesn’t she mind seeing so little of you?’

‘If she does she never says so,’ he said, so brusquely Abby changed the subject.

‘Did you find out anything about Gianni’s mystery lady?’

‘Not a damn thing. I wish to God I had. If she’s someone’s wife there’ll be all kinds of hell to pay.’

‘Do you think that’s likely?’

‘On one hand I doubt it. Gianni’s a good Catholic boy, remember, also very wary of bad publicity. But he’s also young, Italian, and madly in love. So who knows?’

‘Do you think he’ll tell you eventually?’

‘Not with my mother around. Besides, I’m leaving shortly. I have this important appointment to keep next Sunday, remember. I’ll come for you at twelve.’ He paused. ‘It’s going to be a long week until then, Abby. Goodnight, sleep well.’

The moment she disconnected, her phone rang again.

‘Abby, at last! You’ve been engaged for ages. I know it’s late but your mother said you were back tonight, and I couldn’t wait.’

‘Rachel? You sound a bit wired. Is something wrong?’

‘No. Something’s beautifully, wonderfully right! I’m engaged—third time lucky, and this time it really is the real thing.’

Abby’s heart sank. Rachel Kent had been her friend since nursery school in Stavely, but she was also the one who most often needed Abby’s shoulder to cry on when the latest ‘real thing’ went wrong. ‘Tell me all about it, then. Who is he this time?’

Rachel gave a bubbling little laugh. ‘It’s Sam.’

Abby frowned. ‘Sam who?’

‘Sam Talbot, of course—now, be nice. Don’t laugh, Abby.’

‘I’m not laughing, just surprised.’ Rachel had been engaged to Sam first time round. ‘So when did this happen?’

‘Today. The proposal, I mean. We met again at that wedding last month and I’ve been seeing him quite a lot since, but I didn’t tell you—or anyone else—in case nothing came of it.’ Rachel heaved an ecstatic sigh. ‘Sam kept my ring all this time, Abby, isn’t that romantic?’

‘Absolutely. Mind you hang on to it this time.’

‘I certainly will! Look, Abby, we’re having a family lunch party at home to celebrate next Sunday, which is why I had to catch you the minute you got back. I know you’re busy this time of year, but we arranged it especially for Sunday so you could be there.’

Abby winced. ‘Rachel, I’m so sorry. I can’t. I’m already booked that day.’

‘Oh, Abby! Anyway, no problem. Bring this Silas of yours with you. Promise you’ll come. You didn’t make it to the other engagement parties, and this one is really important. Please, please say yes, Abby.’

‘Oh, all right, Rachel, I’ll be there,’ said Abby, resigned. ‘But no Silas. He’s history.’

‘Really? When did that happen?’

‘When Sadie left to live with Tom. Silas took it for granted he could move in with me instead. I turned him down flat and he got quite nasty.’

‘He didn’t hit you or anything?’ demanded Rachel fiercely.

‘No. He just tried to rush me off to bed to show what I’d be missing.’

‘Pig! You threw him out?’

‘After a ludicrous little scuffle, yes. He keeps ringing me to grovel, and he’s called round twice since, but I told him to get lost.’

‘Good for you. Anyway, forget about Silas, love. I’ll line up someone exciting for you instead.’

Rachel brushed away Abby’s urgent protests, eager to know all about the new baby and the trip to Italy, until Abby stemmed the flow at last by congratulating her friend again before she rang off.

Abby looked at the kitchen clock, wondering if she should ring Max now. No. Better to leave it until tomorrow. Right now her disappointment was so intense she might even get tearful if she tried to tell him Sunday lunch was cancelled. And she didn’t want him to know quite how much she’d been looking forward to seeing him again.

* * *

Next day was hectic as Abby caught up on correspondence and lent a hand with the summer brochures for the following year. Simon Hadley was delighted with the success of Abby’s trip to the Villa Falcone, and asked, not for the first time, if she’d changed her mind about deserting him. Since he already had someone lined up for her job, Abby just laughed, and soon became knee-deep in arrangements for the concert on the following Saturday. It was so late by the time she got home she rang her mother the moment she was through the door.

‘You must be shattered, darling,’ said Isabel.

‘It was hard going today,’ admitted Abby. ‘Anyway, are you all set for your trip tomorrow? Be warned, that sofa of Domenico’s isn’t too comfortable.’

‘He wanted me to use his private apartment at the Forli Palace Hotel. His parents did that, but I don’t fancy it on my own. I’m not going to be there long so I suggested sharing Isabella’s room if he could put up some kind of folding bed in it.’

‘Brilliant idea. She’ll love that.’

‘By the way, I heard all about Bella’s special outing to Florian’s with Mamma and Papa. Well done, Auntie—did Marco behave for you?’

‘He was rather rowdy at one stage,’ Abby admitted, laughing. ‘But after I changed his nappy—I hope you’re impressed—I walked him around for a bit, and he settled down in the end. My rendition of “Mull of Kintyre” put him out cold.’

Isabel chuckled. ‘Thanks for the tip. You sound tired, darling, so have an early night. I’ll ring when I get there, of course. And come down for a weekend the minute you leave your job. I’ve hardly seen anything of you for months.’

Abby promised, wished her mother bon voyage, and ate her supper before making the call to Max. To her intense frustration his mobile number was unobtainable and the only response from his house was a recorded message in two languages. He was probably playing chess with Aldo the builder, or happy families with Gianni and his mother. Or whoever. Max Wingate’s social life was none of her business.

* * *

Next day was equally hectic, with overtime necessary to make up for a couple of hours off in the afternoon for a job interview. Abby got home late again, to find a message from Isabel, reporting safe arrival. After a long, hot bath Abby felt too weary to bother to dress again, and got into the camisole and briefs she slept in. She poached an egg for her supper and curled up on the sofa in her dressing gown to watch television, tired and yawning, but still too restless to go to bed. It was surprisingly hard to come back to earth after the Italian adventure. When the doorbell rang she leapt up irritably, in no mood for visitors. If it was Silas Wood he could just go away again. She snatched up the entry phone receiver to tell him that, and almost dropped it when she heard Max Wingate’s voice.

‘Abby? I should have rung first, but I took a chance on finding you in.’

‘Max? What on earth are you doing here?’ she said blankly.

‘Standing outside the street door. Are you alone?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Let me in, then. I’ve come a long way to see you.’

Casting a despairing look at her outfit, Abby pressed the release button, and fled to her bedroom to use a lipstick before she opened the door to a very different Max from the one who’d kissed her goodbye in Perugia. He seemed bigger than she remembered, his sleek hair was tousled, he needed a shave, and he looked altogether tougher and more formidable in jeans, boots and a leather jacket. In the face of such overpowering testosterone, Abby stared at him speechlessly.

Max smiled down into her startled eyes, fighting the urge to sweep her into his arms and kiss her senseless. ‘Hello, Abby. Sorry it’s so late.’

‘Hi,’ she responded huskily. ‘This is a surprise.’

‘Did I get you out of bed?’

‘No.’ Her mind raced over the contents of the fridge and her cupboards. ‘Can I get you a glass of wine?’

‘Dry white?’ he asked, smiling.

‘What else? I usually have a glass while I’m making supper, but I had a very busy day and I was so tired tonight I thought it might knock me flat…’ Stop gabbling, she told herself, and took a mental inventory of her food supplies. ‘I could throw some supper together for you.’

‘No, thanks, I’ve eaten. And I’m driving so I’ll pass on the wine.’ Max looked down at her, an indulgent smile at the corners of his mouth. ‘Relax. You’re like a cat on hot bricks.’

‘Of course I’m not,’ she said brightly. ‘Take off your jacket. I’ll make coffee.’

The living room in the basement flat had always seemed perfectly adequate for two tall females to share, but it seemed crowded with the addition of Max Wingate. Abby filled the kettle and put out mugs, very conscious that he was watching her every move. She took biscuits from a tin and put them on a plate, her mind working overtime. It was late and he was a long way from Gloucestershire. Was he expecting to stay the night? Delighted though she was to see him, she wasn’t up for that. She put the dish on the end of the low table nearest the scuffed leather club chair, handed Max his coffee and curled up on the sofa with her own.

‘Thank you. I’m on my way to Kew to stay with my father for a night or two, but I thought I’d make a surprise visit here first.’ He smiled crookedly. ‘Not such a good idea from your point of view?’

So he had no intention of staying the night. Abby gave him a radiant smile. ‘Actually it’s a brilliant idea, because I need to talk to you urgently. I tried ringing you, but no luck.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘I can’t make Sunday lunch after all.’

He masked a fierce stab of disappointment with a wry smile. ‘Ah. You’ve got a better offer?’

She shook her head ruefully and told him about Rachel’s engagement party. ‘She’s arranged it specifically for Sunday because I can’t manage any other day at this time of year. So I have to go.’

Max’s slanting eyebrows rose. ‘If the lady is an old friend surely you want to go?’

‘Of course.’ Abby shrugged. ‘But we haven’t caught up with each other for a while, so she thought I’d be bringing Silas with me. The Mozart fan,’ she added.

‘Is the party here in London?’

‘No, at Rachel’s home in Stavely. I didn’t make it to her other engagement parties, so I really must turn up at this one.’

He looked amused. ‘How many has she had?’

‘This is the third—well, sort of.’ Abby grinned. ‘Sam, the latest contender, is the one she was engaged to first time round.’

Max shook his head in mock respect. ‘And he’s willing to risk it a second time? Brave man.’

‘Actually he’s perfect for Rachel. She should have hung on to him in the first place. You’d like him.’

‘Then take me to meet him—or was the invitation only for the Mozart-lover?’

Abby looked at him with dawning hope. ‘You’re willing to go to the party with me?’

He was willing to do anything in the world to make her happy, he realised, startled. ‘Why not? I could drive you down, and we’d still achieve lunch together.’

‘I’d like that.’ She pulled a face. ‘I admit I’d rather not go alone. If my mother had been home she would have gone with me, but—’

‘But she’s in Venice. So I’ll go with you as protection.’

‘From what?’

Max eyed her levelly. ‘I don’t know. You tell me.’

Abby hunched a shoulder. ‘It’s just that Rachel’s such a matchmaker. She always insists on inviting some man she swears is perfect for me—and the result is disaster every time.’

Max ate a biscuit, frowning. ‘Enlighten me. Why does your friend feel obliged to hunt up men for someone as attractive as you?’

Thanking him for the compliment, Abby explained that, although she and Rachel were close, they were very different personalities. ‘She can’t function without a male presence in her life. I can and do, perfectly happily, but Rachel just can’t accept a concept so alien to her. She keeps trying to pair me up with someone. ‘

‘Is that why you steered clear of the other engagement celebrations?’

‘No. I was in the middle of exams for the first one and in Venice the last time.’ Abby smiled ruefully. ‘Don’t get me wrong—I love Rachel to bits, but her matchmaking drives me crazy.’

‘Solution,’ said Max, seizing the opportunity with relish. ‘On Sunday, tell her I’m the replacement for the Mozart man.’

Abby eyed him dubiously. ‘You won’t laugh when she demands your intentions.’

‘As you virtually did when I turned up just now?’ He wagged an admonishing finger. ‘You thought I’d come for a sleepover, Abigail Green.’

‘Of course I didn’t,’ she lied. ‘I was just surprised to see you. Why did you cut your holiday short?’

Max settled comfortably in the chair, his long legs outstretched. ‘Two reasons. One, I saw no point in waiting until Sunday to see you again. Two, I’m a coward.’

She eyed him in scorn. ‘Oh, come on! I haven’t known you long, but the last bit’s hard to swallow.’

‘Thank you kindly.’ Max’s mouth turned down. ‘However, I’ve had Gianni begging me not to say a word about his innamorata, and Luisa firing questions at me because she harbours suspicions about his love-life. I insisted, with almost perfect truth, that I knew nothing about it, so she eventually gave up. But she won’t rest until she finds out from some other source. I’d never thought of myself as a coward before, but to make sure I’m elsewhere when the balloon goes up I altered the train reservation for my car and got out of the way.’

Abby chuckled. ‘Leaving Gianni all alone and defenceless.’

‘Anything but! Rosa’s the perfect bodyguard. Luisa knows better than to try to winkle it out of her.’

‘You really think the love of his life is married, then?’

‘Gianni’s so desperate to keep her identity secret I’m beginning to think she must be—or at least spoken for.’ Max grimaced. ‘I suppose I should have stayed to pick up the pieces, but where Luisa’s concerned my presence usually makes things worse.’

‘Maybe she still feels guilty.’

His eyebrows shot together. ‘Guilty?’

‘For deserting you all those years ago.’

He gave a cynical laugh. ‘I doubt that.’

‘She’s a Catholic?’

‘Yes.’

‘And she deserted her son and her husband and married someone else. Of course she feels guilty. If not all the time, certainly every time she sees you, Max—’ She stopped, flushing a little. ‘Sorry. It’s none of my business.’

He shook his head. ‘I’ve made it your business. I’ve never confided so much in a woman in my entire life.’

A statement which pleased Abby enormously. ‘You must have known a few in your time, surely!’

‘Of course. In fact,’ added Max casually, ‘some of the relationships lasted quite a while. The last fell by the wayside because I was too wrapped up in work to pay the necessary attention to it.’ He looked round at the small room. ‘Has anyone shared this place with you, Abby?’

She nodded. ‘Sadie Morris, who was up at Trinity College with me, but she moved in with her boyfriend a couple of weeks ago. I’m keeping it up on my own until I know what I’m doing next.’

Max gave a sudden yawn and, apologising, took out his phone. ‘I’d better ring Dad and say I’m on my way.’ He got to his feet. ‘What time do you get home in the evening?’

‘Whenever I finish for the day—usually fairly late.’

‘Have you anything planned for tomorrow night?’

‘No.’

‘Will you be home by eight?’

‘I could be,’ she said with caution.

‘Then I’ll be here at eight-fifteen to take you out somewhere. What do you say?’ he added, smiling at her.

Abby didn’t hesitate. ‘I say, yes please. Only I’ll probably be too tired to go out. Would you mind eating here instead?’

‘Not if that’s what you prefer,’ he assured her. ‘Tell me which type of cuisine you like and I’ll bring dinner with me.’

‘No need. I’ll visit my favourite deli in my lunch-hour.’

‘Not a chance. You’re working. If that’s your choice I’ll find a deli myself somewhere.’ Max put a finger under her chin. ‘Go to bed and get some sleep.’

‘Yes, sir!’

He grinned and kissed her briefly, then released her to pick up his jacket. ‘Goodnight, Abby. Sweet dreams.’

* * *

In her bedroom later, Abby chuckled as she looked in the mirror. No make-up, hair left to its own devices to dry, and a towelling dressing gown long past its prime. And she’d been worried that Max intended to stay the night! It was a wonder he’d even stayed for coffee. But he wanted to see her again tomorrow, she thought with satisfaction, so maybe it was the beauty of her mind that attracted him.

* * *

Abby spent next day in a hectic round of checking up on hotel bookings and the dressing rooms at the concert venue, but when she got back to base she told Simon she needed to get home a bit earlier for once.

‘Hot date?’ he asked indulgently. ‘Dash off, then. Have fun.’

Abby smiled to herself as she travelled home. The kind of evening she was looking forward to would probably sound nothing like fun to friends who led a more hectic social life than hers. She’d enjoyed the parties and rowdy pub evenings of her student days with a crowd of both sexes, including the summer balls. Since living in London she’d been out now and again with men she’d met in the course of her job, but she enjoyed evenings out with girlfriends just as much, sometimes more. With Max Wingate it was the prospect of a peaceful night in that sent her running along the street of tall old houses in Bayswater. She unlocked the outer door in the pillared portico and raced down the stairs to her flat, fumbling with her key in her eagerness to get in.

She shed her clothes in a tearing hurry to get in the shower, laughing at herself as she turned on the spray. Rachel went wild with excitement in these situations, not Abigail Green. But for once Abby knew how she felt. And it felt good. By eight she was ready, in slouchy gold velvet trousers and a thin black sweater, humming as she did a last-minute tidy-up in the flat. She grabbed the receiver when the doorbell rang at exactly eight-fifteen, breathless as she answered it.




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